Ain't No Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

door. She squinted into the bright sunlight, and stepped down onto solid ground.

 
    Chapter 3
     
     
    Laney surveyed her surroundings. Several people stood anxiously by the stagecoach, apparently waiting for something. Some stared at her outright, while others whispered. The mutton chop guy had gotten off behind her and disappeared into the crowd. A man dressed in faded overalls and wearing a straw hat met the woman with the kid. He scooped the boy up into his arms, and the three of them walked away. The driver and another man stood on top of the coach, tossing packages and parcels at the eager crowd. A large embroidered bag dropped to the ground beside her, and the driver of the coach pointed at her.
    “Your bag, Miss. And there’s the rest of your luggage.” He tipped his hat and pointed at three large wooden trunks stacked in the middle of the dirt street. He climbed back up onto the driver’s seat, and yelled at the team of horses. Wheels squeaked, and harnesses jingled.
    Laney spun around. “Wait, that’s not my bag.”
    She’d never owned a bag that looked as if it was made from a worn-out rug. If she did have any luggage, it would more than likely be her faux leather duffel bag. Running after the coach would be futile. She could barely move or breathe in the clothes she wore, and the shoes pinched her toes so tight, she was sure there’d be blisters later. “And those trunks aren’t mine, either,” she added, speaking to no one in particular.
    She raised her head and glanced at the remaining people. Some had already dispersed, while others remained, whispering and looking in her direction. Four young men in denims, chaps, and wearing cowboy hats stood outside a storefront, their heads together and pointing at her. Two of them elbowed each other in the side and sniggered.
    Laney turned her head to glimpse at her backside. Good grief! All that material and whatever contraption was under the skirt made her butt stick out like a waddling duck. Those guys were no doubt having a good laugh at her expense.
    Yeah, I bet I look real funny in this outfit. I feel like a Thanksgiving Turkey.
    “This is stupid. Why am I standing in the middle of the street?” Laney muttered under her breath. She glanced at the bag at her feet, and groaned when she bent forward to pick it up.
    “What the hell is in here?” She strained to lift the heavy bag. Only then did something odd occur to her. Where were all the cars? Even in a small country town that looked to have been stuck in the eighteen hundreds, wouldn’t there be at least a few cars around? An old antique buckboard pulled by a team of mules rolled down the street, and several horses stood tethered to some hitching posts along the store fronts. The air was infused with the smell of livestock.
    This could be your dream come true, Laney. Horses everywhere.
    She blew some air through her mouth, and stepped toward the boardwalk, adjusting the handle of the bag in her hand. The four men fell silent, and stared at her. Maybe they would know how to get to Tyler Monroe’s place.
    An inexplicable tingle crawled up her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Someone other than those cowboys was watching her. It was a feeling, like some sixth sense. Laney turned slowly, her heart racing in her chest. On the other side of the street stood a man leaning against a building post, his arms crossed over his chest. His cowboy hat was pulled low over his forehead, but even without seeing his eyes, Laney was absolutely sure he stared straight at her.
    Her mouth went dry all of a sudden, and she sucked in a deep breath, which was stopped short by the confining clothes that pressed against her ribs. She had to get out of this dress and into something more comfortable. The sleeves were so tight, she couldn’t even roll them up to get at least some relief from the heat. Hopefully there was a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in that bag.
    “Miss Goodman?”
    Laney wheeled back around. One of the