The Angel and the Outlaw Read Free Page A

her. Instead, she found herself staring into the face of a stranger.
    Startled, she drew back. “Who are you?”
    J.T. stared at the woman a moment, then lifted one hand to his throat. “Who are you?” he asked hoarsely.
    He glanced around, wondering where the bright light had gone, wondering if he had dreamed it all. Wondering if he was in hell, but then he took another look at the woman. No, this definitely wasn’t hell. Heaven, maybe, judging by the ebony-haired angel kneeling in front of him.
    “I asked you first,” Brandy retorted.
    “Most folks call me J.T.”
    “Yeah, right.” Brandy shook her head in exasperation. “This silly game’s gone far enough. Are you hurt?”
    “Not as hurt as I should to be,” he rasped with a wry grin. “I expected to wake up dead.”
    “You’re hardly that.” Brandy stood up and offered him her hand, noting the ugly red mark that circled his neck.
    J.T. looked up at her for a moment, then took her hand and let her help him to his feet. He staggered backward, reaching out to steady himself against the frame of the gallows. He felt a little dizzy and his throat felt like it was on fire, but other than that, he seemed unhurt, when, by all rights, he should be dead.
    Brandy studied the stranger while he gained his equilibrium. Dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt, black wool pants and expensive boots, he was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair and eyes so dark they were almost black. His jaw was square, his nose straight, his lips finely shaped and full. He looked to be in his early thirties.
    “Come on,” she said, thinking he was far too old to be playing such a potentially fatal joke. “You look like you could use something to drink.”
    J.T. shook his head. He couldn’t be seen in town. The people of Cedar Ridge thought he was dead, and he intended to keep it that way.
    He frowned at he stared at the woman. He couldn’t have her running to the sheriff. Unconsciously, he massaged his neck. Hanging was something he definitely didn’t want to try again.
    He needed to get out of town before anyone else saw him, needed time to think. He glanced up and down the street. A big black and white pinto stood hitched to the rail outside the doc’s office a few doors down.
    “Well, since you seem to be all right, I’ll just be going,” Brandy said.
    “I don’t think so.”
    Before she could protest, J.T. grabbed the hood and yanked it over the woman’s head, swung her up in his arms, and ran toward the horse. Dropping her facedown over the pinto’s withers, he took up the reins, swung up into the saddle, and headed out of town, one hand splayed across the woman’s back to hold her in place.
    “Put me down!” Brandy yelled. “Damn you, let me go!”
    J.T. swatted her across the rump, hard. “Shut up, woman, I don’t want to hurt you none, so don’t provoke me.”
    Brandy bit back the sharp retort that rose to her lips, frightened by the prospect of violence at the man’s hands.
    The jarring ride made her ribs ache, the thick black hood made breathing difficult, the touch of the man’s hand, firm upon her back to hold her in place, was disconcerting.
    Who was he? At first, she had thought it was Jordan Hailstone or one of the other teenage boys playing a trick on her, but this was a man, not a boy. A man with hard cold brown eyes. Who was he, she asked herself again. And where was he taking her?
    She strained her ears, trying to determine where they were. The horse’s hoof beats sounded muffled and that in itself was strange, because all the roads out of town were paved. If he was going east, she should be able to hear the sounds of Allen’s Old-Time Honky Tonk Bar. If they were headed north, she should be able to hear the sounds of the square dance being held in the rec hall of the high school. The main highway ran east; there was a gas station and a mini-mart on the south side of town.
    But all she heard was the sounds of the horse’s hoof beats and