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fever and seen her aunt murdered in cold blood alongside a stagecoach. She knew only too well that life was fragile, the world was a dangerous place and that some partings were permanent.
    This one wouldn’t be, Holt promised himself as he rode out, Lizzie’s ribbon in his pocket.

CHAPTER 2
    San Antonio, Texas, August 25
    T HE WEDDING DRESS was a voluminous cloud of silk and tulle, billowing in Lorelei Fellows’s arms as she marched into the center of the square and dumped it in a heap next to the fountain.
    She did not look at the crowd, gathered on all sides, their silence as still and heavy as the hot, humid afternoon. With a flourish, she took a small metal box from the waistband of her skirt, extracted a match and struck it against the bottom of one high-button shoe.
    The acrid smell of sulphur wavered in the thick air, and the flame leaped to life. Lorelei stared at it for a moment, then dropped the match into the folds of the dress.
    It went up with a satisfying whoosh, and Lorelei stepped back, a fraction of a moment before her skirt would have caught fire.
    The crowd was silent, except for the man behind the barred window of the stockade overlooking the square. His grin flashed white in the gloom. He put his brown hands between the bars and applauded—once, twice, a third time.
    Bits of flaming lace rose from the pyre of Lorelei’s dreams and shriveled into wafting embers. Her throat caught, and she almost put a hand to her mouth.
    I will not cry, she vowed silently.
    She was about to walk away, counting on her pride to hold her up despite her buckling knees, when she heard the click of a horse’s hooves on the paving stones.
    Beside her, a tall man swung down from the saddle, covered in trail dust and sweating through his clothes, and proceeded to stomp out the conflagration with both feet. Lorelei stared at him, amazed at his interference. Once the fire was out, he had the effrontery to take hold of her arm.
    â€œAre you crazy?” he demanded, and his hazel eyes blazed like the flames he’d just squelched.
    The question touched a nerve, though she couldn’t have said why. Blood surged up her neck, and she tried to wrench free, but the stranger’s grasp only tightened. “Release me immediately,” she heard herself say.
    Instead, he held on, glaring at her. The anger in his eyes turned to puzzlement, then back to anger.
    â€œHolt?” called the man in the stockade, the one who’d clapped earlier. “Holt Cavanagh? Is that you?”
    A grin spread over Cavanagh’s beard-stubbled face, and he turned his head, though his grip on Lorelei’s arm was as tight as ever.
    â€œGabe?” he called back.
    â€œYou’d best let go of Judge Fellows’s daughter, Holt,” Gabe replied, still grinning like a jackal. For a man sentenced to hang in a little more than a month, he was certainly cheerful—not to mention bold. “She might just gnaw off your arm if you don’t.”
    Lorelei blushed again.
    Holt turned to look down into her face. He tried toassume a serious expression, but his mouth quirked at one corner. “A judge’s daughter,” he said. “My, my. That makes you an important personage.”
    â€œLet—me— go, ” Lorelei ordered.
    He waited a beat, then released her so abruptly that she nearly tripped over her hem and fell.
    â€œYou must be an outlaw,” she said, brushing ashes from her clothes and wondering why she didn’t just walk away, “if you’re on friendly terms with a horse thief and a killer.”
    â€œAnd you must be a fool,” Holt replied, in acid reciprocation, “if you’d set a fire in the middle of town and then stand there like Joan of Arc bound to the stake.”
    Gabe Navarro laughed, and then a cautious titter spread through the gathering of spectators.
    At last, the starch came back into Lorelei’s knees, and she was able to turn and walk