Wildfire in His Arms Read Free Page A

her eyes off him. She figured Big Al must be wary of him, too, if he’d let him take a drink outside to the porch. Big Al never allowed that. Sheriff’s orders, no drinking allowed in the streets. Now Al rushed back inside his establishment before the man noticed the dust on the back of his polished boots.
    Luella didn’t like gunfighters, though Lord knew she’d bedded a lot of them. Gunfighters frightened her because they didn’t throw punches when they got mad; they drew guns instead. Max probably did, too, but Max was different. And what wasn’t to like about Max Dawson?
    â€œSee you next week, Luella!” Max shouted up at her now.
    â€œSure thing, honey,” Luella called back, and waved, but Max was already galloping out of town.
    She closed her window and went back to bed. She hoped the gunslinger hadn’t noticed her and wouldn’t be paying her a visit.

Chapter Three

    D EGAN WATCHED THE KID race out of town. He’d watched him exit the brothel, too. Anyone departing that quickly through a window usually meant someone else would soon appear with a gun in hand and start shooting, but that didn’t happen. Instead a pretty blonde in her undergarments had appeared at the window to say good-bye.
    The little scene was unusual enough that Degan took in more details than he normally would. Not that he wasn’t always aware of what was going on around him. He was, but he usually only focused on what he sensed could be dangerous. The long coat the kid was wearing over black pants and shirt wasn’t a typical rain slicker but an expensive garment made of soft doeskin. His tan, wide-brimmed hat was either new or well cared for because it hadn’t been dented yet. Light brown boots that were scuffed all to hell and a white bandanna revealed that the boy had no sense of style. He had dark eyes, short white-blond hair under the hat, and a baby face. Another boy so young that he hadn’t grown hair on his face yet, but was sporting a gun on his hip. Why did they court violence at such a young age?
    But this one appeared to have a love of life. Degan had seen it in the kid’s expression as he’d hopped onto his horse and heard it in the laughter that trailed after him as he raced away. A good night with a comely woman could do that, Degan ­supposed—or young love. And then one of those details he’d only vaguely noticed surfaced in his mind and he stepped back and stared at the wanted poster tacked to the post he’d been leaning against.
    He’d seen it earlier, just hadn’t paid attention to it. Whoever had drawn the picture must have known the outlaw because the likeness was uncanny. An outlaw visits a brothel across the street from his wanted poster that offers $1,000 for his capture? Degan shook his head. Boys were far too daring these days. But this one was none of his concern. His gun was for hire but he wasn’t about to do the sheriff’s job for him.
    Degan took his empty glass back into the saloon and stopped at the bar. The only other customer in the room had been sleeping with his head down on a table and still was. Degan wouldn’t even have stopped at the saloon if he hadn’t ridden all night to get to Helena and the saloon hadn’t been the first place he’d passed that was open at this hour. He deplored camping in the wilderness and only did it when he was too far between towns. He didn’t like traveling at night either, but he hadn’t been tired enough to stop last night, and the lure of a bed and a hot bath had kept him going.
    â€œI’ll take a bottle of your finest to go—and a rag for my boots.”
    The rag was quickly shoved across the bar as the barkeep’s face turned red. The bottle had to be searched for. When the man returned, he said hesitantly, “I should warn you, there’s a law here ’bout drinking in the streets.”
    â€œI wasn’t planning to.”