were young, Charlie got so sick of people tellin' him he looked like that angel he started callin' his horse that. As I recall, he said he was as much an angel as a horse's a-"

"Luanne," Charlie barked, cutting her off mid-word. "I don't think we need to go into that." Luanne glanced at Angelina, and her lips quirked in amusement. "No, I suppose not. Wouldn't want the Sister to think any worse of you, would we?" She looked Angelina up and down in speculation. "I suspect I'd better find you some clothes, girl. You can't go around wearing Charlie's things forever. I'll see if I can scrounge up somethin' to eat while I'm at it."

"Thanks, Luanne," Charlie said.

"Don't mention it. Old friends have to stick together."

She left with a lingering smile in Charlie's direction that left no doubt in Angelina's mind what kind of old

friends Luanne and Charlie were. The surge of jealousy within her surprised and shocked Angelina. Such

worldly emotions were not for her. She really had to get back to that convent.

"Angelina." Charlie sat down next to her on the bed and took her hands in his. She looked up and was immediately lost in the black depths of his eyes. "Thank you for helping me. You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did."

She found herself fascinated with the length of his eyelashes. No man should have eyelashes that long, she thought irrelevantly. It's almost sinful.

In some distant corner of her mind she knew she sat on a bed, half clothed, in a whorehouse with an

outlaw. She should be swooning with shock at her outraged senses. Her mother would certainly have

fainted hours ago. Instead, faintness of a different type took over.

Unable to help herself, Angelina reached out and touched Charlie's hair as she'd wanted to do only moments earlier. Soft, just as she'd imagined, the color so strangely beautiful she understood why he kept it covered to avoid detection.

Sinful, her mind taunted. You're sinful. He's sinful. The pleasure rushing through you is definitely sinful.

Angelina hesitated for only a moment and then, for the first time in her life, ignored the voice of reason and listened to the feelings.

Her fingers trailed down the side of his face, and she marveled at the contrast of his unshaven cheek with

his silky hair. He watched her, his body held rigidly still.

When her fingers reached his throat, she traced the skin there, unmarred despite the injury hiding beneath the surface. He captured her hand and held it.

"Did I hurt you?" she whispered, wide eyed.

His lips tilted into the half smile she had come to recognize. He raised the captured hand to his mouth and

pressed a heated kiss to the middle of her palm.

"You make me ache, Angelina. You make me hurt so deep and so hard I can't breathe past the pain."

With a muffled curse, he pulled her toward him, slowly, watching her for any sign of resistance. But Angelina didn't want to resist. She went to him willingly, glorying in the touch of his work-roughened palms cradling her face.

His lips on hers were gentle, as though he were afraid she might shatter. And she was shattering- shattering with a need so new and so great she shook with its force.

Returning the kiss, she twined her arms around his neck, arching against him in an instinctive reach for the forbidden.

He stiffened with surprise, and for a moment she feared he would pull away. She clutched him tighter, caught in the midst of desires she didn't understand, but could not fight.

Then she was falling-falling back onto the bed as the warmth of his body covered her own.

Chapter Four.

The world narrowed until there was only the sensation of Charlie's mouth, hard and demanding, upon Angelina's. Any thoughts she'd had of right and wrong, of chastity and honor, of any tenet she'd believed in since the day she'd known she had a calling were thrown into disarray at the tumult of feeling that invaded her mind and body.

The bed, so soft at her back, contrasted with his body, lithe and hard against hers. Her cambric chemise gave no protection against the rough texture of his Levi's, and the bite of his gunbelt into her flesh. She knew she should be afraid, but she wasn't. This was Charlie. Her savior. God had sent him to help her. She could trust Charlie.

When his tongue grazed her lips, she drew in a sharp breath and unknowingly gave him the access he sought. He stroked her teeth and tugged on her lips with shocking intimacy. When she stiffened, he gentled her with soft murmurs and kisses. Her eyes drifted closed, and she relaxed into his embrace.

Tentatively she kissed him back, touching her tongue to his with a feather-light stroke. He groaned and shifted, pressing his lower body against hers. His large, warm hand rested on her hip. He molded his fingers to the curve and urged her closer. She couldn't help herself. She arched against him and brought her fingers up to tangle in the bright gold of his hair.

"Well, isn't this a pretty sight?"

At the sound of Luanne's voice, Angelina's eyes snapped open. Charlie's face, so close to hers, wore an expression of chagrin. She struggled to slide out from underneath his body, but he would not move. Instead, he sighed deeply and lowered his forehead to rest against hers. His hair fell forward, brushing her cheeks and mixing with her own dark tresses, shielding them both from prying eyes.

"Hush," he whispered for Angelina's ears alone, and his breath swept across her lips. "I'll take care of her." Without moving he said, "Get out, Luanne."

"I brought the Sister-" Luanne paused to snort derisively. "I brought her some clothes."

"Put 'em down and get."

"But-"

"Now, Luanne," Charlie snapped, his voice rough with tension.

Angelina flinched as the door slammed. Charlie raised his head and gazed down into her face. She could still feel every inch of his body against hers. Her cheeks grew warm at the realization of how she must look to him, to Luanne-and, most importantly, to God.

"Please let me up," she whispered as mortification flooded her.

Charlie stared at her for another moment, his handsome features distorted into a frown. He looked at her as though he couldn't quite remember who she was or why they were in the position they were in. She shifted uncomfortably under his weight, and his face tightened as he closed his eyes. Then suddenly he rolled off her and she was free. When she turned her head to look for him, Charlie stood at the door.

"Get dressed," he told her gruffly. "Now. We leave in ten minutes."

Before she could answer, he opened the door, and then she was alone.

Angelina lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. What on earth had come over her? She had no excuse, no explanation. From the moment Charlie's mouth had touched hers she had been unable to think-she had only been able to feel.

With a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, she got to her feet. She wouldn't think about that now. She didn't want to think about it. She had to get dressed. With an almost physical effort she pushed thoughts of Charlie's touch from her mind.

A dress lay folded at the foot of the bed. Angelina grabbed the garment and shook it loose with a sharp snap. She raised her eyebrows. Where on earth had Luanne found such a dress? Though clean, it had obviously seen better days. The color of the much washed material hovered between brown and cream. The shape resembled nothing so much as a large burlap sack with a hole cut in the top for her head and two sleeves attached.

With a shrug, Angelina yanked the garment over her head. The material settled against her body and covered her to the floor. She heaved a sigh of relief. It felt good to be adequately clothed once again. Though Angelina hadn't thought it possible to find a dress uglier than the black one she'd just discarded, Luanne had accomplished the feat. Angelina had to admit she was relieved. She had been half afraid Luanne would return with a brilliant red satin gown, suitable for a dance hall but never a stagecoach trip to Corpus Christi. Then what would she have done?

A knock sounded on the door. "Just a minute," she called and reached up to twist her hair into a tight bun. She glanced around the room for her pins, spotting some atop the table in front of a mirror. Crossing the floor, she secured her hair and began to turn away. A flash of red caught her eye and Angelina peered closer. A ribbon, some beads and a pair of earrings lay in a jumble in the center of the table. She reached out and stirred the brightly colored array with her fingertip. When she raised her hand, the ribbon hung from her knuckle.

As a child, she had always loved pretty things-especially pretty red things. Her mother, at the mercy of six boys, countless ranch hands and her husband, had indulged the only other female on the ranch. Angelina's closet had been filled with a rainbow of dresses. She wore a different ribbon in her hair every day. Her mother had made all her dolls equally colorful clothing.

Thinking back on such frivolity, Angelina had to admit its silliness. Still, she would always be drawn to bright beauty. Such desires could be buried, but never forgotten.

The knock on the door was repeated, this time louder and with more impatience. She continued to stare at the ribbon, mesmerized by the silkiness of the fabric.

"Angelina." Charlie's voice preceded him by a mere second as he opened the door and walked in.

She dropped the ribbon with a guilty start, and her gaze flicked up to meet his in the mirror. He frowned

and strode across the room, stopping just behind her to peer over her shoulder. His breath brushed the

loose tendrils at the back of her neck, and she shivered.

Charlie stared at the assortment on the table; then his eyes met hers in the mirror. His held a twinge of amusement.

"Not much fun being a nun, is it?" he asked.

"My life's work isn't supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be rewarding. And it is." She purposely looked

away from the mirror, then stepped out of range of his seductive body heat. When she reached the door, she glanced back at him.

Charlie watched her, curiosity in his eyes. "What's your life's work, Sister?"

"Teaching and spreading God's word," she recited.

"Hmm. Ever thought of doin' anything else?"

"No. The church is my calling. I've known that since I was ten years old."

"Really? I wonder how a ten year old knows her own mind. I sure didn't at that age. Hell, I don't even

know it now." He shrugged. "Well, I admire you, Sister. Too bad you couldn't do the things you mentioned without wasting yourself on the church."

She stiffened. "I don't consider God's work wasteful."

"I didn't say that. It just seems to me that you could do all those things you mentioned and still enjoy bein'

a woman."

"I do."

Charlie smiled, slowly, knowingly, the first true smile she'd seen upon his lips. Angelina stared, transfixed, amazed at how such an expression lightened his countenance.

"I don't think you do enjoy bein' a woman, Sister." Charlie's voice drew her attention away from the

contemplation of his handsome features. "Not the way you could if you'd wise up, look inside and see

what you really want to do with your life."