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straining Angel’s finances. She needed all the income she could get from teaching school and selling books. She was also determined to find Tate, or what had happened to him, before the baby was born.
    She’d turned to her big brother Rafe for help. Even though Rafe worked out of the U.S. Marshal’s office in Fort Smith, Arkansas, while Tate was based in Paris, Texas, she’d thought Rafe might get news about the missing deputy. So far, he hadn’t turned up any leads. Yet Rafe pursued outlaws in Indian Territory and Tate was probably in Texas.
    She hadn’t known where else to look until Rune came back into her life. If lawmen couldn’t help, perhaps outlaws could make a difference. Now she planned to stay alert for information about Tate in the Bend.
    With a will of their own, her thoughts came full circle. Rune . She slightly opened her eyes and looked at him sitting near the embers of their campfire, early morning sunlight casting him in a rosy glow.
    He wasn’t the same. She’d known he wouldn’t be, not after his experience in jail. He was thinner, taut and prickly as barbwire, and tougher. His thick, sandy hair was cut short where once it had spilled past his shoulder in pale waves. No longer was his skin tawny from the sun. His broad shoulders, long legs, and elegant hands were cut to the bone, all muscle and sinew. Still, that was just the bits and pieces of him. The core of him, the sheer animal magnetism that made him a leader, not a follower, remained intact.
    She almost wished he’d changed completely to a man she couldn’t admire, respect, or desire. It’d make life easier. Despite his determination to hurt her, use her, and then dump her, she still wanted him with a power that left her breathless. Time hadn’t healed the wound he’d inflicted on her when he’d rejected her love. Time had simply made it raw.
    But she was stronger than her passions. And she’d learned from her mistakes. Now she felt ashamed of her actions regarding him. And contrite. If she could, she’d make it up to him.
    Yet love would never be a part of her feelings for him again. She’d never allow herself to be that vulnerable to hurt. Never again.

Chapter Eight
    A s Rune drove the buggy into Delaware Bend that evening, he felt his senses ratchet up a notch. The Bend was no place for fools or laggards. The tough town squatted on the Texas side of the Red River, but catered to the outlaws, Indians, and adventurers that crossed over from Indian Territory to gamble, drink, and raise hell. If lawmen dared to show up, the outlaws could quickly escape north across the muddy river.
    Indian Territory had become a haven for outlaws because Indian Nations had their own laws and courts that the U.S. government wouldn’t allow to be applied to Americans. At the same time, Deputy U.S. Marshals were limited to federal law. In many cases, Indian Lighthorsemen and deputies worked together to solve crimes, but they were hard pressed to stem the tide of illegal activities.
    Judge Isaac Parker, called the Hangin’ Judge by those who got on the wrong side of his gavel, ran a tight courtroom in Fort Smith. His word was law, for there was no appeal to a higher court. After his appointment by the U.S. Congress to clean up Indian Territory, Judge Parker made great strides to do just that. The courthouse jail wasn’t called “Hell on the Border” for nothing. Marshal Boles and his deputies brought in as many criminals as they could catch.
    Rune couldn’t fault their intent. He’d once been on their side of the law. Even if they, or the AHTA, didn’t know it, he was still helping them.
    â€œI’d like to go to Manny’s Livery Stable.” Angel pointed at a weathered wooden building with an outside corral. “A friend recommended it.”
    â€œThat’s not where I rented this horse and buggy.”
    â€œI need a place to change clothes