"My brothers," she said. "See? There are four horses."

Charlie squinted as well and then relaxed. She was right. Two horses trailed behind the mounted men.

When the Reyes boys got closer, Charlie saw they were not the same two who had brought them to the cabin. Though these men looked almost exactly like the others, they were younger. Too bad they still held their guns with obvious intent.

"More disciples?" Charlie murmured.

Angelina nodded. "Timothy and Peter. The youngest ahead of me."

"Any chance we can get by these two?"

"I doubt it. They were all trained by my father. They know too well the sting of his displeasure. They won't fail in carrying out their orders, even for me." She was silent for a moment, then added, "Especially for me."

The sadness in her voice tugged at Charlie, and despite his vow to keep his distance, he could not resist putting an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. He told himself the movement was only to assure her no-good brothers of his protection. But Angelina's slight body against his side felt so good and so right he knew he lied to himself once again.

The two men stopped in front of them. They held their guns on Charlie. One of the two threw the reins of the horses toward him. He caught them with his free hand.

"You must think I'm a pretty dangerous fella since I keep starin' down the barrel of a pistol every time I meet a new brother-in-law."

Timothy and Peter merely stared at him, their dark eyes as emotionless as the eyes of every other Reyes male Charlie had encountered thus far. Charlie hugged Angelina tighter, thinking how awful it must have been to grow up in a household full of snakes. He'd never had much use for his brother, but at least Bill had possessed some emotions that made him marginally human, and he'd been loyal to his kin. Charlie couldn't think of one redeeming quality he could apply to the disciples.

"Nice to see you, too, Timothy. Peter," Angelina said, nodding to each in turn.

The two nodded back slowly, their heads going down and up in perfect imitation of each other.

"Mount up," Timothy ordered.

"Now?" Angelina asked.

"Father wants you two back by morning. There's a wedding party and a dance tomorrow night. You can sleep all day and be ready to appear when the party begins."

Clever, Charlie thought, old Miguel makes sure we ride all night so we sleep all day and are too tired to argue about appearing at his blasted party.

Charlie glanced at Angelina. He could tell from the mutinous expression on her face she would love to argue. But the unwavering guns of her brothers made her swallow her words. She moved away from the protection of Charlie's arm and turned toward the house.

"I'll get our things," she muttered.

When Angelina was out of earshot, Charlie turned his attention back to Timothy and Peter.

"So, boys, tell me what it's like to be a disciple. I always wanted to know."

Four black eyes stared at him without a flicker of emotion. Neither man answered.

"Not much for conversation? Well, I suppose you wouldn't be. You probably never learned to say much beyond what your pa tells you to. That's all right. I'll do all the talkin'." He moved his lips upward into a thin smile. The disciples continued to stare. "I just want you to know, and you can tell the rest of the boys, too, I think the way you treat your sister is disgustin'. And somewhere down the line, when things are a bit more even between us"-he nodded at their guns-"I'll make sure you pay for it."

The horses showed more emotion than the men, pricking their ears toward Charlie. Neither man gave so much as a blink to indicate they had heard him. But Charlie knew they had.

Angelina came out of the house, and he helped her onto her horse. She looked down at him and smiled her thanks. He squeezed her hand and went to his own horse.

Yes, sir, he would make sure the disciples had a lesson in brotherly love as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He was looking forward to that day more and more with every passing second.

By the time they reached home, Angelina could barely hold herself upright in the saddle. For the last several miles, Charlie had ridden next to her, obviously worried she would fall to the ground. His quiet strength and concern warmed her heart. Usually she only experienced such warmth after the angel visited her in the night. This was the first time such a feeling had come to her from another human being.

When the horses stopped, Charlie jumped down and hurried over to lift her from the saddle. Angelina thought he would put her down. Instead, he carried her against his chest up the porch steps. He paused a moment at the front door, shifting her so he could open it, then strode with her into the house.

Inside, everyone slept, dawn just moments away. Outside, Angelina heard her brothers ride away. Charlie started up the stairs to her room.

She really should insist upon walking, but being surrounded by Charlie's strength and warmth felt too good, she found she could not bring herself to ask for release from his embrace. Instead, she let her cheek rest against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck.

As he drew near the top of the steps, he slowed. His arms and chest tensed.

"Reyes," he growled, the rumble of his voice tickling her chin.

"Coltrain," her father answered, the word dripping with contempt.

Angelina fought to raise her head, to tell her father to show some respect for her husband, but the world was made up of little black dots that danced in front of her eyes whenever she opened them.

She must have made some sound of protest, for Charlie whispered, "Hush, I can handle 'im."

Since she knew he could, she subsided, cuddling closer to his chest.

"My sons told you? Tonight we are having a party to introduce you and celebrate your marriage to my daughter."

"Yeah, we heard."

"Excellent. You can place my daughter in her room. There's a place for you in the stable."

Charlie laughed, his chest shaking with his amusement. "She's my wife, Reyes. I go where she goes. I married her, and one of the things I recall vowin', with a gun to my back, was to protect her. To my way of thinkin' the one she needs protectin' the most from is you."

Her father's anger seemed to shimmer over Angelina and Charlie with the heat of the sun in the midst of August. Her fingers clenched against Charlie's neck, and he murmured soothing nonsense under his breath until she relaxed against him once again.

"Bring my daughter to the party at precisely eight o'clock." Her fathers voice was tight with his anger. "Once everyone there hears of her marriage and sees that she indeed has a husband, I will give you the money we agreed upon, and you will leave. Angelina will be my problem once again. You need not concern yourself any longer about your vows."

Angelina tried to raise her head and ask what on earth they were talking about, but Charlie took the remaining steps in quick succession, shouldering past her father without further argument. Once inside her room, he kicked the door shut and placed her gently upon the bed.

Fighting against the thick fog of sleep, Angelina opened her eyes to meet Charlie's gaze.

"You married me for money?" she whispered.

Charlie sighed and looked away. But the guilt on his face was all she needed to answer her question. She turned on her side and closed her eyes. She could understand Charlie marrying her to save her reputation. Such a reason was even noble to her mind. But to marry her for money? He was no better than her disgustingly greedy brothers or even Juan Alvarez for that matter.

The bed dipped as Charlie sat next to her. He put his hand on her shoulder. She refused to move. He swore softly and removed his hand. "Angelina, it's not what you think. I wanted to help you. But you know I need money for my ranch. Your father insisted, and I figured ... well, I figured-"

"It's all right," she said before he could say anything more and possibly make her hurt even worse. "I understand." She didn't, but she would never admit such a thing to him. "I'm tired now. I need to sleep. Could you tell my mother to wake me at seven so I can dress for our party?"

Charlie remained silent for a moment; then he stood. The bed swayed with the loss of his weight. "Sure, Sister. Whatever you want."

The door closed quietly behind him, and Angelina opened her eyes, staring out the window. Charlie had called her Sister, a name he used when he wanted to put some distance between the two of them. He was right. She had to remember just what their marriage was made up of: vows taken by force, lies made legal by the church. Just because she cared for him didn't mean he cared for her. Charlie Coltrain had had a life before he met her-a life he would return to just as soon as he got his money and got rid of an excess wife. She should not fault him for looking out for his own interests, even as he was forced to look out for hers.

As Angelina watched, dawn arrived, painting the sky outside the glass with all the colors of a summer day -red, orange, bright yellow against blue and white.

A new day. The same old problems.

Angelina closed her eyes against the joyful array, but despite her exhaustion, a long time passed before sleep claimed her mind.

Hellfire.

Charlie wanted to roast Reyes alive for telling Angelina of their money arrangement. To be truthful, he'd forgotten about the agreement until Reyes had brought it up. His main reason for marrying Angelina had been to get her away from her father's clutches. But she'd never believe him now, and that was fine. His greed would just be another mark against him. When he left, she would hate him all the more. Even if she eventually came to believe he was dead, as her father had suggested, it would be easier if she had good reason to hate him first. He didn't want her pining away with guilt because she hadn't been able to save his lousy hide.

Even though what he had planned was the right thing to do, Charlie still detested himself for plotting the step-by-step erosion of her faith in him. He had come to count on that faith more than he cared to admit.

After giving Theresa Reyes her daughter's message, Charlie checked on Gabe, then returned to Angelina's room. She slept, dark lashes feathering honey-hued skin. He trailed a finger across her cheek, committing to memory the texture of her skin. She stirred, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like his name, and he froze, his breath catching in his throat at the bolt of desire that shot through his body. Curling his fingers into fists, he forced himself to turn away. After locking the door, he stripped. Wrapping himself in a blanket from the foot of Angelina's bed, he lay down on the floor.

Charlie awoke to tapping on the door. A glance at Angelina showed she was still sleeping. Quickly he yanked on his pants and opened the door. Theresa Reyes stood on the threshold. Her eyes widened at the sight of his naked chest.

Charlie moved away and shrugged on his shirt before returning to the door. "Tell her I'll be back at eight." He stepped into the hallway, stifling a smile as Theresa edged past him into the room. She nodded and closed the door behind him.

Charlie went to the barn, where he found a set of borrowed clothes lying over his saddle. The brown frock coat was somewhat out of style, but it would be presentable once paired with the snow-white shirt, linen braces and tan trousers that made up the rest of the outfit. He considered refusing the implied order and showing up for the party in his guerrilla raider outfit just to spite Reyes, but he knew such an action would only reflect upon Angelina. This entire performance was for her benefit. He would see the farce out to the end.

When eight o'clock arrived, he was washed, combed, shaved and dressed to within an inch of his life. Charlie had to admit, as he gazed down at himself, he'd never looked so good. But then, looking good had never been much of an asset in his profession. In fact, his looks only made him more identifiable to the law.

At the thought of the law, Charlie remembered Drew Winston. Had the Ranger died from his snakebite? If not, Winston might show up any time. Though Charlie hadn't felt the itch at the back of his neck that indicated he was being followed or watched, such a lack did not mean the Ranger wasn't back on his trail. His instincts had been failing him with regularity for the past few years, and he expected that telltale itch to go the way of his other gifts right quick. He'd better get on down the trail soon just to be on the safe side. But first he'd have to find his gun and gunbelt. A thorough search of his belongings and the barn had unearthed nothing resembling a firearm. Reyes must have hidden the Colts inside the house somewhere. Perhaps, during the dance, Charlie would peek around the place and take back what belonged to him. The long, loose frock coat would be helpful in concealing any weapons he was able to retrieve.

Wagons and carriages had been arriving for the past half hour. When Charlie walked across the yard separating the barn and the house, curious stares followed him all the way.

The front door stood open; he walked inside. Theresa and Miguel greeted guests at the foot of the staircase. At Charlie's entrance, Miguel detached himself from the couple to whom he was talking and came toward his son-in-law.

"Angelina will be down in a moment. I'll introduce the two of you and then you can start the dancing."

Charlie frowned. "I don't dance."

"You will tonight. It's tradition."

Miguel began to turn away, but Charlie stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You don't understand," Charlie said. "I don't mean I won't dance; I mean I can't dance."

His father-in-law's eyes reflected his amusement. "Ah, I see. Interesting, though I won't say I'm surprised at your lack of such a basic social grace. Fine. I'll introduce you, and then Theresa and I will start the dancing."

Charlie nodded. Miguel walked away, and Charlie stifled the desire to kick his father-in-law in the seat of his pants. The man's snide superiority grated on Charlie's nerves.

At Miguel's urging, the guests filed into the parlor, which had been cleared of furniture to make way for dancing. Charlie stood alone in the front hall. He fought the urge to fidget in the confines of his borrowed coat and the stiff-necked shirt.

A sound at the top of the stairs made him glance up. His breath caught in his throat.

An angel, all in white, hovered above him. Dear God, she's so beautiful. He had always known it, but now, with the sun setting behind him and the candles in the hallway lending an artificial golden light to the staircase, she was even more lovely than he'd dreamed during the many long, sleepless nights since he'd first seen her face.

Her dark hair had been braided and then wound around her head in the shape of a crown, leaving her neck free to the night breeze. The gown hugged her breasts and waist, emphasizing her fragile bone structure. A conspicuous lack of frills and flounces only served to make her look more elegant. The long, full skirt circled her lower body, held out from her legs with the aid of a small hoop, and a single flounce created a train at the back that slid slowly down the stairs in her wake. The red ribbon he had given her was her only adornment, wrapped around the braided crown of her hair.

Angelina descended the staircase, holding her head up regally, avoiding Charlie's eyes. She looked cool and calm in her ice-white gown, but the shade of her fingers, which had turned the same pale shade as the material swirling about her ankles, told him of the tension she held within.

She reached the bottom step, and Charlie moved forward to offer her his arm. Without looking at him or speaking, she placed her fingertips atop his coat sleeve. She had not forgiven him for accepting money to marry her. Though the urge to explain himself one more time was strong, Charlie bit down on that urge sharply. He had to let her go and her disgust with him would be for the best in the long run. Without a word of greeting, Charlie led Angelina toward the parlor.

At the door, all eyes turned to them. Conversation dwindled to a murmur. Angelina's fingers tightened upon his arm, and he reached across his body with his free hand, covering her cold fingers with his warm ones. She glanced up, startled, then gave him a small smile of thanks before returning her gaze to the room in front of them. Like the hallway, candles also illuminated the parlor, the use of kerosene lamps being kept to a minimum because of their tendency to smoke and make the room stink of the oil. The decorations consisted of the paintings upon the walls and the women in the room. A long table with light refreshments had been set up near the band at the front of the room. Servants milled through the crowd, distributing champagne for the ladies and stronger spirits for the men.

Miguel motioned for Charlie and Angelina to join him in front of the band. As they walked through the room, the crowd parted. Charlie glanced at the faces, absently looking for anyone he recognized or anyone who might be looking at him too closely. Old habits died hard. All the gazes he encountered were curious, but open and friendly, not cautious and sly. He relaxed slightly. So far, word of his notoriety had not reached Mexico.

"Honored guests." Miguel's voice interrupted Charlie's thoughts. He and Angelina paused next to her parents and faced the crowd as Miguel continued. "My wife and I have asked you here tonight to celebrate the marriage of our only daughter, Angelina Theresa Reyes. Please join us in welcoming Charles Coltrain to the family."

Charles? Charlie stifled a laugh. He hadn't been called Charles since his baptism, and maybe not even then. Interesting old Miguel neglected to mention where his daughter had been married and when. He also neglected to address the fact that, the last anyone had seen Angelina, she was throwing herself on the mercy of the church and begging to become a nun. Miguel just announced his daughter was married and produced a groom, and everyone was supposed to fall into line and cut out the gossip. Well, for once, Charlie hoped his father-in-law was right.

With a great show of pleasure, Angelina's father shook Charlie's hand and clapped him on the back.

Then Miguel kissed his daughter. Charlie was the only one close enough to hear Angelina's outward hiss of breath as her father's lips met her cheek. He would have bet Gabe she couldn't remember the last time her father had kissed her.

A cryin' shame, Charlie thought. If I had a daughter, she'd be my little girl all her life. She wouldn't forget the last time her daddy kissed her.

The thought of a child, a little girl with Angelina's eyes and smile, made Charlie start. Children had never entered his mind before. And they shouldn't now. Old outlaws did not contemplate having children with young nuns. Even if the nun in question happened to be the outlaw's wife.

The band began to play a waltz, and Angelina turned to him expectantly. Before he could explain his sad lack of the necessary social skill, Miguel and Theresa nudged them aside to take their place on the floor. After a moment filled with stares and whispers, the rest of the crowd turned away from Charlie and Angelina and joined the dancing.

Angelina stood next to him, staring at the swirling dancers. She held her body stiff with tension, her face a mask of studied uninterest.

Charlie leaned over. "I'm sorry you're embarrassed," he said, softly. "But dancin' wasn't one of the skills I picked up in my youth."

Angelina glanced at him in surprise. "I'm not embarrassed. I'm disgusted. My father will do anything to keep his reputation intact. This is just another example of how far he'll go to further his political career." She reached for Charlie again, this time curling her fingers around his arm and stepping closer to his body. "Now that we've made our requested appearance, let's go outside so I can breathe. I haven't worn a corset in a year. The Sisters definitely have the right idea there. I'm afraid I'll faint if I don't get some air soon."

Charlie nodded, her pained expression and shallow breathing would have told him the tale even if she hadn't. He led her toward the open door and allowed her to precede him outside. Since the party had only just begun, the garden was deserted.

Angelina walked until they reached a secluded area. She sat down on a low bench hidden from sight of the house by some rose bushes. A light breeze, warm but better than nothing, wafted across the yard, bringing along the smell of the barn. Angelina wrinkled her nose with a sound of disgust.

"I guess we can't get away from the fact that this is a horse ranch, no matter how hard my father tries to disguise it," she said.

"Hard to disguise nature." Charlie moved into the clearing. If he stood just so, he could still see the door of the house over the tops of the bushes. Large crowds full of strangers made him nervous. Though no one had watched him with anything beyond normal curiosity, he was still a wanted man and could not afford to relax with his back to the unknown.

The band struck up a new song, a love song. It sounded like "Sweet Genevieve" to Charlie, and Angelina closed her eyes, listening intently. "I love this song," she murmured, swaying with the music. Charlie watched, fascinated with the movements of her body, the smooth perfection of her skin, the innocence of her face.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she stood. Charlie tensed, wondering if she saw something behind him to cause her sudden movement. His hand automatically reached for his gun. He swore when his fingers met the material of his suit coat and not cool metal. He had to find his Colts and fast.

"Calm down," Angelina said and came toward him. "I just wanted you to dance with me."

"I don't dance."

She stopped only inches away from him and placed one hand on his shoulder. She took his other hand in hers. "You can with me."

"I wasn't bein' difficult just to spite your father." Charlie looked into her hopeful, upturned face and sighed. "I really don't know how to dance."

"I believe you. But you can pretend, just for a few minutes. It's only the two of us out here. No one will see. You only have to follow me."