Wild Sierra Rogue Read Online Free PDF

and sultry, even on an early morning such as this. Rafe paced the railroad platform and made a point of ignoring the McLoughlin spinster and her future husband, though it proved difficult, since she was hectoring a porter over proper care of her numerous steamer trunks.
    While it was amazing such a woman of simplicity could outdo the most equipped of travelers, Rafe didn’t mull the contents of her stores, the narrowness of her brown traveling suit, nor did he dwell on his own situation.
    He concentrated on the mundane. Fog tumbled into the smoke that bellowed from the locomotive. Hawking his wares, a ragged paperboy held aloft the San Antonio Light. A taco vendor pushed his cart between the crush of men, women, and children waiting to catch the westbound Southern Pacific.
    Margaret marched over to the station master; her mouth began to ratchet.
    â€œLady, I don’t have nothing to do with the routes,” Rafe heard the man reply.
    She could have been an opera singer, so voluminous was her voice when she said, “But this is the epitome of inconvenience. It is a straight trip to Chihuahua, if we head for Piedras Negras.”
    â€œMa’am, as I told you, there’s trouble with rebels between Piedras Negras and Chihuahua city, and the president of the Southern Pacific has done decided we’ll take our passengers to El Paso. You can catch the Meskan train outta Juarez. And, madam, that be all I intend to say on the matter.”
    Rafe didn’t listen to Margaret’s protest.
    â€œAll aboard!”
    At the conductor’s summons, Rafe doffed his Stetson to wipe his brow. Now that it was time to leave, he thought about what the journey would bring. After eight years of vowing never to set foot in his home state without the armature of war backing him, Rafe Delgado—revolutionary and murderer—was about to start the return journey to hell. But he’d go with nothing but a Colt Peacemaker, and a gun belt studded with bullets.
    What about when you return to San Antonio? If he returned. Maybe he’d take Ida Frances’s advice and find some nice little wife, then get some children. A certain peace accompanied that thought. Bring out the walking sticks and liniment.
    A strawberry blonde, luscious and ripe as any strawberry in a field of June, sidled up to Rafe and patted her ample bosom. “My goodness, it’s warm, isn’t it, sir?”
    â€œIndeed it is, señorita.” On instinct, his mouth curved into a smile around the half-smoked cheroot. Taking a long look at this big blonde reminded Rafe of the Amazonian morsel he’d been forced to turn away, thanks to the witch. He stepped to the side, making a gesture not unlike when he’d flourished the muleta . “May I help you aboard?”
    â€œBy all means.”
    He held her fingers and guided her elbow as she took the first step. Something poked his side at the same moment a thank you gushed into his ears. He turned his head, catching sight of an umbrella; he felt its tip wedging between his ribs.
    Dios, what was the matter with the witch? If he didn’t know better, Rafe would have guessed Margarita was jealous. “Remove that poker, or you and your man will be traveling to Chihuahua by the seat of your broomstick.”
    Iced blue eyes chipped into the slate of his. Her mouth pinched like that of a woman wearing tight shoes, she huffed, “I didn’t hire you to further your love life.”
    No, she hadn’t. And he hadn’t wanted to guide Margaret and her man to Eden Roc, not even for the obscene amount of money he’d demanded in a ploy to get her to cease and desist. He felt no overriding responsibility toward them or their quest. It wasn’t as if she’d worked for the money.
    Two nights ago, when she stood in his home and argued, he’d realized something. Her request had been a sign, a divine signal for him to return . . . and somehow honor Hernán’s