Beloved Outcast

No answer came to her prayer, at least not in the form of words. But as she stared at the stockade, a sense of inevitability washed over her. The plain and simple truth was that she was incapable of leaving Mr. Youngblood to rot inside his log prison.

“I’m going to open the door.”

“When?”

She struggled to lift the heavy bar lodged tightly between the metal posts. “Now.”

“Smart move, Amory,” came the approving voice. “We’ll ride hard and fast for Trinity Falls.”

“And, once we’re there, we’ll be safe?”

“Since the last gold strike, the town’s swollen to more than five thousand miners,” he informed her. “It’s in no danger of being attacked. Do you have a good horse?”

“No.” A splinter stabbed her index finger. “I’ve got a team of oxen.”

“Well, hell, what kind of time do you think we’re going to make with oxen?”

“They may not be fast, but they’re steady. And they’ve had time to rest. They’ll pull my wagon just fine.”

Victoria gave up trying to raise the bar with her bare hands and went to fetch her cooking fork. She was sure it was sturdy enough to dislodge the metal beam.

“You’ve got a wagon?”

Her efforts began to noticeably budge the crossbar. “That’s right.”

“I don’t like the idea of using a wagon.”

The heavy iron arm finally came free and toppled to the ground. The stockade door swung outward, revealing a sinister black hole.

The prisoner stepped toward the light. “Wheel tracks are too easy to follow.”

Without the barrier of the log portal between them, the deep voice sounded alarmingly close.

“We’re going to need the wagon. I refuse to leave my precious cargo behind.”

Mr. Youngblood emerged from the shadowed doorway, blinking against the sudden onslaught of sunlight.

“Precious cargo—?” He broke off abruptly. She saw his dark eyes narrow at the sight of her. “Well, hell.”

The observation was his, the sentiment hers.

Chapter Four (#ulink_021d4a6f-14a4-5ef0-95e7-5b34b7caec73)

The man before Victoria was unlike any she’d ever seen. He filled her entire field of vision and, with every foot he drew closer, seemed to grow in stature. Her mouth went dry, and she took a stumbling step back.

The morning breeze ruffled the tattered remnants of a white shirt that, despite its torn state, managed to adhere to his muscular shoulders. She had never seen an uncovered male chest before, and thus was unprepared for the shocking sight of the lush pelt of black hair that grazed his bared flesh. Goodness, surely no American Indian roaming the western plains could appear more awesomely proportioned than Logan Youngblood.

Or more distressingly primitive.

“Where’s the kid?”

The gruff question jerked her gaze from his almost naked torso to a dark pair of glittering eyes. She swallowed. The man looked as if he’d been pummeled by an angry mob. His blackened right eye was almost swollen shut. He also sported a bruised, whiskered jaw and a split bottom lip.

The single thought that danced in her head was that, if she hadn’t released the devil himself from the stockade, she’d surely freed one of his henchmen to murder, plunder and pillage.

“The—the kid?” she repeated stupidly.

He took another step forward. She tipped her head back to keep his daunting visage in view.

“The one I’ve been talking to since last night.”

“I told you I wasn’t a child,” she answered, hearing the wobble in her voice and regretting it.

His savage gaze shriveled to a blistering slit. “You mean all this time I’ve been talking to you? A female?”

The derisive way he pronounced “female” caused a hot flush to singe her cheeks. She stood taller, digging for a measure of her normal pluck. “I should think that would be obvious to anyone of reasonable intelligence.”

Usually she didn’t approve of cutting remarks designed to wound another’s sensibilities. But in Mr. Youngblood’s case, she felt justified in making an exception. Clearly the criminal possessed no sensibilities with which to concern herself.

His glare was of sufficient scorching intensity to fry a buckwheat biscuit without benefit of fire.

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.” Had his confinement addled his senses, making him incapable of grasping that she had only pretended to be of the male gender? “I can assure you I am traveling alone. There is no one with me, least of all a child.”

She couldn’t make her explanation any simpler.

His good eye, the one that wasn’t fiercely swollen, studied her balefully. “Why?”

“Why what?” She assessed the challenge of getting the confused man to Trinity Falls. Of course, there was a positive side to his apparent simplemindedness. It was possible that he was mistaken about the Indians being on the warpath. “Are you wondering why I wanted you to think you were talking to a man?”

He shook his head, then winced. “I don’t give a damn about your theatrics. I want to know why you’re alone.”

“Oh, that.” She glanced from his ruthless stare. She hated admitting to this disreputable stranger that she’d been banished from the wagon train. She attempted a reassuring smile. “I don’t have the plague, if that’s worrying you.”

A grave expression settled over his battered features. “Were you attacked?”

Victoria’s thoughts immediately went to her late-night mishap with Hyrum Dodson, the unfortunate discharge of her rifle, and his piercing howl as he’d hopped about on one foot while trying to ascertain the damage to his other one. “I wouldn’t call it an ‘attack’ so much as a misunderstanding.”

Mr. Youngblood’s good eye narrowed. “Misunderstanding?”

“You see, I thought a bear was invading my wagon.”

Confusion seemed to sweep his countenance. “A bear?”

The man really was limited in his reasoning abilities. She regretted her earlier cutting remark about anyone of reasonable intelligence being able to comprehend her explanations.

But she hadn’t known that Logan Youngblood was blighted by limited mental prowess. Her gaze made a quick foray across his virile physique. What a pity that his physical endowments were not matched by an equally keen intellect. Had his lack of mental fortitude led to an association with unsavory men who’d introduced him to a life of crime?