Read [Montacroix Royal Family Series 03] - The Outlaw for Free Online Page A

something about her inexplicably moved something deep inside him.
    Sympathy? Perhaps.
    Responsibility? Absolutely.
    He glanced up at the sky, at the drenching rain that showed no sign of stopping. He looked back toward town, half expecting to see the armed posse riding toward him. But there was only the towering red rocks, the green trees and, of course, the rain.
    Finally, he returned his gaze to the woman. To leave her here, at the mercy of the inclement weather, not to mention the wild animals that roamed the range, along with whatever else fate might have in store for her, would be unconscionable.
    On the other hand, to take her back to Whiskey River, where she could obtain the medical attention she needed and deserved would ensure his recapture. And his execution.
    His vexatious conscience warring with a deep-seated instinct for survival, Wolfe swore viciously. First in his native Navajo. Then in the language of the Anglos he'd learned to use to his own advantage in his writing.
    Finally, knowing he had no other choice, damning whatever gods—or, more likely, devils—had dropped her into his life, he scooped up the troublesome female and flung her across the back of his patiently waiting mare. Viewing the leather satchel lying near where she'd landed, he picked it up, as well, glanced inside it and saw that it seemed to contain books, which made him wonder if she could be a schoolteacher.
    He thought about the thin-lipped missionary teachers he'd suffered during his years away in boarding school. Then he thought of this woman's enticing undergarments. If she was a teacher, things had definitely changed since his school days.
    Cursing himself for a fool, he swung up behind her and began riding in the direction of the Road to Ruin.
    He'd hand off the woman, whoever she was, to Belle O'Roarke.
    And then, his duty done, he'd get back to the business of saving his own life.
    4
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    Had the Road to Ruin been situated in the red-light district known as Whiskey Row, Wolfe wouldn't have risked returning. But Belle O'Roarke, to escape city council regulations, had opened for business several miles outside Whiskey River.
    Her whores—often "fallen girls" from respectable households back East—were famous for being the prettiest, the most well-mannered, the best-dressed— or underdressed—and most important, the cleanest girls in Arizona Territory.
    Breaking with tradition that tended to separate the establishments catering to various sins, the Road to Ruin had a saloon, a gambling hall and a bordello all operating under the same roof.
    The piano player was pounding out Scott Joplin's ragtime when Wolfe carried his still-unconscious charge up to Belle's kitchen door at the back of the two-story frame building.
    The madam herself opened the door at his first knock.
    "What the hell are you doin' here?" she asked, her eyes wide in her rosy face. "I figured that if you did manage to escape, you'd hightail it for the border."
    "I was on my way out of town when I got sidetracked."
    "So I see." Belle folded her arms across her abundant bosom, draped in emerald satin, and eyed the woman filing over his shoulder. "I don't suppose she's meant for me?"
    "I don't care what you do with her," Wolfe growled as he entered the steamy warmth of the kitchen that smelled of fresh-brewed coffee, wood burning, bacon frying and wet dog. "Just take her off my hands so I can get the hell out of here."
    "Who is she?"
    "I don't know."
    Belle grabbed hold of a handful of wet hair and jerked Noel's head up. "That's a helluva knot on her head. What happened?"
    "The fool ran her buggy into the path of my horse."
    "She was by herself?"
    "If she'd had a man to take care of her, I wouldn't be here," Wolfe said grumpily.
    "You didn't have to stop in the first place," Belle reminded him.
    "Yes." Wolfe sighed. "I did."
    Despite the seriousness of the situation, Belle threw back her head and laughed. A ribald laugh that started way down in the gut