"I don't have any."

"You don't have a needle and thread," she repeated incredulously. "How can you travel without them?

What if you tear your clothes?"

"Well, I've never been good at mending. So I usually have a friend take care of such things for me."

Her brow creased. "A friend? I don't understand why a friend would do your sewing for you."

Charlie almost smiled at her innocence. "Not just any friend. My lady friends seem to enjoy doin' that

sort of thing for me."

"Oh." She ducked her head and took a quick sip of coffee. Charlie was sure a blush graced her cheeks.

"I see. Well, that is a problem then."

"I have an extra shirt, and you should probably put on a pair of Levi's as long as you're changin' clothes.

You'll be able to ride easier. They'll be too big, but I can rig somethin' up till we get to the next town and

buy you somethin' to wear. That should be tomorrow if I figure right."

Angelina sipped her coffee and stared into the flames. He could see her struggling to make a decision.

Finally her lips tightened with resolve. "I'm sure the Sisters would consider me scandalous to wear men's clothing, but I don't see any choice. At least until we reach a town and remedy the situation. Besides, I've been told a nun needs to be pragmatic. So I'll accept your offer, Charlie, and thank you for it."

Charlie nodded shortly and got to his feet. Tossing the remains of his coffee into the fire, he went to his pack. He returned to the fire a few moments later and handed her the clothing along with a piece of rope.

"To hold up the pants," he said in response to her puzzled look. He nodded to the horses, who grazed nearby. "You can change in peace behind them if you want."

Her grateful smile knotted his stomach. What was it about this woman that made him want to grind his teeth in frustration? Perhaps her innocence and trust, which contrasted so sharply with his own guilty soul and suspicious nature. She got under his skin and stuck there like a burr beneath a saddle.

He turned away and strode to the other side of the fire. Throwing himself down on the ground, he stared into the flames. He'd been without a woman just too damn long. Charlie looked up. Angelina stood outlined in the flickering light for several moments. He was half afraid she'd join him and ask what was wrong. Instead, she surprised him with another question.

"Your voice," she said softly. He tensed, already knowing the question that would follow. "What happened?"

Charlie sighed and rubbed his throat, torn between telling the truth and risking the return of nightmares he had long tried to bury or coolly informing her that his voice was none of her business. The latter worked with most curiosity seekers, but he didn't think Angelina had asked for curiosity's sake.

"Took a rifle butt in the throat during the war," he said, struggling against the wash of hate that always engulfed him when he remembered the long-ago agony. "Damn Yankee must have broke somethin' inside. I've talked like this ever since."

Angelina didn't prattle the usual response that he was lucky to be alive with the use of all his limbs. Instead, she stared at him through the flickering flames for a long moment, then closed her eyes. Her face became calm and serene.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth in realization. She was praying for him.

Too late, he thought. Poor kid, you're too late to save this man's soul.

Finally she opened her eyes and smiled sweetly. Charlie's heart turned over at the innocence and trust on her face. Then she turned away and disappeared into the darkness.

Charlie looked up at the stars and let out a long, strained breath.

He was too old for this.

The sun shimmered directly above, dancing on Angelina's head with the ferocity of a mountain lion. Charlie didn't possess an extra hat. He had gallantly offered his, but when she had put the hat on her head it had fallen down over her eyes. As a result, she was forced to wear her veil. Designed for deference in chapel, the material provided little protection against the sun.

They traveled all morning in near silence, Charlie answering her every attempt at conversation with a growl. His voice being what it was, the guttural rumbles sounded exceptionally fierce, and she eventually lapsed into confused silence.

The only men she had any experience with were family members or priests. Those relationships had not equipped her to handle a man like Charlie Coltrain. Though he had been nothing but kind to her, his size, his voice, his outright virility frightened her. But after spending 20 years with six older brothers and a bully for a father, she would not allow fear to get the better of her. Instead, she masked her emotions with the calm piety she had learned at her mother's knee. Turning to God in times of strife had never failed her, and she had no doubt she could continue to rely on Him in all things.

Angelina glanced over at Charlie. He was staring at a nearby outcropping of rock with intense interest. Squinting against the sun's glare, she studied the rock formation. Seeing nothing, she turned back to Charlie with a question on her tongue.

Without warning, he suddenly launched himself from his horse. He knocked her to the ground and covered her body with his own. Seconds later, a gunshot rang out, and a bullet ploughed into the dirt near their heads.

Charlie reached up and grabbed the trailing reins of her horse, his mount having continued on down the trail after Charlie had jumped from his back. He yanked on the reins, and to Angelina's amazement, the animal obediently lay down on the ground in front of them. She thanked God they had brought one of the outlaw's horses, which obviously knew how to behave in a gunfight.

"Stay here, behind the horse," Charlie hissed. "Keep your head down."

Without waiting for her answer, he rolled away, over and over through the dirt, firing his gun in quick succession at the outcropping of rock. He was totally exposed to whoever had shot at them. It was only a matter of time and bullets before he was hit.

Charlie stopped rolling and lay still. Had he been shot? Angelina's throat ached with tension, and she stared at him, her gaze frantically searching for some movement, some sign of life. Other than the first shot, she hadn't heard any further gunshots fired from behind the rock. But maybe she had missed the sound in the explosion of bullets from Charlie's gun.

"Charlie?" she called and her voice shook.

No answer.

All her attention focused on his still form. She had to get to him. To make sure he was all right. To help him if he wasn't.

Without a care for her own safety, she jumped up and ran across the hard ground that separated them. He lay so still, her heart thumped hard and painfully at the wall of her chest. Her breath rasped loudly in the alarming silence.

Bending down, she reached out and clasped his shoulder. Not a second later, her back slammed into the dirt. Charlie's large, hard hands pinned her wrists to the ground next to her head, and his face hovered only inches from hers.

Angelina flinched at the anger in his black eyes. She had forgotten that she was never to touch him suddenly. Her mistake.

"Didn't I tell you to stay put?" he asked, his broken voice absurdly loud and threatening in the glittering afternoon sunlight.

"You didn't answer when I called you. I thought you were hurt." She took a deep breath. "Praise God, you're not."

"I'm fine. If he was alive and I'd answered you, he would have shot me. I didn't think you'd come runnin' over here." He frowned at her, an expression she was coming to dread, and squeezed her wrists a bit for emphasis. Angelina winced. Charlie glanced toward the rocks. "I must have hit him right away, or we'd both be full of holes lying out here like lame buffalo."

Angelina waited, but he made no move to get up. His weight pressed on her, heavy though not altogether unpleasant. Her brothers had often pinned her to the ground when she'd been a child, then spit in her face. She'd detested that. They had known it and, as a result, had pinned her down as often as they could. Somehow, the weight of Charlie's body did not make her want to buck and kick and scream for freedom as she had all those years ago in Mexico. She felt something else entirely-a tugging warmth deep inside, though her skin tingled with a sheen of cool sweat. Maybe she was coming down with fever herself?

Angelina looked at Charlie and raised her eyebrows, tugging a bit at her wrists. He stared at her. His gaze wandered over her face and settled on her lips. Suddenly her mouth seemed too dry. She licked her lips, then flinched at his harsh intake of breath.

What was the matter with him? Had he taken a knock on the head when he'd rolled through the dirt?

She shifted beneath his weight. Startled at the sound of his groan, she exclaimed, "Charlie, are you hurt?"

Without replying he suddenly rolled to the side and got up, yanking her to her feet. When he let go, her legs were unsteady, and she reached out a hand for support. But Charlie had already turned away and strode toward the outcropping of rock. Angelina stumbled a bit, then recovered her balance.

"Wait," she cried and ran after him.

He paused, but did not turn toward her. When she caught up to him he had just reloaded his gun, his obvious ease with the weapon a welcome sight.

Together they approached the rocks. He motioned for her to remain behind him, then crept around the corner. Almost immediately he straightened up, and the taut readiness eased from his body. Looking over his shoulder, he nodded for her to join him.

A man lay on the ground, a gun still clutched in his fingers. His lifeless eyes stared up at the intense blue sky.

"Do you know him?" Angelina whispered.

Charlie uncocked his gun and returned it to his holster. "Can't say that I do from this angle. Doesn't mean he didn't know me."

"What do you mean by that?"

Charlie ignored her, walking over to calmly rifle through the dead man's pockets.

"Nothin'," Charlie said in irritation.

"What are you looking for?"

"Somethin' that might tell me why he shot at us."

"Robbery?" Angelina suggested.

"Doubt it. These days thieves rob trains and stages. Banks if they're real brave. More money for their trouble. Don't pay to wait on deserted trails, hopin' someone might come by. When someone does, he's most likely as poor as the thief." Charlie stared at the dead man again, then shook his head in disgust.

"No, he was after me. Just wish I knew why."

A sudden thought came to Angelina, and she stared at him long and hard before voicing it. "Are you wanted, Charlie?" she asked uneasily.

His gaze swung back to her. She wanted to back away from the cold emptiness in his black eyes. Her mind ran rampant with suspicions. What did she know about him? He had saved her life, but that was no assurance he didn't have his own designs on her. Especially since she had told him her family had enough money to pay him for helping her. He could easily kidnap her and hold her for ransom. If he did, by the time she got to the Sisters in Corpus Christi, they might all be dead of the fever.

Angelina stared into Charlie's eyes without flinching. She would not let that happen-not if she could help it. She wanted an answer and she would have one.

"Well," she said, "are you wanted?"

Charlie's mouth twitched, and Angelina's eyes widened in amazement as he began to laugh. The noise emanating from his mouth sounded more like coughing because of his damaged throat, but the expression on his face reflected his amusement.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, her fear of him forgotten in a sudden flash of anger.

"You asked me"-he paused to catch his breath, chuckling a few more times as though he couldn't helphimself-"you asked me if I was wanted.""I did. And I'd like an answer. I don't see anything funny about it.""Well, Sister, I've been wanted and I've been wanted. If you're talkin' about women that's one thing. If you're talkin' about the law then that's another."

"You know very well I'm not asking about women," Angelina said, her face flaming.

Seeing her discomfort, Charlie looked as though he might start laughing again. Her angry scowl appeared

to give him pause. He swallowed deeply and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I've been wanted by the law. But not lately. I haven't done nothin' in the past five years that

would make a stranger take a shot at me. Hell, I've been hidin' out in San Antonio so long I figured most lawmen up and forgot I was alive."

Angelina's face, which had only a moment before been flooded with heat, suddenly felt as drawn and

cold as a winter sky. "What have you done?" she asked in horror.

"I told you," Charlie repeated, his voice tight with irritation. "Nothin' lately. Now let's get on to the nexttown and find out what's goin' on.""After we bury this man, of course.""What?" Charlie looked at her in amazement."We can't just leave him here.""Why not? Sister, I can tell you for sure he wouldn't have buried us.""Nevertheless, we must bury him."

"No." Charlie turned and walked away.

"What do you mean no?" she said to his retreating back.

He stopped, turning slightly to address her. "I mean just that. I only buried the two yesterday 'cause I didn't want animals hoverin' around our camp. I will not break my back buryin' a man who just tried to kill me. You can preach, and pray and prophecy at me all you want, Sister, but I ain't gonna do it, no how." He resumed his purposeful stride in the opposite direction from her.