Apache Flame Read Online Free PDF

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chance to confront her, to ask her why she hadn’t waited for him, like she’d
promised she would. Damn, after all this time, it shouldn’t matter anymore. But
it did.
    Lost in thought, he didn’t see the woman exiting the
mercantile until he had slammed into her, nearly knocking her off the
boardwalk.
    “I’m sorry,” Mitch exclaimed, grabbing her arm to keep her
from tumbling down the stairs. “I wasn’t looking where I was…”
    The words died in his throat. For a moment, all he could do
was stare. “’Lisha.” She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, with her
honey-gold hair and sparkling brown eyes.
    Alisha stared at the man in front of her, scarcely able to
speak past the lump in her throat. “Mitch.” She tried to smile, and failed. “I
heard you were back in town. I’m…I’m sorry about your father.”
    He nodded. “Thanks.”
    She looked down at his hand, still holding her arm. It was a
large hand, dark, calloused. Strong. She remembered the touch of it on her
skin, the way the merest touch had made her tingle from head to toe. Mitch’s
hand, caressing her, his fingertips gliding over thigh, his skin so dark
against her own…
    He followed her gaze, then jerked his hand away. “Sorry.”
    Silence stretched between them.
    I never had trouble talking to him before , Alisha
thought. Now he seems like a stranger. “How long will you be in town?”
    “I’m not sure. Until I sell the old man’s house, I reckon.
How’s Smithfield?” He glanced at her hand, steeling himself for the sight of
another man’s ring on her finger, then noticed she was wearing gloves.
    “He’s doing very well, thank you.”
    Mitch grunted softly, all too aware that they weren’t alone,
that people were watching, staring. Remembering.
    Silence settled between them again, punctuated by memories
of what might have been.
    “I have to go,” Alisha said. “It was nice seeing you,
Mitchell.”
    Mitchell. She had never called him that in all the
years he had known her. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Nice.”
    “Well, good day.” Head high, she turned and walked away,
hardly able to see where she was going for the tears that flooded her eyes.
    Mitch watched her until she was out of sight. Going into the
nearest saloon, he ordered a bottle of the best bourbon the house had to offer,
then carried it to a table in the back corner of the room and sat down,
determined to drown her memory in whiskey, to obliterate every thought, every
memory, every regret.
    It wouldn’t work, of course. But then, it never had.
    He was about a fourth of the way through the bottle when he
heard the gunshots. Years of being a lawman rose to the fore and sent him
running out of the saloon, gun in hand. It took only a moment to size up the
situation. Three men were exiting the bank, pushing their way through the
handful of townspeople gathered on the boardwalk.
    Saul Jordan, owner of the Canyon Creek Cattleman’s Bank, was
sprawled face down across the doorway. Blood oozed from his left shoulder.
    A woman screamed as one of the robbers shoved her out of the
way.
    Mitch didn’t stop to think, just did what came naturally
after being a lawman for nearly three years. He fired a warning shot in the air
and hollered, “Throw down your weapons!”
    He didn’t expect the outlaws to comply, and they didn’t.
They turned to face him, their guns swinging in his direction. Without
hesitation, he fired at the man in front. The outlaw went down, and Mitch fired
at the second man. The third bandit threw his gun into the street and raised
his hands over his head.
    One of the moneybags had burst open when it hit the ground
and greenbacks fluttered in the air like paper butterflies.
    A man swore as the scent of blood and gun smoke rose on the
wind. Somewhere in the distance, a child cried for its mother.
    When the smoke cleared, two of the bank robbers lay dead in
the dirt. The third outlaw hadn’t moved. He was staring at Mitch, his
expression