No louder than a mumble-still the first word awoke Angelina. The firelight flickered, partially obscuring Charlie reclined against his saddle.

After his depressing observation on the state of his soul, Charlie had refused to speak any more on the subject. Instead, he'd insisted they drag the Ranger and all his belongings up the hill to make camp. Remaining by the stream was out of the question in case a passerby decided to water his horse during the night. There were, Charlie reminded her, the bounty hunters still to consider.

The mumble came again, this time louder, though not coherent, and Angelina sat up. Her patient began to thrash and moan violently.

"I'll take care of him." Charlie's voice drifted across the wavering flames. "You've had enough for one day."

"No, I'd better look at him. Though if he's got a fever, I'll need your help."

Charlie grunted, a sound Angelina took for grudging assent. She got up and walked the few feet to her patient. Bending, she touched his forehead.

Too hot.

"Claire?" Winston muttered. "Is that you?"

"No, I'm sorry, it's not. I'm Angelina Reyes." She brushed his half-blond, half-brown hair away from his face in a soothing gesture reminiscent of her mother's. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

"So hot," he rasped. "Want to go skinny-dippin' at the creek like we used to?"

Angelina stifled a smile. Could the illusive Claire be the Ranger's wife?

"Not for me, Mr. Winston, but a swim is definitely in order for you."

She looked up. Charlie had come closer and now stood just on the other side of the Ranger, his beautiful

features twisted into a dark frown.

"What?" she asked.

"He's not bein' respectful."

"As if you'd know respectful when you heard it. He's delirious. Help me get him undressed and into the

creek. The water will bring down the fever."

She began to unbutton Winston's shirt.

"No way, Sister."

Startled at his flat denial, Angelina lifted her gaze to Charlie's determined face. "What do you mean? I

need help. I can't get him to the stream. He's huge."

"I didn't say I wouldn't take him to the stream. But you're not undressin' him, Sister. You've done all you're gonna do with him for one night. Git out of the way. I'll do it."

She sighed and returned to her task. "I've done a lot of nursing, Charlie. Undressing a man isn't something I haven't done countless times before."

"You never had me around to do it for you. Now if you want my help, you'll git out of the way."

Angelina paused. The mutinous set of Charlie's mouth told her he meant what he said. She was only wasting time arguing with him. The Ranger needed to get into that cold water as quickly as possible.

"All right," she said and rose to her feet. "You win. But the only reason I'm agreeing is because this man

needs help right now."

One side of Charlie's mouth tilted up. "Don't worry, Angelina. I won't get used to your bein' agreeable. I know it's not natural for you."

It was Angelina's turn to scowl. Her expression only made Charlie give his coughlike imitation of a laugh.

She turned on her heel and returned to the fire.

"Let me know when you're ready to take him to the stream," she called.

"I'll take him. You just stay here. When I bring him back and get his clothes on, you can take over."

Angelina sighed. There was really nothing she could do for Winston at the stream. "Fine. Just make sure you keep him in there until he's cooled down."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of him."

Angelina frowned at the tone of Charlie's voice. Maybe she should go with them after all. She hated to

push Charlie too far in case he refused to carry the Ranger down to the stream. She could probably drag the man down the path, but by the time she got them there it would be too late to do any good.

When Charlie finished undressing Winston she heard him hoist the Ranger over his shoulder with a grunt

of effort. Angelina risked a glance in their direction as Charlie headed down the path, then as quickly averted her eyes from the expanse of naked flesh in Charlie's arms. She hadn't lied when she said she'd undressed men before. She just hadn't mentioned they'd been old men and children. Drew Winston did not qualify in either category.

The low rumble of a male voice reached her ears, and she turned her head toward the sound. Angelina

smiled. She could watch and make sure Charlie was doing as she asked from the top of the hill.

Quietly she made her way to the crest and peered over. The moon shone bright and silver upon the still water. Now that she was away from the crackle of the flames, she found she could hear the men's voices distinctly.

"Claire, I don't understand why." Winston's voice cracked with the fever-and something else."I'm not Claire, and I don't know. So just shut up and quit thrashin' around.""Why did you have to die?"

Angelina's heart stuttered at the pain in Winston's voice. Poor man. He must have loved her very much.

"Can't answer you there, Yank. Must have been her time to go."

Angelina's fists clenched. She very much wanted to smack Charlie in the nose for his callous words and tone. She opened her mouth to call down and berate him. Then the Ranger spoke again, and she fell silent.

"I'll get Coltrain for you, Claire. He won't get away with it."

Angelina leaned forward, the sharp stones on the ground cutting into her palms.

"Which Coltrain?" Charlie's voice held a deadly warning, but the Ranger was too far into his delirium to notice.

"I heard he's in Texas. I'll head down there. I'll find him. He won't be able to stay on the right side of the law forever. Then I'll be there to take care of him."

"You're after the wrong man, Yank. I don't kill women. At least not on purpose."

"The house burned. Everything I'd worked for, everything you worked to save for us. Gone. I searched the ruin. Would have been our house. Nothing but ash and black wood. But I found the locket I gave you for Christmas before I left for the war. You wore it around your neck. Never took it off. Never."

The Ranger's words brimmed over with the agony inside him-an agony that twisted Angelina's stomach as the sense of his mutterings sunk into her mind. Feeling slightly sick, Angelina sat back and crossed her legs in front of her, then put her face into her hands. She shook her head back and forth, trying to erase the image Winston's words created in her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she could not.

The man believed Charlie responsible for such a horrible crime. Charlie said he hadn't done it. Who should she believe?

The ruined tones of Charlie's voice broke the cool night stillness. "Who told you Charlie Coltrain killed your woman?"

Silence met Charlie's demand.

"Yank? Who told you?"

Still silence.

"Aw, hell. Fine time to go to sleep."

The swish and plop of the water as Charlie waded from the stream caused Angelina to raise her head from her hands. Quickly she backed away from the edge and returned to her position by the fire. Until she knew the truth of this matter, she would prefer not to let Charlie know she'd overheard his conversation.

Charlie had told her he'd killed, and she had waved away his confession with platitudes. It was easy to dismiss his life of crime when she had never been confronted with any of the victims. But now, hearing the pain in the Ranger's voice at the loss of his Claire, Angelina understood for the first time how others had been affected by Charlie's misdeeds. She had told him what he'd done before didn't matter, as long as he was willing to change. Perhaps she was mistaken.

She truly believed God had sent her to help Charlie; but could someone like her, whose exposure to the dark side of life had only been her bully of a father, help someone with secrets such as those contained in Charlie Coltrain's soul?

"He's sleepin' now."

Charlie's voice came from behind her, and Angelina started violently. Then she scolded herself for the racing beat of her heart. If Charlie Coltrain had wanted to hurt her, he had had plenty of opportunity before now. Repeating that fact over and over, she turned to face him.

He had deposited Winston on the bedroll and covered the sick man once more. Now he stood waiting her instructions. If she didn't want him to suspect what she'd overheard, she'd best pretend everything was the same as it had been only moments before-even though she knew such behavior was a lie.

Angelina smiled her most innocent smile and walked briskly toward the patient. "Thank you for helping him. It couldn't have been easy for you." She bent down and placed her palm to Winston's forehead. He was cool to the touch, and she sighed in relief.

"I didn't do it for him."

"No?" she asked absently as she checked the bandage on the patient's thigh and then gave a brisk nod. No redness, no infection-perhaps she had saved him after all.

"No, I did it for you."

She raised her gaze to his face. The fire flickered behind him, casting a red-orange halo around his golden hair. She could just make out his face, cast into shadow by the light. He was so beautiful he made her ache inside. Just like Lucifer-a resplendent angel fallen from grace, fit only to rule in hell for eternity. Would Charlie's fate be the same?

No!

Her mind shouted the answer so loudly she flinched and looked away from Charlie's prying gaze. No, she wouldn't let him suffer that way, not if she could help it. He was her mission, and she would do everything in her power to succeed.

She stood and moved away from the Ranger, intent on finding her bed and getting some rest before dawn. Charlie stepped in front of her.

"What were you thinkin' just now?" he asked.

She couldn't tell him. She wouldn't. Instead, she shrugged and tried to move past him.

He sidestepped, blocking her way once more. She looked up into his eyes again and froze. Though he didn't touch her, she was trapped just the same-trapped by the wealth of feelings that filled her whenever he came near. How could she wonder if he was a murderer one minute, then question how his lips would feel against her flesh the very next?

Sinful, the wind whispered.

Satan, the fire answered.

Heaven or hell, her mind taunted.

Unable to break the allure of Charlie's gaze, Angelina stood so close to him every breath he took