Charlie held up his hand and she stopped, her smile fading at the look on his face. "Let me get this straight. You say you see an angel?" She nodded. "In your dreams?" Another nod. "And he tells you what to do?"

"Yes."

Great, Charlie thought, not only am I saddled with a woman all the way to Mexico, but she has to be a nun-in-training who sees angels in her sleep.

"And this angel," he said "told you you're supposed to help me?"

"That's right. You're my mission."

"I'm your mission," Charlie muttered, the sick feeling at the back of his throat settling into his stomach. He did not like the sound of this.

"Yes, I'm very pleased. I've never been given a mission before. I had my calling, of course. But most of the Sisters have some sort of vision that tells them of their calling, unless their families forced them into the church."

Charlie's temper finally snapped. He'd had enough of her nonsense. He proceeded to let loose with the longest stream of words he'd spouted in years. "Listen, Sister. I'm no one's mission. I've got all I can do to keep us both alive and one step ahead of the law and the bounty hunters. I'm gonna get you to your family, and then I'm gonna disappear. God didn't send me to you. It was my own stupidity that wouldn't let me walk away from a woman in trouble. If you'd quit lookin' at me like I was some kind of hero, you might see what a low-down, no-good excuse for a man I really am. No decent woman would spend five minutes with me if she had a choice."

Angelina's face had whitened as his tirade lengthened. When he stopped for breath she whispered, "That's not true."

"You know it is. Deep down, below that sweet, serene I-love-everybody attitude, you know I'm worthless. My mother knew it. My sister knew it. Hell, I'm damn straight certain God knows it. You're the only one who hasn't got the message yet, Sister. So listen up, because I'm only gonna say it once." He walked over to where she stood looking up at him, wide-eyed and still. "It's not only impossible to save me; I'm not worth savin'."

Charlie spun on his heel and strode away from Angelina-strode away from her stricken face and her soft, pained gasp, and the small spark of hope she represented in a dark and dismal world.

The days were endless nightmares of heat and dust and a view of West Texas from the back of a horse. The nights were too short, filled with swirling remembrances of the horrid days and images too confusing to understand.

Since their last discussion, innumerable days before, Charlie had not spoken to Angelina beyond the necessities associated with their travels. She could tell he believed her half crazy. That knowledge wounded Angelina deeply. She had trusted him with one of the most important parts of herself, as he had trusted her with some of his secrets. But where she had tried to understand and support him, he had treated her like an escaped lunatic. She desperately needed guidance.

Angelina waited. But her angel did not return. She hoped, she prayed, and finally, she despaired. For the first time in her life, no guidance was forthcoming.

They crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico, and Angelina relaxed a bit, knowing they had escaped the jurisdiction of the surrounding law officials. If they were lucky, Drew Winston's injury had caused him to lose their trail, and he would give up on his quest. But in her heart, Angelina knew the wealth of hate she'd heard in the Ranger's voice would not allow him to give up so easily.

They made camp for the night in a valley shielded on three sides by rocky hills. A small stream ran nearby, providing fresh water for the horses and a welcome outlet for their own dwindling supply.

Dinner was once again a silent affair. As they had many times before during their days on the trail, they dined on dried mutton Charlie had taken from the Ranger's supplies. Whenever possible, Charlie shot a rabbit, and he cooked the carcass over the open fire. Still, after so many days of the same fare, Angelina found herself imagining the delicacies that would greet her once she reached home-fresh bread, fresh fruit, cool lemonade and any kind of meat, as long as it wasn't dried, boiled or killed only moments before eating.

Charlie got up, disturbing Angelina's reverie, and went to check on the horses one final time for the evening. Upon returning, he sat down on his bedroll and proceeded to stare into the flames and ignore her as he did every night.

Angelina considered trying to start a conversation, but the several attempts she'd already made on previous evenings had been met with sullen, if not outright rude, responses. The closeness she'd shared with Charlie was a thing of the past, and she was at a loss for how to reclaim it. For some reason her revelation of her mission had made him angry and cold. Since she couldn't take back her words, what was she to do? How was she to help him if he wouldn't let her?

Those questions filled her mind as she lay down on her own bedroll, keeping her eyes fixed on Charlie's beautiful profile until her lids grew heavy and sleep overcame her.

When she opened her eyes, dawn hinted on the horizon. Charlie no longer sat on the opposite side of the fire. Traveling with him, she'd learned he had a habit of walking around the camp at different times during the night, and Angelina did not worry about his absence. Instead, she got up, stretching the stiffness from her muscles. After looking through her meager supply of personal items, she gathered a small sliver of soap and a hairbrush Luanne had given her and headed for the stream, concealed from their camp by several shoulder-high rock formations.

Coming around one of those rocks, Angelina immediately froze at the sight before her. Without conscious thought she retreated several steps until she was concealed behind the rocks. Then, though she knew she should have returned to camp and forgotten what she'd seen, she peered around the edge one more time.

Charlie lay in the shallow stream; his long golden hair streamed free upon the water. He floated on his back, his face turned up to the encroaching sun. The newborn light drifted across his chest, casting shadows the shade of a ripe peach onto his bronzed flesh.

Angelina caught her breath, transfixed. She had never seen anything so beautiful. The allure of the forbidden drew her, and she found she could not stop watching him though her conscience shouted warnings. She blew out the breath she had been holding. Why was she suddenly so hot when the sun had not yet risen and a chill still pervaded the land?

She had often watched her brothers swimming. But her brothers had been boys, were boys still, she now understood. Charlie was a man. A man in all his glory-strong, masculine, graceful-and she was far too aware of him as just that-a man.

Suddenly Charlie stood, slicking his wet hair back from his face with his hands and starting toward the bank of the creek. Angelina's eyes widened as more and more of Charlie Coltrain was revealed to her eyes. If she wasn't mistaken, he was naked beneath the water. She might have watched her brothers swim, but they had never done so without some type of clothing covering their privates. Curiosity warred with conscience until embarrassment took over. Angelina averted her eyes just as Charlie reached the shallow water.

Now that he was done bathing, he would soon return to the camp. Angelina prepared to back away from her hiding place as quietly as she had come. It wouldn't do for Charlie to know she had watched him. He was angry enough at her already. Though she wondered if he would really mind if he learned what she'd been up to. She wasn't sure. When it came to worldly things, she didn't understand anything at all.

Before leaving, Angelina couldn't resist taking a final glance through the concealing brush. Charlie faced away from her as he buttoned his Levi's. Angelina did not have time to be thankful he was sufficiently clothed. Her gaze was riveted to the flesh of his back. Where Charlie's chest had been smooth, and bronzed and perfect, his back was a mass of crisscrossing scars. Puckered and white, they marred the rippling muscles of his back and disappeared below the waist of his Levi's.

Angelina spun away and ran back to camp. She fell onto her bedroll, her fist stuffed into her mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to erupt from her throat.

She had nursed men and women, young and old alike, at her father's ranch and during her time at the convent. She had seen countless injuries and she had treated them all. But the sight of the scars on Charlie's back caused a burning pain to flare in her stomach that threatened to choke her. She wanted to go to him and run her fingers over the scars; she wanted to soothe away the long-ago pain and murmur to him that she would make everything better. But such words would only have been a lie. Whatever had happened to Charlie to cause such scars could not be made better-not now, not ever. He had told her a few things about his past, but obviously not everything. She had no idea of the depth of his pain, and if she had, she was incapable of dealing with such atrocities. She had been so smug, so proud to have been given a mission by God. But never once had she considered the cost of failure until now. Charlie's life, his soul, hung in the balance.

The magnitude of her responsibility sent a shaft of terror through her to rival the anguish coursing through her at the remembrance of Charlie's injuries. Angelina yanked her rosary from the pocket of her dress, got onto her knees and prayed a desperate prayer to God.

"Santo Dios, send me strength. Send me wisdom. Show me the way to help him. I am not worthy of this mission you have given me. I know nothing about a man like him, about such secrets, such private terrors. How can I save him? What will become of him if I fail? Santo Dios, help me. Por favor, Dios, I must have your help."

The slight shuffle of a boot against dirt behind her had Angelina crossing herself hurriedly and replacing her rosary in the pocket of her dress. She would start this day by ending the silence between them. No matter what it took, she would make Charlie come out from behind his angry mask and talk to her again. Forcing a smile onto her face, she stood and turned to meet him.

Her face drained of color, and she faltered sideways a step.

Two men led their horses into camp. Both men and animals were dusty from the trail. They had obviously traveled all night, on the hunt for someone or something. Weariness showed on their faces, but watchfulness shone from their eyes. One was tall, thin but wiry, with an air of wickedness so strong Angelina had to swallow hard against her fear. The second was shorter, heavier, but he held himself as though he would be ready for anything whenever it came. Angelina disliked them both on sight.

"Ma'am," the tallest man greeted her. "Could we impose upon you for some coffee?"

The accent's American, Angelina thought. Do they know Charlie's here? Or do they merely want coffee as they say?

"Please sit down," she said, her smile stiff upon brittle lips. "I'll get you a cup."

Please, God, don't let Charlie come back now.

Angelina risked a quick glance around the perimeter of the campsite as she poured the coffee. No sign of him yet. She could only hope he'd heard the visitors and planned to stay out of sight until she got rid of them.

After serving the two men, Angelina retreated to the opposite side of the fire. "What brings you gentlemen to this side of the border?"

The two glanced at each other quickly; then the tallest man shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. "We're looking for a man. He's wanted for murder in the states."

"Really? How terrible. And you think he's come this way?"

"Yes, ma'am. We've been tailing him for a few weeks now. You haven't come across a big yellow-haired

fellow on a white horse?"

Angelina had to grit her teeth to keep from glancing over the men's heads to where Gabe grazed, partially obscured by her horse. How was she going to talk her way out of this one?

"No, I haven't seen anyone like that. I can't say I'm sorry either since you say he's wanted for murder."

"Among other things. But murder's what the dead-or-alive bounty's for."

The taller of the two seemed to be doing all the talking, though the shorter man nodded his agreement

every so often. The talkative one looked away from Angelina to glance around the camp. His gaze took note of the two bedrolls and two saddles. Then, very slowly, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder. He stared for a long time at the two horses while his companion drank coffee, and Angelina felt herself sweat. When he turned back toward her, his gaze went to her face. Taking another slow sip of coffee, he stared directly into Angelina's eyes. She wanted to scream for Charlie to run, to hide, to get the hell away and never come back. These men were dangerous. They meant to take Charlie back. And they meant to take him dead.

"Where's your man?" The tall one continued to stare at her.

"M-my man?"

"Uh-huh."

"What man?"

"The one who sleeps on this bedroll and rides on that saddle. The one who, unless I miss my guess, rides

that big white horse over there."

"N-no. No man. Just the mother superior. She's a-a big woman. She needs a big horse."

The man choked on his coffee. "Mother superior? You're a nun? Wearing that dress?" He indicated her

brown garment with a grimace.

"I'm a postulate. My habit was-it was ruined."

"And you want me to believe you're out here alone with only another woman?"

"It's the truth." Angelina bit her tongue at the lie. No sign of Charlie yet. If she could only make them

believe her.

"Well, where's the other one then."

"She-she-" Angelina glanced at the creek. "She's bathing. Yes, that's right. She went to bathe, and

then we were going on to our convent." She returned her gaze to the bounty hunter. One glance told her

he wasn't buying her story.

"Well, I'm sure the mother superior won't mind if we drop in to say hello." He got to his feet. His companion followed.

"No!" Angelina ran forward. "She might be unclothed. I-I'll go get her."

The man hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. "All right. But hurry up." He unholstered his pistol. "And don't try anything funny. You won't get far without them horses, and we'll be waiting right here for you both."

Angelina didn't wait around for him to change his mind. She ran toward the creek, crashing through the brush and nearly stumbling down the small bank and into the water. Regaining her balance, she frantically searched the area for some sign of Charlie.

The creek was deserted.

She couldn't believe it. Though she'd been praying Charlie would get away, she couldn't believe he'd actually left her alone with those two men. But it looked as though he had.

Now what? How was she going to explain the disappearance of the mythical mother superior? Should she look for somewhere to hide until the bounty hunters left?

Angelina glanced around again, narrowing her eyes as she searched for a hiding place. No luck. The area was as barren as most of Texas.

"Hey, lady?" The shout made Angelina jump and whirl around. "We don't have all day. Bring her on out or we'll be coming to get her."

"She's getting dressed," Angelina called back, stalling for time.

Before the words were out of her mouth she heard the two men stomping toward her. Panic flooded Angelina's chest. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. And her golden savior was nowhere to be found.

The shorter of the two men burst through the brush first, grabbing her arm in a painful clasp and yanking her toward him. He spoke to her for the first time, putting his face close to hers and grating out his question. "Where is he?"

"Who? I don't know who you're talking about."

He shook her then, so hard her teeth rattled together and her eyes felt as though they were going to fly from her head. "Coltrain. We know you're with him. Where is he?"

The taller man came into Angelina's line of vision. He shook his head sadly. "'Fraid when he gets riled I can't calm him down. Just tell him what he wants to know and we'll leave you go. We don't want to hurt you, lady. We will if we have to, but we don't want to."

"Speak for yourself," the man holding Angelina retorted. "She's Coltrain's woman. Seems to me we should get a taste of what he's been having before we go."

"I don't know who you're talking about." Angelina heard the desperate plea in her voice and swallowed hard against the terror. She had played this scene before. This time she had no doubt she would come out the loser. "Truly, I don't know. I lied because I didn't want you to know I was traveling alone. My father died last week and I buried him on the trail. I'm going home."

The man shook her again-only once-but this time so hard her neck snapped back and the sun exploded into stars before her eyes. "We don't believe you, lady. Tell us the truth or else."

The dull sound of something hard meeting flesh and bone followed by a grunt penetrated Angelina's dazed senses. Then she heard the click of a gun being cocked. She blinked to clear her head and focused on the man in front of her.

A gun was pointed at his temple. The surprised look on the bounty hunter's face caused a hysterical bubble of mirth to slide up Angelina's throat. The sound that erupted from her mouth was more akin to a sob.

"Let the lady loose," Charlie rasped. "Let her go nice and easy, or I'll blow your brains out the other side of your head."

Immediately Angelina was free, and she stumbled away from the bounty hunter. The taller man lay on the ground at Charlie's feet, unconscious.