Without waiting for his agreement, Angelina moved to the side in time with the music. Charlie stumbled after her. He tried, as hard as he'd tried to do anything for a very long time, to feel the music the way she did. But to his ears, the notes were merely a jumble of separate sounds. Her closeness did little to increase his concentration. The smell of fresh soap-a scent he'd never found particularly arousing before he'd met Angelina-tickled his nostrils, and he had to fight for control of his thoughts and his body. Charlie tripped over his feet and stepped down hard onto her slippered toes.

"Ouch." Angelina stopped dancing and moved back.

"Sorry. Guess it's a good thing no one tried to teach me to dance before. I'm hopeless."

"No, you're not." Angelina took two steps toward him, coming even closer than before. "Let's try this," she said and slipped both arms around his shoulders, clasping her fingers together behind his neck. She placed her lips next to his ear. "I'll count; you listen."

Charlie went still. Her breath against his earlobe shredded the remains of his self-control. A glance toward the house showed him that their attempts at dancing had moved them out of sight of the open door. They were as alone as they were going to get. So, instead of listening, Charlie turned his head and pressed his mouth against her neck.

Angelina's soft gasp of surprise aroused him even further. He kissed a path up to her softly parted lips. After looking into her eyes and seeing his need reflected in their darkened depths, he put his lips to hers. His hands, which had hung limply at his sides since she approached him for the second part of their lesson, found a home against her waist. The hard corset underneath her gown made him growl with impatience. Whenever he'd touched her before, there had been only Angelina beneath the material of her clothes. He had to admit that he'd take the nun's way of dressing over the lady's any day.

There was one part of Angelina though that had been tantalizing him since she'd walked down the stairs. The bodice of her gown dipped so low, he wondered if her ample breasts might spring free of their confines if given any encouragement. His palms spread across her rib cage, caressing upward until his fingertips touched the edge of her bodice. With only the slightest tug, the gown slipped down, freeing her breasts.

Eagerly he filled his hands with her soft flesh, his thumbs rolling over her already hardened nipples as he teased her lips with his tongue. She moaned into his mouth and arched against his hands. He broke the kiss, lowering his head as he brought her breast up to meet his tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, showing him she wanted what was happening as much as he did.

He took one dark red nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while he rolled the other between his fingers. Angelina's lower body pressed into him, and he thought he would explode just from the touch of her stomach against his hardened shaft. He moved his mouth to her other nipple and bit it gently, laving away the small pain with his tongue. With the tip of his finger he skimmed a trail down between the hardened globes and then cupped her in his palms. She caught her breath, watching him seductively through half-open eyes.

"Isn't this a pretty sight?"

Charlie stiffened at the low-voiced question behind him and shifted his body to shield Angelina from prying eyes. After biting back a startled shriek, his wife's hands flew to her bodice. Charlie's fingers were

there before hers, pulling the fabric up to cover her. He took her shaking hands in his and looked into her eyes, calming her with a steady gaze.

He let her go and turned, keeping Angelina behind him. The barrel of a gun hovered only a few feet from

his chest. His gaze flicked up to meet the eyes of the man whose finger rested confidently against the

trigger.

Charlie smiled. "I was wonderin' if you'd have the guts to show up, Alvarez. Now that you have, we've got unfinished business."

"Yes," Juan said, "we do. Me and you and the law. A thousand dollars is too good to pass up."

Charlie hesitated. News of his wanted status had finally crossed the border. "I'm sure you need the money, Alvarez. You can't be much of a rancher."

To Charlie's disappointment, the man ignored the insult. His gaze and his gun remained steady. "There

are very few people in this world who could not use more money. Since the offer is for you, dead or alive, I have to decide how I want to deliver you. Dead would be my choice, but I hate to kill you here.

Angelina's father is powerful in Chihuahua. I can't afford to ruin his party by killing his new son-in-law."

"No, that wouldn't be neighborly."

"Glad you agree." Juan's gaze flicked over Charlie's shoulder. "Angelina," he snapped, "get in the house."

"That's my wife you're talkin' to," Charlie growled. "I'll tell her what to do, and when to do it."

"That's right," Angelina said, trying to step around Charlie. "I'm not leaving."

Charlie shoved her behind him, none too gently. "Angelina, get in the house."

"What?"

He turned just in time to see the stricken expression on her face. "I can't do anything with him if I have to

worry about you, too," he whispered. "Get help."

"Quit that love talk and get her out of here, Coltrain," Alvarez snapped.

Angelina looked into his face and slowly nodded. With a last lingering caress of her finger across his

cheek, she turned and ran for the house.

Charlie watched her until she disappeared, then turned back to meet his fate.

Chapter Sixteen.

Just as Angelina raced into the brightly lit room, the band began to play "The Wabash Cannonball." She flinched at the contrast of the lively tune with such a desperate situation. Frantically, she searched the crowd for a sight of one of her brothers. Though they were pretty much useless in most cases, any one of them would do to deal with Juan. She spotted Timothy nearest the door, flirting with one of the servants. His wife glowered near by.

Angelina started toward him. Then a gunshot froze her in her tracks. Most of the couples on the dance floor kept dancing, the music and the conversation blurring other sounds. A few people near the door to the garden glanced outside with a frown.

Her heart beating the rhythm of panic, Angelina didn't pause to ask for help. She leapt forward, grabbed her brother's gun from its holster and yanked the weapon free. While he was still gaping, she spun around and ran back outside.

The gun weighed more than she had expected. Her corset pushed all the breath from her lungs. The air hung heavy with heat. Her face flamed, but whether from tears or exertion, she didn't know. The trip back to Charlie took far too long.

She burst into the clearing. Charlie lay on the ground. Juan stood over him. As she watched, Juan cocked the gun and pointed the weapon at Charlie's chest.

Angelina raised Timothy's pistol and fired. Juan cried out and fell to the ground, clasping his leg. She ran forward, stopping next to Juan and pointing the gun at him again. "Give it to me," she ordered.

Juan looked at her, his face gray with pain, and held out the weapon without argument. She snatched the pistol from his fingers, then cocked her own gun again. "Did you kill him?"

"What-" He broke off and groaned. "What if I did?"

"Pray you didn't," Angelina said. Her sincerity must have reached Juan, for he paled even further and fell back onto the ground with another groan.

Angelina left him in his own blood and fell to her knees beside Charlie.

His shoulder was a bloody wreck. But the steady rise and fall of his chest proved he still lived. With a cry of relief she leaned down to press her wet, hot cheek against his.

"Nice work, Angel." Charlie's voice was quieter than usual, barely above a whisper. "When I taught you to shoot, I didn't think I'd need you to save my life."

"Lucky for you, you did." She smoothed his tangled hair away from his face.

Charlie's eyes opened at her touch and he smiled. "Tough talk. What were you gonna do to old Alvarez there if he'd killed me?"

Angelina glanced at Juan, who seemed to have fainted. "I honestly don't know. At the time, I was mad enough to shoot him again." She sighed and let the guns slide from her tense fingers onto the ground. A sob welled up in her throat, and she fell forward onto Charlie's chest, hugging him tightly, careful not to jar him too much. "You scared me to death." She wept into his shirt.

When her brothers and parents arrived moments later with most of the guests behind them, they found Angelina draped across her husband's chest, his blood staining her white gown while he attempted to calm her tears.

"What is going on here?" Her father's voice echoed in the night stillness.

Angelina drew in a deep breath and raised her head. She got to her feet, wiping away the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Charlie struggled into a sitting position. But when he attempted to stand she glared at him, and he subsided with a lopsided smile. Angelina turned to her father. "Juan shot Charlie. Then I shot Juan."

Her father's eyes widened; then his frown deepened. Turning to the gaping onlookers he snapped, "Boys, take everyone back inside. Send them home. Now." He looked at his wife, who swayed with shock as she stared at all the blood. With a sound of disgust, he caught his wife as she pitched forward, then hoisted her up like a bag of flour and handed her to his nearest son.

"Take your mother to her room," he said before turning away.

Angelina stood protectively in front of Charlie. Her hands had begun to shake, but she clasped them behind her and fought to appear calm. Once she'd dealt with her father and gotten rid of Juan, she could tend to Charlie. Right now, that was all she cared about. The most important thing was not to show weakness. Her father preyed on weakness. Since Charlie did not look capable of protecting either of them right now, she had to be the strong one-for both their sakes.

Her father walked over to Juan, who had just regained consciousness. He lifted the man to a sitting position. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "How dare you come to my home and cause such a scene?"

Juan's lips compressed into a thin, pale line. He glared at Angelina and Charlie, hatred spilling from his eyes. "Miguel, don't tell me you don't know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Coltrain. He's wanted for murder in the states. There's a thousand-dollar bounty on his head."

Angelina bit her lip. Damn, Juan Alvarez. She'd known he was trouble the first time she met him. And she'd been right-twice over.

Slowly her father turned toward Angelina. She fought not to flinch at the suppressed anger in his eyes. "Is this true, daughter?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"You didn't ask."

He stared at her for one long moment, then turned away. Angelina knew she had not seen the last of his anger. She and Charlie would have to leave as soon as possible. She wouldn't put it past the man to turn his new son-in-law in just to teach his wayward daughter a lesson.

Her father helped Juan to his feet and led him away. With a sigh of relief Angelina turned back to Charlie.

"I think we'd better-" Her voice drifted off at the sight of her husband unconscious upon the ground. "Hellfire," she muttered, then ran toward the house shouting, "Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Timothy, Peter."

And for the first time in her life, when she needed her brothers' assistance, they actually came running.

Charlie floated in the limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness. He heard the commotion around him when the disciples arrived to carry him inside. He heard Angelina's voice stridently ordering them to hurry up and be careful. He felt the softness of her bed when they laid him upon it. But when Angelina began to probe at his shoulder to remove the bullet, he took the easier road for both of them and surrendered to the fluffy darkness.

He'd been there once before, during the war. The darkness wasn't half bad, especially when compared to the pain on the other side. During this visit, Charlie remembered his last sojourn into the land of dreams.

He'd been on a raiding mission with the rest of Mosby's Rangers, harrying Union supply lines, doing their job. Suddenly, from out of the darkness, thundered a herd of cavalry wearing the Union Blue. The battle was short and bloody, the enemy retreating before the ferocity of the Confederate Rangers' assault.

One of their men fell, and Charlie rode into the woods a ways to retrieve the body. The rest of the Rangers regrouped several yards in the distance. He jumped down from his Gabe. Just as he bent to lift his dead comrade, a horse and rider burst from a dense area of bushes to his right. Straightening up, Charlie reached for his gun. Before he could withdraw his pistol from the holster, a rifle butt smashed against his throat. Pain exploded throughout his head. As he fell, Charlie heard the report of a gun and decided the blackness descending upon him would last throughout eternity.

When he awoke, he lay in a makeshift Confederate hospital-in reality a sympathizer's barn-alive, but unable to speak. Within a week he was back on his horse and raiding once more. The scar tissue in his throat thickened, and his voice became a permanent growl. He never learned who shot his attacker. Since no one owned up to it, Charlie had always believed his savior to be Col. Mosby himself. But he had never dared ask. If the Gray Ghost had wanted Charlie to know, he would have told him. The one person in his life Charlie had ever respected was John Singleton Mosby-until he'd met Angelina.

When Charlie came out of the fluffy blackness this time, her anxious face hovered above him. He reached up and smoothed away the worry line between her eyes with his finger. She smiled, a tense shift of her lips that didn't reach her eyes.

"Am I gonna make it, Angel?" he rasped, the thickness in his throat reminding him of the last time he'd woken up after an injury.

"Yes, you'll be fine. No thanks to Juan."

"No, I'd say it was thanks to you. And I do."

She nodded an acknowledgment of his gratitude and turned away, fussing with a basin of bloody water and equally bloody towels. He noticed she still wore her party gown, so he must not have been unconscious for too long.

"How is old Juan anyway?"

"He'll live."

"Lucky man."

"Yes." She sighed and stopped what she was doing, staring into the mirror above her dresser as though the sight of her own strained face fascinated her. "I could have killed him, you know? I wanted to."

"Yes."

"Does it always feel that way?"

"What way?"

"The ice-hot rage. It sweeps over you a second before you pull the trigger. I was so angry I wanted to explode, and when the gun went off I felt-"