A Lady Like Sarah by Margaret Brownley

sorry, Sarah."
    She couldn't have felt more humiliated had she been thrown from a horse. For the longest while, they stared at each other like two wild animals meeting by chance.
    "Forgive me," he pleaded. "I can't do this."
    Had he thrust a knife in her heart, he couldn't have hurt her more. "Because of who I am?" she lashed out at him. "Because I'm a wanted woman and not fit to wipe your feet?"
    He shook his head sadly. "No, Sarah. Because of who I am."
    No sooner had he cuffed her than he walked away, leaving her and the sleeping marshal alone. Unable to settle down, she paced a circle around the fire pit.
    There was no denying it; she had thrown herself at a man—and a preacher at that—and even she couldn't think of a way to excuse such a brazen act.
    All her life she'd been accused of being impulsive. Of actÂing without thinkin'. Of runnin' headlong into trouble. But kissin' the preacher was far and beyond anything she had ever done before.
    True, the preacher had offered to help her and for that she was grateful. But gratitude don't excuse brash behavior. She would definitely have to keep a tight rein on her impulses in the future.
    Still, recalling the feel of his lips on hers, she couldn't help but smile. She pressed her fingers against her still burning mouth. The memory made her cheeks grow warm again, and she felt a strange excitement unlike any she had ever known.
    She might not be a lady, but for all his talk of proper behavior, there was no denying that Justin Wells had, for one short but magical moment, kissed her back.

S ix
     
    That night, Justin lay awake for hours, staring at the sky. Stars spilled across the heavens like polished diamonds, but he hardly noticed. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the memory of Sarah's lips on his, but it was nearly impossible to do. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see her, feel her. To make matters worse, her slightest movement and softest sigh played on his senses, keeping him on edge.
    With a heavy heart, he opened his eyes and resisted the urge to glance her way. Had she told him the truth? All that business about robbing a stage? Being tried for murder? It was hard to believe. He didn't want to believe it.
    Why had God brought this woman, this outlaw, into his life? Was it to test him? To punish him? Or to tempt him?
    Sarah , Sarah, Sarah. Her very name seemed to nestle into some secret part of him. She might be tough as old leather, but her lips had felt soft as fine silk. The unbidden memory added still more weight to his already troubled thoughts.
    He'd had his share of women in the past, but that was before he realized his calling and was ordained as a minister. Since that time eight years ago, he'd immersed himself fully into church work, giving little if any attention to his own physiÂcal needs.
    There were, of course, many single women in the church, some who would make fine wives. But none interested or even tempted him, and it was an effort not to look bored when they prattled on about the latest Parisian fashions or current opera season.
    Through the years he'd learned to cultivate a certain demeanor that effectively warded off overzealous mothers eager to marry off their daughters. He was never without his frock coat and collar, except when traveling, and carried a Bible with him at all times. However, he was convinced that none of his carefully crafted barriers would have worked with Sarah, whose unconventional and unpredictable ways had simply and effectively caught him off-guard.
    No more. From this moment on he would watch his every step. He would keep his distance and never again think about her pretty pink lips or those big blue eyes.
    To that end, he forced himself to concentrate on her legal problems. Though the crimes she described were serious, he was convinced of her innocence. He just couldn't believe that the woman who worked so hard to save Marshal Owen's life and risked capture to save a dog was