The Reluctant Outlaw. Karen Kirst
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squelched the urge to squirm beneath the outlaw’s lewd stare. She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking.
“Give me time.” He looked over at the young man. “I’ll come up with something. For now, nature calls. Make sure she doesn’t escape. Or else.”
Art gulped. He watched Fitzgerald disappear into the woods. Then he approached with eager strides.
“You have to go now!” He urged her in Lucky’s direction.
Staring up at his boyish face, years away from manhood, Juliana felt like weeping. Here was her chance at escape, and she couldn’t take it.
She placed a restraining hand on his arm. “I can’t,” she whispered. “Who knows what he’ll do to you?”
Art shook his head, his fine blond hair sliding into his eyes. “Don’t you worry about me. Go back to Harrison. He’ll help you—I just know it.”
Evan’s handsome face swam before her eyes, and she wished with all her being that she’d trusted him.
“I’m not so sure about that,” she choked out. “In any case, I can’t leave on your watch.”
Straightening to his full height, Art gave her a stubborn glare. “And I say you can. And you will.”
Unaccustomed to seeing the awkward teen so sure of himself, Juliana’s jaw dropped. He was maturing before her very eyes. Too bad it was a wasted effort. She could not in good conscience leave him to the mercy of Fitzgerald’s wrath.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Art. But I just can’t do it.”
“Do you know what Harrison will do when he finds out Fitz has you?” he demanded. “I’d almost rather face Fitz. Please. Go.”
A loud whistle threaded through the trees, and they jumped apart as Fitz strolled back into the clearing. He looked from one to the other.
“I’m starved. Let’s eat.”
Evan hated to admit he’d been outsmarted by a female. He’d gone over the morning’s events a couple of times, drawing the conclusion that he’d gone soft. Give her some privacy, he’d told himself. Be a gentleman!
The kicker was he’d left his horse in the care of a stranger. When was that ever a smart thing to do? He had let his guard down, and now he was minus one first-rate horse. It was a costly mistake in more ways than one.
Where was she?
He’d seen horse droppings and broken shrubs, even spotted some fresh tracks in the soft earth. He was confident he was on their trail, so why hadn’t he found them yet?
He’d been walking for hours. What he needed was a cup of coffee to perk him up. With the little sleep he had to go on, he was dragging. His feet hurt. There was a permanent dent in his shoulder from the saddlebag strap. He had every right to be irate. Somehow … he wasn’t. Not at her. If anything, he blamed himself for getting her into this situation in the first place.
If only she had waited a little longer to do her shopping yesterday.
If only he hadn’t been too ill to take his brother to Knoxville ten months ago.
There were too many twists and turns in life that could lead a man down the wrong path.
Especially when the man was doing the leading and not God.
Evan stopped walking, one hand on his hip and the other hanging on to the strap. Where had that thought come from? He’d been running from the Lord for a while now—since James’s death. Evan’s faith had shattered the moment he heard the news. Guilt was his constant companion these days, not the Lord.
Tilting his head back, he watched tiny robins hop from branch to branch, singing merrily to each other. Squirrels darted up the broad, grooved tree trunks, searching for acorns. Buttercups and dandelions dotted the forest floor.
God’s touch was evident in every insect, every petal, every leaf.
Oh, Father, I miss You so much sometimes it hurts.
Evan shook his head, wondering how much longer he could take living like this.
He scanned the forest, noting that the trees were beginning to thin and that it appeared brighter in the distance. He was headed for a clearing. Lifting his hat, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, too lazy at this point to dig in his pocket for a hanky.
Where was she?
He took a long swallow from his canteen, screwed the lid back on, and started walking again.
Ignoring Art’s sidelong glances, Juliana stared into the fire. What now?
“Sit down.” Fitz motioned with his half-empty whiskey bottle.
Her appetite had fled at the sight of him. Now bile rose up in her throat at the thought of having to share a meal with the outlaw.
When she hesitated, he leaned over and seized her upper arm, forcing her to sit down hard. Ducking her head, Juliana swallowed an anguished groan. Surely any sign of weakness would only stir his anger.
Art was silent. Still, she sensed his frustration as he plopped down beside her.
Fitz sat opposite her. With his bare fingers, he snatched the meat from the still-sizzling skillet, tore off a big hunk and dropped it on a flat green leaf. “Enjoy it.” He leered viciously. “Might be your last.”
Juliana ignored him. She pulled off tiny bits and somehow managed to swallow without choking. Nauseous from the rush of adrenaline, her stomach protested but she managed to keep it down.
Lord Jesus, please help me think of a way out of this mess. Give me wisdom and courage. I need You desperately.
“Did you leave Harrison alive or dead?” Fitz grunted, wiping his sleeve across his greasy mouth.
She lifted her eyes to meet his and was shocked by the coldness and hatred there. This was a person with absolutely no morals, a person who wouldn’t think twice about hurting or even killing another human being.
How foolish she’d been to leave Evan Harrison’s protection! He was an outlaw, yes, but he hadn’t harmed her. He had even promised to escort her home!
With Lenny Fitzgerald calling the shots, her life could be over in the blink of an eye.
“Last I saw him, he was alive and well,” she said.
“How did you manage to steal his horse?”
“He let his guard down.”
“We won’t do that, will we, Art?” Fitzgerald shot Art a warning glare.
Juliana swallowed hard. This conversation was going nowhere fast. Her gaze darted around, looking for a weapon of some kind. If she could delay him just long enough for her to get a head start, she was sure Lucky could outrun his mount. Besides, the man was half-drunk. He’d be slower than normal.
Her gaze landed on the cast-iron skillet resting above the flames. Melted fatback popped and hissed. An idea seized her, and she acted on it before she could change her mind.
Leaning forward, she reached out a hand. “Mind if I help myself to some more meat?”
He eyed her a moment, then shrugged his beefy shoulders.
Inhaling deeply, she grabbed the handle and slung the skillet upwards, the burning hot liquid spilling out to splatter across his face and neck. He yelped in pain, his hands clawing at his face.
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