The Angel and the Outlaw Read Online Free PDF

of the waitress with their food interrupted her musings. Brandy stared at the slab of beef on her plate. It was the biggest steak she had ever seen. Beside it rose a mountain of lumpy mashed potatoes smothered in brown gravy and more green beans than she ate in a year.
    She glanced at Cutter, wondering if he really expected her to consume what looked like half a cow, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her and she decided to leave well enough alone.
    Picking up her knife, she cut off a piece of steak and took a bite. It was rare, and delicious. To her surprise, she ate almost half of it, and most of the potatoes, as well. The beans she left untouched.
    “You gonna finish that?”
    She glanced up to find Cutter watching her. “No.”
    He grunted softly, then speared what was left of her steak and dropped it on his own plate.
    When he finished eating a few minutes later, he sat back in his chair, looking relaxed for the first time since she’d known him.
    He smiled at the waitress when she refilled his coffee cup, a lazy, friendly smile. Brandy was surprised by the change it made in J.T.’s face. The harsh lines softened, making him look younger, more vulnerable. More human.
    Then he looked at her and frowned. “You ready to go?”
    “Does it matter?”
    A wry grin twisted his lips. “Not a bit. You catch on real quick.”
    Reaching for the rifle propped beside his chair, he stood up and tossed a couple of greenbacks on the table. Brandy stared at the money, feeling an icy shiver run down her spine as she looked at the bills. They were odd looking, larger than the currency in circulation back home. She had seen similar dollar bills in a museum.
    She felt suddenly lightheaded. No matter how she tried to deny it, she really had gone back in time.
    Brandy stared at J.T. Cutter as he reached for her hand. There was nothing solicitous in the gesture and Brandy didn’t mistake it for anything but what it was—a form of imprisonment.
    He kept her close to his side as they left the dining room and walked into the hotel lobby. At the desk, Cutter asked for a room, paid for it in advance. Keeping a firm hold on her hand, he climbed the stairs and went down the dark, narrow hallway that led to their room, leading her as if she were a child.
    Brandy grimaced as she stepped inside. It had none of the rustic appeal that hotel rooms in Western movies always seemed to have. There were no frilly white lace curtains at the window. No colorful rag rugs on the floor. There was only a narrow brass bedstead topped by a lumpy mattress and a spread that might have once been white; a scarred mahogany highboy with a cracked mirror, and a white enamel bowl and pitcher.
    “Charming,” Brandy muttered as Cutter closed the door behind them. “Just charming.”
    “You say something?”
    “No.” There was no chair in the room, so she stood in the middle of the floor, unwilling to sit on the lumpy mattress lest it put ideas in his head. Not that she looked that enticing, she mused as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. A man would have to be pretty desperate to be attracted to her now. Her hair was hanging limply down her back, her lipstick was long gone, her face and hands were smudged with dirt. And she smelled. Of horse and dust and perspiration.
    She glanced longingly at the pitcher and bowl, wishing he would leave her alone so she could bathe. But even without asking she knew that was out of the question.
    “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at the bed.
    “No, thank you.”
    “No, thank you?”
    “I’d rather stand.”
    He lifted one dark brow. “What’s the matter, Brandy? Afraid I’ll try to take advantage of you?”
    She blinked at him, alarmed at how sensual her name sounded on his lips, frightened that the thought of molesting her had already occurred to him.
    She retreated behind a wall of defiance. “I suppose it’s too much to expect a man like you to honor a lady’s virtue.”
    “Yeah, I suppose it is. Sit