RenegadeHeart Read Free

bleeding at his feet. Perhaps, if the woman had been white, they would
have rewarded him for killing the man who had been trying to beat her to death
with an axe handle.
    But the woman had been an Apache squaw, the white man had
been her husband, and Tyree had been sentenced to ninety-nine years in the Yuma
Pen.

Chapter One
     
    Rachel Halloran smiled warmly at the young man sitting
beside her on the front porch swing.
    “I’ll miss you, Clint,” she said, her voice soft as honey.
“You will be careful, won’t you?”
    Clint Wesley’s grin was as bright as the six-pointed star
pinned to his vest.
    “Caution’s my middle name, Rachel. You know that.”
    Rachel laughed softly. Clint was cautious. He never
made a move that hadn’t been carefully thought out in advance. She knew he
loved her, wanted to marry her, yet his courtship had been slow and
predictable. He had spoken to her several times in church—only after they had
been formally introduced by a mutual friend, of course. After that, he had
sought her out at socials and picnics. A few months later, he had asked her
father if he might come to call. Now he came to see her every Saturday night
and more often than not, Rachel invited him to Sunday dinner as well. Their
romance was very circumspect. After they had dated for a month and a half,
Clint found the courage to hold her hand. A few months later, he summoned the
nerve to put his arm around her shoulders when they sat together on the porch
swing. Just recently, he had found the courage to kiss her. He had asked her
permission first, of course. Somehow, that had irritated her, though she was
careful not to let it show. She supposed she loved Clint and would likely marry
him one day in the future, but sometimes she wished he was more exciting, more
spontaneous. If he wanted to kiss her, why didn’t he just sweep her into his
arms and kiss her?
    Rachel sighed softly as Clint’s arm went around her
shoulders. He was a nice young man and she was terribly fond of him. People
just naturally liked Clint. He was tall and handsome, with sandy blond hair and
mild blue eyes. He didn’t look tough enough to be a lawman and yet he had
managed to keep the peace in Yellow Creek for over two years. Of course, few
strangers ever came to town, and the local folk rarely violated the town laws,
except for Gus Bradshaw, who got roaring drunk every Saturday night. Rachel
wondered sometimes how Clint would react if a real bad man ever rode into town.
    Clint gave Rachel’s shoulders a squeeze. Then, with an
audible sigh, he stood up, reaching for his hat.
    “Well, I’d best be going,” he said reluctantly. “I’ve got to
get an early start in the morning.”
    Rachel stood up, lifting her face for his kiss. “Take care
of yourself,” she murmured. “I’ll miss you.”
    Wesley nodded. “I’ll see you as soon as I get back.”
    “I’ll be waiting.”
    Wesley nodded again, wondering if he dared kiss her again.
Instead, he gave her a last, quick hug, then went down the stairs to where his
horse was hitched to the rail. He swung agilely into the saddle, tipped his hat
to Rachel, and rode out of the yard.
    Rachel smiled as she watched Clint ride away. He would make
her a good husband, she mused as she went up to bed. If he ever got the nerve
to propose! He had wanted to kiss her again; she had seen it in his eyes. Why
hadn’t he done it?
    Climbing into bed, she drew the covers to her chin, wishing
that Clint Wesley would stop worrying about propriety and sweep her off her
feet. She fell asleep thinking of Clint, dreaming of all the towheaded children
they would someday have.
     
    Saturday morning dawned bright and clear and warm. Rachel’s
first thought was of Clint, she hoped he’d gotten off to an early start and
would return safely home. Transporting a prisoner from Yellow Creek to the
territorial prison at Yuma was always a dangerous assignment. You never knew
when a prisoner’s friends or relatives would take it