Charlie cocked his gun and Angelina flinched. She turned toward him, a small gasp escaping her lips at the sight of his face. She had thought that she knew this man-that inside him there was goodness just

waiting to be released with the right help. Yet now he crouched next to her with cold-blooded murder on his mind, his face as still, his eyes as emotionless as a snake preparing to strike.

"Rattler," Charlie muttered and leaned forward.

Angelina's mouth fell open at his echo of her thoughts. But she had no time to ponder the curiosity.

Charlie's finger tightened on the trigger. She dove forward, knocking him sideways and causing the gun to

discharge harmlessly into the sky.

A cry of pain from below made her scramble to her feet and peer over the edge of the hill. The Ranger lay on the ground, clutching his thigh. As she watched, he drew his own gun and shot the rattlesnake that had just finished sinking its fangs into his flesh.

She leapt to her feet and turned, prepared to run down the path and help the injured man. Charlie's iron grip on her upper arm spun her back toward him.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"You were going to kill him."

Charlie frowned. "How do you know I wasn't goin' to kill the snake?"

She hesitated. Could she have been wrong about the look of murder on Charlie's face? Had he really meant to murder a lawman or merely a snake?

She didn't have time to consider Charlie's true motives. She had to get to the Ranger before it was too late. Living in Mexico, she had learned how to care for snakebites, and time was of the essence with a poisonous injury.

"I have to help him. He'll die without help." "Fine. Then he'll be off our trail."

She gasped at the coldness of Charlie's voice and eyes. Maybe she had been right after all. Without

bothering to answer him, Angelina jerked her arm free of his grip. He let her go.

"If you want to leave, then leave," she shouted. "I'm not stopping you. But I won't stand by and let a man die." Realizing she sounded slightly hysterical, Angelina took a deep, calming breath before looking into Charlie's eyes. "I can't let him die," she said more quietly.

Charlie looked at her for several seconds, then glanced up at the sky and closed his eyes as though praying for patience. But Angelina knew better than to believe Charlie would pray for any reason. When he returned his gaze to her face, the odd coldness had retreated from his expression, and she breathed a sigh of relief. This was the man she knew. The other frightened her.

"All right," he said. "But as soon as you're done helpin', we leave him somewhere and move on.

Agreed?"

"You mean I have a choice?"

"No."

"That's what I thought." Angelina turned away. Charlie's hand on her arm stopped her once again.

"Let me go first," he said. "The Yankee needs to give up his gun before I'll let you anywhere near him."

She wanted to argue, but she could see the sense to his words. The man was, after all, hunting them.

With another nod, Angelina allowed Charlie to proceed her down the path.

The Ranger, Drew Winston as she remembered him telling her in Blue Creek, lay on the ground next to his horse. Propped up on his elbows, he eyed the injury with disgust. At their approach, he tilted his weight onto one arm and pointed his gun at them with the other.

"Drop it, Coltrain."

"Don't think so, Yank. You're the one who'd better do the droppin'. If you don't let the Sister here take a look at your leg, you'll be one dead lawman."

Winston's bright blue gaze switched to Angelina. "I found out when I went back to Blue Creek that you

don't know anything about whoring. Do you know more about nursing?"

Angelina let his offensive words slide over her without anger. She understood their cause. She had, to be

truthful, deceived the lawman in Blue Creek. "What else do nuns do, Mr. Winston, except teach and nurse and pray?"

"Not much," Charlie muttered beside her.

She shot him a quick, sideways glance of irritation, but his gaze remained focused on the Ranger.

"Are you gonna drop the gun, Winston, or am I gonna have to make ya? I won't let the Sister here

anywhere close if you're armed."

Winston looked as though he wanted to argue further. Then his face contorted with pain, and his leg

began to twitch as though it wanted to run, leaving the rest of the man's body behind. With a shrug and a groan, Winston threw the pistol toward Charlie.

Charlie walked closer and picked up the weapon. "Now the other one."

With some difficulty, the Ranger withdrew the second pistol from his gunbelt and held the weapon out to Charlie.

"Stay back," Charlie growled to Angelina. Then he cocked his gun and advanced on the wounded man.

By the time Charlie reached him, Winston had drawn inward upon himself as severe cramps wracked him, and Charlie was able to retrieve the pistol without mishap.

"All right, Sister," Charlie called. "Since you're so all fired interested in savin' him, get to it."

Angelina hurried to the wounded man's side and dropped to her knees. His usually sharp blue eyes, now glazed with pain, stared back at her. He tried to lift his head, but he was too weak.

"Lie back, Mr. Winston. I've seen this before. I know exactly what to do." She looked up at Charlie. "See if he has any whiskey in those saddlebags. And give me your knife."

Charlie pulled the evil-looking blade from his belt and handed the weapon to her hilt first, then went to do her bidding. Without wasting any more time or words, Angelina slit the Ranger's pant leg from ankle to midthigh. Fang marks stood out against the swelling located above his knee. When she touched the leg gently, Winston jerked involuntarily from the pain.

"Here, Sister."

Charlie handed her a bottle half filled with whiskey and she nodded her thanks. After dousing the wound and the knife, she handed the bottle back to Charlie.

"Make him drink it," she ordered.

"Now?"

"Now. Some say alcohol will dilute the poison. Either way, he may as well have something to occupy his time while I do this." She glanced at the Ranger again. He still stared at her warily through half-open eyes. "It doesn't look as though he'll be kind enough to pass out and leave me to my work."

"Not likely," he mumbled.

"This won't feel very good, but I have to do it." Angelina nodded at Charlie, and he sat down next to the Ranger and lifted the man's head. Winston obediently drank from the offered bottle, and Angelina turned her attention back to his leg.

Before the Ranger knew what she was about, Angelina cut into his leg, enlarging each fang mark minutely. Winston's leg twitched, but he did not pull away. Angelina didn't spare him a glance. Saving time was what mattered right now. She couldn't spare a moment to worry over his pain. Lowering her head, she placed her mouth over the wound. With all her might she sucked. Blood filled her mouth, and she immediately spat the fluid onto the ground at her side and returned her mouth to the wound.

"What the hell?" Charlie roared, starting up from his position as if to stop her.

Angelina spat another mouthful of blood onto the ground and glared at him. "Shut up and sit down," she ordered, then returned to her work.

She didn't look at him again until she was finished. When she did, Drew Winston slept the sleep of the highly intoxicated. Charlie sat next to the lawman, an empty whiskey bottle in one hand and his pistol in the other.

"Are you going to shoot me with that thing?" Angelina nodded at the pistol.

"Huh?" He looked down at his hand, surprise spreading over his face at the sight of the gun in his palm. "Oh, I forgot." He stood and reholstered the weapon, then turned his gaze upon her.

Angelina self-consciously wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. "Is there anything left in that?" she asked.

"This?" He held up the whiskey bottle. At her nod he handed it to her. "Maybe a swallow or two."

"Good enough." She took the burning liquid into her mouth, swirling it around and around to rid herself of the taste of blood. Then she spat the whiskey onto the already soaked earth at her feet.

"Where'd you learn to do that, Sister?"

Charlie's voice, soft yet rough, made her pause in the act of raising the bottle for one final sip. She shrugged and lowered her arm. "Where I come from, snakes are everywhere. I learned as a child what I needed to do. And I've had to do it on several occasions."

"Your father let you."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "My father made me. The first time I cried all the while I worked over one of our ranch hands. I was terrified I would swallow the poison and die. My father stood over me and forced me to finish what I'd started."

"Bastard," Charlie muttered.

Though Angelina had to agree with the sentiment, her lips pressed together at the profanity. Still, to be truthful.... "In this case, my father was right. I needed to know what to do, and the only way to make sure I did the job right and didn't hurt myself in the process was to stand over me while I learned. I don't agree with my father on most things, but in this case he was right to insist. What would have happened to Mr. Winston if I hadn't known what to do and been able to do it?"

Charlie didn't answer her. He merely took a step closer and reached up to cup her cheek in his rough palm. Startled, Angelina froze.

"You're somethin' else, Sister. What you are, I don't know. Half woman, half child, part nun, part nurse. Hell, you've got me so confused, I don't know which way is south anymore."

"I don't mean to confuse you," she whispered, afraid he would remove his hand from her cheek, afraid he would not. The only other person who had ever touched her so tenderly had been her mother, and this was not the same-not better or worse-just different. Angelina craved that difference. Despite herself, she rubbed her cheek against his hand.

For a second, Charlie's palm cradled her. She looked into his eyes and smiled. Tentatively she raised her own fingers and reached toward his face.

Suddenly, the warmth was gone as he jerked away with a muttered oath. She stood with her hand still up in the air where Charlie's face had been, watching in amazement as he stalked away from her. He stopped at the edge of the creek, staring out over the water. His shoulders were stiff with tension. Slowly Angelina lowered her hand back to her side.

"You've got to stop that, Angelina."

His voice echoed in the night stillness. Far away, a coyote howled, long and mournful, the sound perfectly matching the ache within Angelina at that moment.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me as though you could see into my soul. It's mighty black in there. You don't want to get inside my soul, Sister. You'd be lost-lost forever, just like me."

Chapter Seven.