Angelina glanced uneasily at the darkening sky. She would have to make camp alone or risk continuing in the dark. She hoped there was an extra gun in the saddlebags. A repeat of yesterday's experience would not be welcome.

Before night fell completely Angelina slipped from her horse and hunted through the supplies. She discovered a lethal-looking pistol that must have belonged to one of the outlaws. Only two bullets remained. A thorough search of the bags revealed no more ammunition. Well, two would have to do. If her luck held out, she wouldn't need any.

The lengthening shadows made her nervous. If she made camp, she would have to stay up and keep watch anyway, so she decided to continue riding through the night in hope of reaching another town by morning. All she needed to do was stay on the trail so she wouldn't get lost. She should be able to cope with that.

A coyote howled in the distance, and her horse skittered nervously. The eerie sound seemed to emphasize her isolation. Patting her horse's neck, Angelina murmured nonsense to try to make them both feel better.

The night was cloudy with no visible stars and only a slight shaft of moonlight penetrating the murkiness. She gazed up at the sky a moment, then shivered at the chill pervading the air since the sun had disappeared.

"Amazing how dark the night can be when you're the only human within miles," she told the horse. The animal tossed its head as if in agreement and she continued, soothed by the sound of her own voice. "Amazing how the silence can press on you when the only sound is your own rapid breathing and the impatient snort of your horse."

Angelina had never been alone in her life for more than a few minutes at a time. She had been raised in a household with six brothers, not to mention the countless servants, and there had always been someone nearby. Once she escaped to the convent, even more people filled her life.

"To be perfectly honest," she told her companion, "and honesty is something I strive for, I find solitude highly overrated."

Clip-clop, clip-clop, the horse walked in a soothing rhythm. The muffled sound of hooves on the dirt trail lulled Angelina into a near sleep. She didn't know how long she dozed. Then suddenly she sat up straight, her heart pounding in fear.

Had she almost fallen from the horse? No. She still sat upright and secure in the saddle. If not a near fall, then what had awakened her?

Angelina listened intently, reassured by the steady clip-clop. Then she heard the sound. In the distance still, but coming ever closer-the heavy thud of galloping hooves.

How many? How close? Who?

Her mind shouted questions as her heart raced. She had heard Indians could tell the number and speed of approaching riders quickly by putting an ear to the ground and listening. She had no such ability. In fact, she had no knowledge whatsoever of how to survive alone. She bit down on her lower lip and fought against the panic. Oh, why on earth had she ever left Charlie?

Angelina looked around for somewhere to take cover, but could see nothing useful for hiding both herself and a horse. Remembering what Charlie had done when they were shot at that morning, she dismounted and led her horse into the grass. She hated to use it in such a manner, but the animal was the only cover available. Standing behind the horse, she shakily withdrew the pistol from her saddlebag. She uttered a short prayer that whoever was riding hard and fast on her tail was headed somewhere farther ahead and would pass by her without a glance. If she were very lucky, all this fear would be amusing in the morning.

The steady thud of hoofbeats drew so close she could barely distinguish between the pounding of her own heart and the beat of the hooves in staccato rhythm.

Suddenly a horse burst from the darkness; a rider crouched low over the mount's back, at one with the animal. The flying hooves appeared to soar above the ground, like the mythical beast Pegasus.

Angelina shrank back as they thundered near. She pointed the gun in their direction, though her hand shook so much she would never be able to hit anything if she needed to. Time slowed to a near standstill as the horse and rider came toward her-closer and closer. Her eyes watered with the strain of peering through the night. The image in front of her misted. Wavered. Then the hoofbeats were upon her. All the rider had to do was turn to the side to see her crouched behind the horse.

Instead, the apparition soared past her and raced down the trail without pausing in its mad flight. Angelina's knees buckled and she sank to the ground, expelling the breath she had held for far too long. She didn't know how long she sat in the gently waving grass, waiting while her heart returned to its normal rhythm. Finally she rose and leaned her forehead against her horse's neck, petting the sleek animal for reassurance.

"Thank You, God," she whispered and uncocked the pistol.

"You'd best thank me, Sister," a gravelly voice directly behind her ear said.

Angelina shrieked and spun around, bringing the gun up as she turned. Strong, callused fingers wrapped around her wrist. She flinched from the pressure and dropped the gun into a waiting hand.

Charlie let her go long enough to open the chamber on the gun and glance inside. "Are you crazy?" he growled. "This thing's loaded. You could have blown your fool head off. Or worse, you could have blown my fool head off. What are you doin' out here, Angelina?"

She couldn't answer; she could only shake her head helplessly. He was right. She could have killed both of them-she who had vowed not to hurt a living soul. She had to get back to the convent before she broke every tenet she held dear.

"Angelina?" Charlie's voice sounded at once confused and curious. He reached out and touched her face.

The contact of his warmth against her icy flesh soothed away the lingering fright. Instead of pulling away as she should have, she allowed him to brush his fingertips up and down her cheek.

Heaven and hell. Ice and fire. How could so many things be contained in one man's touch? Charlie was temptation in all forms, and she couldn't summon the strength to resist.

Angelina turned her head into the caress, suddenly aching for more of what she didn't understand. Charlie stepped closer, cupping the side of her face in his large palm. He was going to kiss her, and suddenly she wanted to be kissed more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She tilted her chin upward.

"Damnation," Charlie swore and dropped his hand. He turned and strode a few feet away, stopping with his back to her.

"Charlie?" Angelina asked and stepped toward him.

"Don't," he rasped, his voice sounding more damaged than usual. "Just stay over there, Angelina. Just stay the hell away."

"Why?" she demanded, though she did as he said. "What have I done?"

"You haven't done anything. It's me. All me, as usual."

"I don't understand."

"No, you don't understand, and that's the problem. I know very well what I'm doin' and I shouldn't be

doin' it. I'm old enough." He laughed ruefully. "Hell, I'm long past old enough to know better."

"You're not old," she said softly.

"What would you know about it? You're what? Eighteen?"

"Twenty. Though I don't see what age has to do with this."

"No, you wouldn't." Charlie sighed, then turned back toward her, his body rigid with tension. "We'll have

to make a cold camp-no fire. I think whoever that was who rode past is long gone, but I'm not takin'any chances. I heard him comin' down the trail and got out of the way. Then I heard you rustlin' aroundover here. Lucky for you that guy was stirrin' up enough noise on his own and didn't hear yours. But if hewas lookin' for me he could be back."

Angelina stared at him. Why was he acting as though nothing had happened?

"Why are you here, Charlie?"

He was silent for a moment; then he let out a breath that was halfway between a laugh and a snort and

shook his head. "I don't know. I would have been a lot nearer the border by now, but I couldn't leave you on your own."

"Why?"

"I honestly don't know. I've never met a woman who was more trouble than you, Sister, and I'm not one to stick around where there's trouble. Tomorrow I'll take you to town and get you on a stage to Corpus Christi."

And though that pronouncement should have set Angelina's mind to rest about her future, she was only more confused at the sadness that washed over her. * * * *

Long after Angelina had fallen asleep, Charlie stared into the fire. Why on earth had he come after her? She was pious. She was irritating. She was innocent.

Hell, she was just plain trouble.

He had to get rid of her tomorrow. For that one moment when he had touched her, and she had innocently responded, a sudden and surprising lust had almost killed his common sense. Where such feelings had come from he had no idea. If anyone had told Charlie the day before that he would be lusting after a child in a nun's habit, he would have shot that person on the spot.

Angelina truly wanted to be a nun. He could see the devotion in her eyes, hear it in her voice whenever she talked about the Sisters, the convent and God. He didn't understand that devotion, but he respected it. He would do nothing to destroy her dream.

His gaze was drawn back to her as she slept-so beautiful, so pure. He ached just looking at her. With all the things he had seen and done in his lifetime, his soul was so black he didn't deserve to breathe the same air as Angelina Reyes. Maybe that was at the root of his sudden and unreasoning attraction to her. Never in his life had he encountered someone so at peace with herself and her place on the earth. She fascinated him.

Charlie sighed and gazed up at the stars. His mind already overflowed with memories of deeds he must live with for the rest of his life; one in particular haunted him more than the others. It was that event, more an accident than a crime, which had set him on the path to Montana. Though he had a reputation as a dangerous outlaw, he had never killed anyone who hadn't needed killing. Until the stage accident. With that blight on his soul he did not need any more-especially one with the name Angelina Reyes, eternal innocent.

By the time the sun tinted the horizon pink and orange, Charlie had rousted Angelina from her makeshift bed, and they were back on the trail.

Midafternoon arrived before they reached a town. Blue Creek boasted more amenities than Bakerstown. A saloon with rooms for rent, a sheriff's office and a whorehouse all lined the main street, next to a large general store. They left their horses at the livery stable behind the saloon, and Charlie walked Angelina to the store.

"Get a dress," he ordered gruffly. "You can't wear my clothes back to the convent. You'll give the good Sisters apoplexy."

Before she could answer, he strode away to search out stage departure times and purchase her a ticket. Since early that morning a familiar itch had tickled the back of his neck. That itch meant someone was on his tail. And whoever it was was getting closer. He needed to get Angelina out of the line of fire so he could think straight. Then he could hightail it to Mexico.

"Charlie Coltrain, as I live and breathe," a female voice declared.

Charlie froze. His hand went immediately for the gun at his hip. A thousand-dollar bounty could be collected by a woman as well as a man. Slowly he turned.

"Luanne." Charlie breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the tall, buxom blonde leaning in the doorway of the whorehouse. He and Luanne went way back-all the way to their childhoods in Missouri. Luanne would never betray him.

She approached with a sliding grace all her own. "Honey, I thought you were long dead."

When she stopped only inches away, her cheap perfume invaded Charlie's senses. He coughed. Before he could recover, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard and deep and long. Once, such a kiss would have been all the invitation he needed to yank Luanne into his arms and carry her up the stairs to whatever room was empty.

Once. But no more. And certainly not today. Ignoring her puzzled expression, he pulled away from Luanne.

The warning itch had returned, stronger this time, almost painful. He slapped the back of his neck. His skin stung with the impact-and something else. Charlie turned to stare down the street toward the general store.

No sign of Angelina. She must have gone inside. No one watched him, except for Luanne, who wisely kept silent, knowing him well enough to see he was on the alert.

Finally he turned back to her, though his neck burned fiercely.

"Honey, I've never seen you this jumpy. Can't say that I blame you though, what with that wanted poster tacked up all over town and that Yankee Ranger looking for you."

A familiar surge of hatred swirled through Charlie's gut. He ignored it, knowing he had to keep his emotions in control or risk making a deadly mistake. "Yankee?"

Luanne nodded. "Strange, isn't it? Thought all them Rangers was from Texas. But not this one. He was in here last night, askin' all sorts of questions. Knowin' how you feel about Yankees 'cause of your ma and all, I played real dumb. Since he couldn't get any information out of me, he left."

"No," Charlie said, "he didn't." Amazed at how quickly his neck ceased burning now that he knew the source of the irritation, Charlie grabbed Luanne's arm and hustled her inside. While he learned all she had to tell, he would feel better with his back to a wall and the door at his face.

"Honey, you don't have to drag me. You're welcome in my room. It's a little early for business hours, but I'm always willing to accommodate a friend."

"Not now, Luanne," Charlie said absently, then went behind the bar and helped himself to a glass of whiskey.

"Since you're pourin' cowboy cocktails, pour out another for me," Luanne ordered.

Charlie shrugged and did as he was asked. After picking up the two glasses, he carried them to a table with the best view of the door and took the chair that placed his back to the wall. "Tell me about this Ranger. Tell me everything and make it quick."

Angelina had just stepped inside the store when she heard someone call Charlie's name. Curious, she peered out the front window and watched as a brightly dressed woman, revealing more chest and stocking-covered legs than Angelina had ever seen displayed in public in her life, threw her arms around Charlie and kissed him. They spoke for a few minutes, and then Charlie grabbed the woman's arm and dragged her inside. Angelina was not so naive that she didn't know where they were going-and what would occur once they got there. What surprised her was the shaft of pain shooting through her chest at the realization.

So, he's a man. Her father and her brothers had always boasted about a man's needs. Such boasting was usually followed by a trip to town. Now she had seen for herself the type of woman who fulfilled those mysterious needs.

Angelina turned away from the window and wandered around the store aimlessly. She was supposed to be picking out clothes for her trip to the convent, but she couldn't focus her attention on the task. Her mind kept returning to the image of Charlie kissing the woman. What would it feel like to be the woman in his arms? The woman in his bed?

Angelina straightened up sharply, her spine rigid at the direction of her thoughts. What on earth had made her think such sinful things?

Forcing her mind away from Charlie, Angelina strolled to the small selection of ready-made dresses at the rear of the store and tried to find something that fit.

Another customer entered and spoke with the clerk. Angelina continued with her shopping until she heard the name Charlie Coltrain mentioned.

Slowly she returned the dress she had been looking at to its place and turned. A shelf stacked with bolts of cloth stood between her and the two men speaking. If she moved closer, she could hear clearly, but they could not see her.

"Can't say that I know anyone by that name," the clerk responded.

"Big man," the newcomer said. "Rides a white horse."

Angelina frowned at the sound of the voice, devoid of the slightly Southern twang common to Texans. Instead, this voice was clipped and flat.

Yankee, she thought. Why has he come all the way to Texas looking for Charlie?

"Lots of men ride white horses," the clerk returned.

"If you saw this one you'd remember. He's got long hair of a peculiar color-gold and silver. And his voice-well, if you heard him speak you'd know for sure you were talking to Charlie Coltrain."

Angelina flinched at the accurate description. She had to get out of this place and warn Charlie. Her gaze darted around the back of the store and lit on a door behind the dresses she had been perusing. Slowly she sidled toward the exit.

"Saw a man come in on a big white horse a while ago. Went toward the livery stable."

Angelina didn't wait to hear any more. She bolted through the back door and ran as fast as she could across the street to the place she had last seen Charlie. She burst through the front door of the Blue Creek whorehouse, shouting, "Charlie!"

She stopped short at the sight of Charlie and the woman he'd kissed sitting companionably at a table, drinking and chatting. At her abrupt entrance, Charlie leapt to his feet, drew his gun and pointed the weapon in her direction. When he saw her he scowled and put the gun back in the holster at his hip. "Dammit, Angelina, don't do that. I could've shot you."