The Angel and the Outlaw Read Online Free PDF Page A

easier ways to get a stake. For him, robbing banks had always been a last resort; it was definitely not something he wanted to try with a woman in tow. Still, it was nice to know the bank was there, just in case.
    He pulled up in front of O’Connell’s Livery and dismounted. A moment later, a short, bow-legged man wearing baggy Levi’s and a tobacco-stained leather apron materialized in the doorway.
    “Something I kin do for you?”
    “You O’Connell?”
    “Aye.”
    “I’m lookin’ to sell my horse.”
    O’Connell grunted as his gaze moved over the pinto. Moving out of the doorway, he checked the gelding’s teeth, ran his gnarled hands down the horse’s legs, checked its feet.
    “How much do ya want for him?”
    “I was hopin’ to get fifty.”
    O’Connell shook his head. “I’m near being horse poor. I’ll give ya thirty.”
    “I need at least forty.”
    “Thirty-five, and that’s if ya throw in the saddle.”
    “Done,” Cutter said. Turning, he lifted Brandy from the back of the pinto, then slid the rifle from the scabbard.
    The livery owner pulled a wad of crumpled greenbacks from his apron pocket and counted out thirty-five dollars. “Nice doin’ business with ya.”
    Cutter grinned as he shoved the money into his pants pocket. One way or another, he’d have that paint horse back.
    “Let’s go.”
    “Go where?” Brandy asked.
    “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
    He grabbed her hand and she fell into step beside him, her long skirts swishing in the dusty street.
    Cutter paused at the hotel. “I expect you to behave yourself in here.” She glowered at him in mutinous silence and he tightened his grip on her hand. “You won’t like what happens if you cause me any trouble.”
    “I doubt I’ll like what happens if I behave.”
    “Dammit, woman…”
    She tilted her chin defiantly. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re nothing but a two-bit horse thief.”
    He bent his head toward her, his voice low, ominous. “You had best be afraid, lady. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
    Brandy stared into his eyes, hard brown eyes that held no hint of softness or compassion. In a rush, everything she had ever read about this man flooded her mind. Too late she realized how foolhardy she was to defy him. He was a bank robber, a killer, an outlaw who had somehow survived a hanging. A man who really didn’t have anything to lose.
    “Don’t push me,” he warned.
    “I won’t.”
    His gaze held hers a moment more, and then he opened the door and stepped into the hotel, pulling her along behind him.
    He led her into a small dining room, found a table in the far corner, and sat down with his back to the wall, the rifle within easy reach.
    Brandy sat down across from him, her hands folded in her lap. Conscious of her untidy appearance, she was grateful that they were the only two people in the room.
    A small dark-haired woman wearing a yellow gingham dress and a white apron came to take their order. Brandy knew a moment of resentment when Cutter ordered for her, but one look at his face stilled all thought of protest.
    Brandy lowered her head, furtively studying him while they waited for their dinner. Dark bristles covered his jaw, making him look all the more formidable. His hair was long and straight, the color such a dark brown it sometimes looked black, as did his eyes. His eyes… She shivered. She had the fanciful notion that she had glimpsed hell in the depths of those eyes.
    He was staring past her, giving her the impression he had forgotten her presence. She watched him rub his neck, saw the faint red line that circled his throat. What had it been like, she wondered, standing on the gallows, waiting for the hangman to spring the trap? She couldn’t imagine the terror, the fear. How long had he hanged there before the rope broke? How had he survived? And why had touching him propelled her into the past? More importantly, how was she going to get back to her own time?
    The appearance