Outlaw’s Bride

Outlaw’s Bride by Joan Johnston Page B

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Authors: Joan Johnston
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responsible, your name will be cleared.”
    “And if we don’t? You’ll be stirring ashes that have been banked a long time.” There was liable to be a fire down there somewhere that would burn them both.
    Ethan voiced another reason it would be foolhardy, not to mention dangerous, to go digging up the past. “Trahern hasn’t stopped hounding me, Patch. He wants me dead. He won’t care if you get caught in the crossfire.”
    “But you do.” Patch took a step closer to Ethan. He did care. Probably more than he knew. She was sure of it when he folded her into his arms and held her tight. She would just give him a little hand clearing his name. Could she help it if, during the process, he fell deeply, hopelessly in love with her?
    “We can find out the truth, Ethan. The two of us, together.”
    “Patch, I—”
    “We’ll be a team, hunting down clues to the mystery. Meanwhile, I’ll be here to help take care of your mother and sister. By the way, I told them you wrote me in Montana and asked me to come help with the housekeeping. Leah suspects I wasn’t telling the truth. You won’t give me away, will you?”
    Ethan groaned.
    “I love you, Ethan.”
    His arms tightened around her. “All right, dammit,” he said in a guttural voice. “You can stay long enough for me to do some investigation. But if I don’t discover any new information about the rape, you’ll have to abide by my decision not to marry you and go home to Montana. Is that clear?”
    “Yes, Ethan,” Patch said meekly.
    “And meanwhile, you’re not to say anything to anybody about this crazy idea you have that I promised to marry you. Understand?”
    “Yes, Ethan. You forbid me to tell anyone why I’m really here in Oakville. Is that right?”
    Ethan
hmmed
his assent.
    “And I promise”—Patch crossed her heart—”that if you don’t find the real culprit, I’ll leave.”
    If Ethan could have seen Patch’s face, he would have put her on the next stage back to Montana. Fortunately for Patch, her face was safely, happily, snuggled against Ethan’s chest.
    “Ethan!” Leah shouted from the house. “Someone’s coming!”
    Leah’s warning cry set Ethan in motion. He set Patch aside and grabbed the doorknob. The kitchen door wouldn’t budge.
    “I don’t believe this!” The door was wedged tight in the frame. “Can you see who it is, Leah?” Ethan shouted through the kitchen window.
    “Why don’t you just walk around the house and see for yourself?” Patch asked.
    Ethan turned a scowling face toward Patch. “You might have noticed in town that the sight ofme tends to draw bullets. I’d just as soon know who’s out there before I show my face.”
    “I’ll go see who it is.”
    Before Ethan could stop her, Patch scooted around the side of the house through the weeds that had grown up in the yard and headed for the front porch.
    “Damn, damn, damn!” Ethan exploded. “That woman is going to be the death of me yet!”
    He slammed his palm against the door and it popped open. He shoved it wide and raced—long step, halting step, long step, halting step—for the front of the house.

 
    Patch told herself she wasn’t in any danger. Even if the two men riding toward her in the deepening shadows of sundown meant some harm to Ethan, they wouldn’t bother her. That made it easier to wait on the front porch with a smile on her face for the arrival of the intruders. The forced curve became more natural when she recognized one of the riders as the handsome young man who had come looking for Merielle Trahern in the mercantile. Her stomach rolled when she remembered he was also Jefferson Trahern’s foreman.
    “Hello, Mr. Meade,” she called out when the two men were within hailing distance. “What brings you here?”
    Frank tipped his hat. “Miz Kendrick. Came looking for Ethan.”
    “He’s not—”
    “We know he’s here,” the other man said.
    Patch’s attention was drawn to the man on Frank’s left. She considered

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