Angelina searched the house for a gun. Not only were there none to be found, but her parents and her brothers had become conspicuously absent. She let out an exasperated breath. She was wasting her time. Even if she had been able to find a weapon, she doubted if she could have used it to overpower Drew Winston. He looked too blasted capable. If by some miracle she had been able to disarm the Ranger, she would still have had to face the problem of Charlie's attitude.

She had witnessed the stubborn set to his mouth. She knew very well what that meant. He planned to go back and face the judge. She doubted if she could have convinced him to run again, incapacitated Ranger or not.

Heart sinking, she returned to the attic. She had found answers within these walls only the day before. Perhaps the answer of how to avoid impending doom could be found there as well. Anything was worth a try.

Night fell but no answer came. Her knees ached from kneeling on the hardwood floor throughout the day. The panic she'd kept at bay through prayer returned, stronger now and becoming worse with each passing minute that brought Charlie's departure closer.

When dawn came, the Ranger would take her husband away. And there wasn't a thing she could do about it. The more she thought of Charlie's leaving, the more clouded her mind became. She couldn't think; she couldn't reason. All she could do was feel, and what she felt was want and need and desire.

There was every chance she would never see Charlie again after this night. She would spend the rest of her life in a convent, remembering, dreaming of him. She planned to take with her whatever memories she could. For one night, she would be a woman. He was not going to refuse her tonight with platitudes about her innocence. She would make love to her husband.

Tonight.

Still in her nightdress, she made her way downstairs. The house remained silent, still empty. She went to her mother's room by the servant's staircase leading from the kitchen. Once there, she washed from the pitcher of water on the nightstand. Then she brushed out her hair, leaving it loose except for the red ribbon Charlie had given her. She tied the satin around her head, gently pulling the dark mass back from her face.

Barefoot, she padded down the hall to her room. The Ranger still stood outside the door. At her approach, he straightened up.

"Ma'am." He nodded. "I was worried about you."

"No need. My husband, he's all right?"

Winston glanced at the door and shrugged. "He asked for you. I told him I didn't know where you'd gone. He wasn't happy."

"I can imagine."

"He asked for a bottle." Winston winced at her frown. "I figured what the hell and got him one from downstairs."

"He's drunk?"

"Maybe. I brought him the whiskey about an hour ago."

Angelina held her breath. She wouldn't know the truth until she went into the room. Even if Charlie was already passed out, she planned to stay with him tonight. She looked up at the Ranger. "Since this is our last night together, Mr. Winston, I'd appreciate it if you'd go downstairs so we could have some time together."

He looked at her for several moments, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Please." Angelina allowed the fear she'd banked all afternoon to creep into her voice. "I need this night. You can sit on the porch. My window is right above. There's no way we can get out. And the barn will be in your sight as well. We can't leave without horses."

The Ranger sighed, then nodded. "All right. I guess I owe you. But I'll be knocking on the door at dawn. No excuses then."

"No, I promise."

He turned away and started for the stairs.

"Drew?" Angelina called. He glanced at her over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows at her use of his Christian name. She smiled shyly. "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."

"But I do, ma'am. I remember what it's like to be in love." His face saddened momentarily before he tipped his dusty, broad-brimmed hat and retreated to the porch.

Angelina stood with her hand on the doorknob, gathering her courage. Once she went inside, there would be no going back. With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the room.

Before she could close the door behind her, Charlie's ruined voice came out of the semi-darkness. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the nun-in-training. Where've you been all day, Sister? Prayin' for my immortal soul?" He laughed his coughlike laugh. "Too late for that, and you should know it."

Crossing to the nightstand, Angelina lit the kerosene lamp and turned to face the bed. Charlie toasted her with the half bottle of whiskey in his hand. Sometime during the day he must have convinced Winston to retrieve a pair of Levi's from his belongings, for the lower half of his body was once again respectably covered. But the rest of him-Angelina caught her breath as she stared. No, the rest of him was not respectable at all.

He looked sinfully handsome, his chest bare, tanned skin glowing against the white sheets and long, silver-gold hair hanging in a tangle. She wanted to run her fingers through the strands and smooth them into place. Instead, Angelina ignored the sarcasm in his words and returned to lock the door.

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Oh, oh. Why'd you lock the door? A locked door won't stop the Yank if he really wants to come in. Ain't that right, Yank?" he shouted, then took another swig of the liquor.

"He won't answer you. I sent him away."

He glanced at her speculatively over the rim of the bottle. "How far?"

"Downstairs. To the porch."

"I'm not escapin' if that's what you're thinkin'. I've decided to face the judge. I'm sick of runnin'."

"I know. I understand. I'm not here to talk you out of it."

"No?" Charlie frowned at her and took another sip of whiskey. "Then what do you want?"

Angelina swallowed. She had no idea how to go about seducing a man. Such lessons had never been included in any of her schooling. To be truthful, she wasn't quite sure of the actual technicalities of the final procedure. She hoped that by the time that problem arose, Charlie would compensate for her lack of knowledge.

Slowly Angelina moved forward to turn down the lamp. Then, before she could lose her courage, she turned toward Charlie and shrugged her robe from one shoulder.

Charlie scowled. "What do you think you're doin', Sister? Tonight's not the night to disrobe in front of me. In fact, we'd both be better off if you slept in another room."

Taking a deep breath, she shrugged the robe from her other shoulder. The stiff white covering slid to the floor without a whisper of protest. Charlie's gaze, which had been focused on her face, drifted downward, pausing at her breasts before moving lower. From the way his eyes widened and his breathing quickened, Angelina could tell that her thin nightdress, combined with the wavering light of the lamp behind her, revealed the nakedness barely hidden beneath the white cotton.

She traversed the three steps between the dresser and the bed, then sat down next to him. "I'm not going anywhere tonight, Charlie," she said firmly and took the bottle from his hand. Leaning down, she placed the whiskey on the floor. When she returned to an upright position, Charlie stared at her as though she were the first woman who'd ever accosted him in his bedroom. Angelina was certain that was not the case. The thought of the other women who had been with Charlie-skilled, mature, knowledgeable women-made her lick her lips nervously.

Charlie watched the movement of her tongue, then slowly reached out and tugged the ribbon from her hair. The satin came loose, gliding across the back of her neck, then falling forward to rest on the tops of her cotton-covered breasts.

"This is a mistake," Charlie said, his gaze focused on the red satin. "You should run away now, little girl. You're playing big-girl games you don't understand."

"I understand more than you think, Charlie Coltrain." She reached up and began to unbutton her nightdress. He watched her fingers for a moment. His gaze flicked up to meet hers. He let the ribbon slip from his fingers to the bed between them and leaned forward to push away her fumbling fingers.

She allowed him to move her hands aside, but when he rebuttoned the buttons, she reached up and caught his hands. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Keepin' us both from makin' a big mistake." He removed his hands from under hers as though he couldn't stand her touch. Then he looked away. "Now pick up the rest of your clothes and get the hell out of here."

Angelina hesitated, uncertain, confused. Then, while he continued to stare stoically away from her, she reached up and yanked her nightgown open once more.

When she had opened the garment to the top of her breasts, she put her fingers to Charlie's chin and forced him to look at her.

"I won't leave." She stared into his eyes for a long moment. "I can't."

Almost as though he could not stop himself, Charlie's hands came up. "Oh, Angel, my sweet Angel," he murmured. "You have no idea what you do to me."

His first tentative touch made her draw in a sharp hiss of breath. One by one, with agonizing slowness, the rest of her buttons came free. Reaching inside her gown, Charlie's palms skimmed across her collarbone as he pushed her nightdress over her shoulders. She shrugged the garment away, and the bodice pooled around her waist.

His hands, rough from the years of working with horses, stroked her with amazing gentleness. As though she were made of the most fragile glass, he trailed his fingertips across the tops of her breasts, stroking, teasing, cupping her fullness in his palms, then rubbing callused thumbs over hardened nipples. Her head fell back as she accepted and relished his touch. Then his mouth closed over an aching peak, and he eased her backward onto the bed.

While his lips worked magic upon her, she reached up, smoothing her hands down the hard, defined muscles of his back. She traced his scars with her fingertips, soothing him with murmurs from deep in her throat when he stiffened.

He raised his head, looking deeply into her eyes. "There are a lot of things you don't understand about me."

She smiled a tremulous, tentative smile, then curved her hand around his neck and brought him closer. Just before his lips claimed hers she whispered, "I know all I need to know. Right now and for always."

He tasted of despair and desire, a combination as intoxicating as the whiskey he'd sipped moments before. She answered his desperate caress with one of her own, opening her mouth and welcoming him inside with an eager sound of acceptance. As he kissed her, she touched him, impatient to experience everything she had believed forbidden to her forever.

When her hand moved lower, tentatively stroking a finger up the hardened swell of his Levi's, Charlie gasped and grabbed her wrist.

Angelina's eyes snapped open. His face, so close to hers was tense, his eyes closed and his mouth a thin line. As she watched his eyes opened.

"Are you tryin' to kill me, Angelina?" he rasped.

She reached her free hand up to stroke his cheek. "No, I'm just trying to love you." She raised her head from the bed to capture his mouth with hers and kiss him deeply. His naked chest pressed to her breasts, and she rubbed the aching tips against him. He moaned and kissed her back. Seconds later he released her wrist. Wasting no more time, she applied her fingers to the metal buttons on his pants.

He started in surprise when she touched him, flesh to flesh, and he tried to pull away. "No," she murmured against his lips. "Let me touch you. Please."

He sighed and shifted, his rigid member springing free of his Levi's. Angelina pushed him back onto the bed and sat up, pulling the pants down his legs and discarding them on the floor. Then she stared in amazement at the beauty before her. Never had she seen a naked man. Charlie might believe that he was old, but his body revealed the lie. Strong, bronzed, firm, he was a living testament to the beauty of the male animal.

Unable to keep herself from touching such a sight, she ran her fingers up his legs and over his hard, flat stomach. Then, as she caught his gaze and held it with her own, she took him in her hands and learned every inch of the part that made Charlie a man.

He had been conspicuously silent throughout her examination, but as she continued to stroke him, he growled a curse and pulled her down on the bed next to him. A quick yank and her nightdress joined his Levi's on the floor. With a single shift he lay atop her, her face captured between his palms, her body immobile beneath his.

Angelina looked into his black eyes alight with desire and regret. Her heart lurched. He was going to refuse her again. This time she couldn't bear it. She wanted him. She needed him. This might be her last chance.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the lamp flickered and went out.

The room plunged into darkness, and Angelina took the advantage. She arched her neck and captured his lips with hers. Putting everything she had learned since their first kiss into this caress, she stroked, nipped, teased, allowing all she felt for him to come rushing forth. For a single second Charlie held back; then with a sound mixed of anguish and disbelief, he responded.

The darkness added fuel to their passion, their true feelings coming alive with the loss of the light. The hesitation she'd sensed in him from the beginning disappeared, and he met her innocent caresses with ever bolder touches of his own. Now that she didn't have to think so hard about how to seduce him, Angelina was able to close her eyes and experience all the incredible sensations shooting through her like a thousand falling stars.

He kissed her like a starving man who suddenly comes upon a banquet. His hands touched her reverently, sliding up her waist and cupping her breasts, teasing them until she pressed his mouth to the aching peaks. Only when he drew her nipples into the warm cavern did she know relief.

An uncomfortable emptiness raged out of control inside her and she shifted. Charlie groaned and pushed against her, his hardness pressing against her secret place. Without really knowing why, she opened her legs and arched against him, gasping at the flood of pleasure sweeping through her. She remembered one other time when she had felt the release of tension after Charlie touched her just so. How wonderful that feeling had been, though a strange sense of emptiness had come over her after the joy faded.

Shifting, she went still as the head of his shaft probed against her opening. Charlie raised his head from her breasts and buried his face in the crook of her neck. The sudden tension in his arms and back worried her, and she lifted her hands to soothe it away. As she did so, her lower body bumped against him, and his shaft slid inside her a bit further.

"Oh!" she gasped. He felt wonderful. He filled the emptiness inside her. She wanted more.

"Don't, Angelina," Charlie ground out between his teeth, raising his head slightly away from her neck. "Don't move. I should never have let this go so far."

"I wanted this. I want you," she whispered, smoothing his hair back from his damp face. "You told me you'd make me beg. So I'm begging. Please love me tonight."

"No, I didn't mean that. We can't do this. You can't undo such a thing. If we go on, you won't be innocent anymore. There might be a child. We talked about this, Angelina. I won't do this to either of us."

He began to withdraw from her body and Angelina panicked. She had to do something now or she would lose him forever.

"I'm your wife," she said. "Your wife." Biting her lip against the expected pain, she thrust herself forward. Charlie, not expecting the move, was unable to withdraw in time and, instead, found himself buried firmly inside the body of his wife.

"Hellfire," he shouted. "What have you done?"

"What we've done. I'm your wife now." The small stab of pain had faded quickly and warmth flowed through her instead. She thrust up against him again. "The deed's done. Show me the rest, Charlie. Teach me passion."

Though Charlie's arms were still stiff and unyielding, the rest of his body had begun to react on its own. Slowly he slid out and into her again. Angelina gasped and clutched him closer.

"God help me," he muttered, "but I can't stop."

He came into her again, harder this time, deeper, filling her completely. The tension built within her once more. She moved her body in time with his thrusts, and this time when she called out his name, he answered with his own cry of release.

Charlie collapsed on top of her, then rolled to the side, cradling her in his arms. Spent, Angelina drifted on a warm river toward sleep.

"I love you, Charlie," she whispered as consciousness ebbed away.

In her dream, he kissed her forehead and said, "I love you, too. Angel." Then he took her with him to Texas. Together, they convinced those who mattered that he was innocent and rode off to a life together in Montana.

Angelina awoke with a smile. They could do it. Now that they were husband and wife in truth, he would not leave her behind. They would face everything together, and together they would triumph. She had held fast to her love and her faith. She had followed the angel's advice. A life with Charlie would be her reward.

Rolling over, Angelina reached out a hand for her husband.

The bed was empty.

Chapter Eighteen.

Charlie awoke before dawn. His head ached-from the whiskey or the woman, he didn't know. What he did know was that he had made a big mistake. He could only hope Angelina wouldn't pay for his lapse in judgment.

When she'd come to him the previous night, she had caught him at the worst possible moment. He'd just reached the stage of drinking when he got maudlin, seconds before he became angry and then passed out. If she'd only arrived a few swigs later, he would have insulted her until she left. As it was, her wide, doelike eyes and trembling lips had turned his resolutions to mush. He wanted her, had always wanted her. Hell, he wanted her still-over and over again until he memorized every inch of her body and she did the same with his. He wanted to wake up every morning with her by his side and to look forward to every night in her arms. During the night he'd even dreamed of children, a luxury he'd never allowed to cross his mind with the life he'd led. But that life was what had brought him up short of his dreams in the end. Someday his past would catch up with him. If not in a few weeks, then in a few years. He would pay for his crimes-no one else. Not Angelina and not his children. The sins of this father would never be visited upon his sons and daughters. Not if Charlie Coltrain had anything to say about it. The kindest thing he could do for the woman he loved was to leave her.

He should have been on his way before last night. What had happened between them spelled disaster, but he hadn't been able to help himself. No excuse, his ma would have said, but the truth nevertheless. Still, deep down where the memory of Angelina's touch would warm him for the rest of his life, he couldn't regret the few precious hours he'd spent in her arms. Nothing in his life had ever been quite so good as making love to Angelina, his wife.

When he slipped from her bed like the thief he was, she turned over, looking even more young and innocent in sleep than she did when awake. He wanted to reach out and touch her one last time, but he didn't dare. If she awoke and he had to look into her eyes again, he wouldn't be able to leave her.

And he had to leave her.

There was no way in this hell of a world he was going to take her to Texas with him. Once there he'd either twist at the end of a rope or be run out of town like a half-mad dog. If he had to die, he would do so alone. If he lived, he couldn't bear to have her see him for what he really was.

For some reason she believed in him. She thought he had an essential goodness, some aptitude for heroics buried beneath his outlaw exterior. Lord knew where she'd gotten that idea, but he had to admit he kind of liked it. If he was going to be hanged, at least he'd carry the memory of her belief with him to the grave-along with the memory of their one night together.

After gathering up his few things, he scribbled a quick note and tossed it on the dresser. At the door, he paused and looked back.

Angelina still slept. A scrap of red on the floor caught his eye, and Charlie crossed the room to pick it up. Her ribbon dangled from his fingers. After a final, lingering glance at his wife, Charlie stuffed the satin into his pocket and quietly left the room.