Millie And The Fugitive

“Oh.” The tension gushed out of him in one breath as he looked again at the little mare. Mrs. Darwimple? What kind of nut named a horse something like that? He glanced back at the black-haired young lady. She was staring back, a slightly indignant, prissy purse to her rosy lips. For a crazy moment, he wondered what would happen if he kissed the pout right off of those lips of hers.

Maybe taking her wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe...

He shook his head. He just didn’t have time for maybes. “I don’t care what her name is. Can you ride her?”

“Can I!” Millie bridled proudly in front of him. “Daddy says riding is the one thing I do exceptionally well,” she boasted. Just as quickly, an idea apparently struck her. “If you want, I could ride into town for you and get whatever you need for—”

“Forget it,” Sam said, cutting her off. “I hope you’re telling the truth, because—”

“I told you, I’m very honest,” Millie said, annoyed.

“Fine. Then get up on that horse.” He grabbed her by the arm, eased her down, and followed right after her.

“I can mount by myself.”

“Good for you,” Sam said, watching as she swung up to her preposterous perch. As soon as she’d crooked her leg into position, he took the leftover rope and reached beneath her knee.

“What are you doing?” she cried in shocked outrage.

“Tying you to the saddle and the saddle to me,” he answered, looping the rope around her knee and pulling it into a snug knot.

“But that’s dangerous!” She shot him an angry glare. “If my daddy hears about this—”

His eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Listen, Princess. Two minutes ago you were telling me ‘daddy’ was going to shower me in riches.”

The reminder failed to calm her. “My daddy will see to it that you’re strung up from the highest gallows, you filthy murderer! And don’t think he won’t. My daddy has influence!”

With a heavy sigh, Sam mounted his horse again, feeling less optimistic now that he was saddled with a mouthy woman. He would have to figure out a way to get rid of her, fast. There was so little time. Two weeks.

“Kick that horse into a gallop and keep your lip buttoned,” he instructed her.

In answer, she jutted out her chin belligerently.

Fine. Sam spurred his own horse and watched in solemn amusement as the little princess was yanked into movement. Her starchy white ruffled pinafore and yellow skirt flipped into her face momentarily, until she sputtered and waved them away, tucking both underneath her firmly. She threw him a last angry glance before setting her jaw and concentrating finally on the landscape ahead of them.

Sam was at least grateful to note that she hadn’t been lying about her riding skill. Which meant that if he couldn’t travel light, he could at least travel fleetly. But then, he had to.

His brother’s life depended on it.

“When my father hears about this, you’ll be done for.”

And her father would hear about it, once someone found the bonnet Millie had dropped as she and the desperado galloped away. Naturally, the man hadn’t noticed it was missing—probably hadn’t even noticed its dangling chin ties looped around her saddle to begin with. It was her very best bonnet, too, festooned with grape clusters and even a little redbird. But men of this man’s ilk probably didn’t pay any attention to hats unless they were the type measured by how much fluid could fit inside them.

Once her jaunty bonnet was found so near the deputies, Sheriff Tom McMillan was bound to put two and two together. If her bonnet was found. She had to keep up hope. “You’ll never get away with this,” she said menacingly.

The desperado rolled his eyes toward the star-drenched heavens. “Shut up and eat.”

Shut up? Never in her life had anyone ordered Millicent Lively around so brutishly! Just why did he feel it necessary to be so rude, anyway? She was apparently going to spend her night tied to a tree. Wasn’t that punishment enough?

This had to be the worst day of her whole entire life, Millie thought, giving in to her sulky mood. First she had had a dreadful argument with her father, who had forbidden her to break off her engagement. He thought she was getting a reputation for being fickle, and needed to settle down. Millie would admit, eleven fiancés was quite a number to have gone through—but that didn’t mean she was wrong to not want to marry Lloyd Boyd, one of the clerks at her father’s bank. And not even a very good bank clerk, as she’d reminded her father. Lloyd, daydreaming about more romantic jobs, was forever counting out the wrong change.

But he was also one of her oldest friends. The only reason she’d agreed to be engaged to him was simply that the supply of men to affiance herself to was running very low. And it was terrible not to have a fiancé at this time of year, with Christmas coming. And her birthday was in December, too. But a girl just didn’t marry a friend. That would be too boring! For a husband, a girl wanted someone different, mysterious....

She looked over at that outlaw and shivered. Maybe not too mysterious!

But at any rate, she certainly wouldn’t marry anyone against her will. So she’d decided to run away. Well, naturally, she wasn’t really going to run away. She’d simply intended to stay out long enough for her father to begin to worry, then to repent his outrageous ultimatum, and then to feel so terribly guilty that he would never cross her wishes again. Three hours would have done it. He knew she never missed the noon meal.

And she was certain this would have all worked according to plan—except that some ruffian would have to come along and kidnap her!

She couldn’t be certain, but she was afraid this man was that wife-murderer who’d just been sentenced to hang. There weren’t too many murderers in Chariton, after all. Just her luck that she would be out when one of the few managed to escape!

Despair threatened to overwhelm her, but she held her head high. She couldn’t give in. Couldn’t let this barbarian see her fear. She looked upon him imperiously, turning up her nose at the cold biscuit that he held. “Eat? I’d rather die!” she said, never taking her eyes off him.

Not that she could forget what he looked like. Ever. His deeply tanned skin, dusty brown hair and gray eyes would haunt her forever now. As would the shock of landing in the desperado’s fearfully powerful embrace when she tumbled out of that pear tree. The odd thing was, she would have found the man handsome, if it weren’t for the fact that he was a murderer and a kidnapper and God only knew what else. He also had strong hands and an impressive build—the better to maim and abduct with, she supposed.

“It seems to me that after going to all the trouble of taking a hostage,” she lectured primly, “you could at least provide me with a hot meal.”

“Sure,” the man drawled. “I guess I should build up a big snuggly fire to warm your dainty feet by, too.”

She tossed the black hair that she had braided after her captor finally stopped for the night. For a few hours’ rest, he said. As if she could get any rest roped to a tree trunk, out in the chilly night air! “As a matter of fact, I would appreciate a fire very much. And if my daddy ever learned that you had extended that kindness, I am certain he would ask the authorities to be lenient.”

“I’ll bet,” he said flatly. “The last thing I need is you sending smoke signals to daddy.”

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about that,” she assured him, in a voice that let him know precisely how preposterous that idea was. “The only Indian blood in my family is a distant cousin on my great-great-grand-mother’s —”

“Forget it,” he snapped, apparently not interested in her family’s fascinating history. “Fires attract attention.”

She folded her arms crossly. “You should have at least let me bring along some of the pears I had collected.”

She thought she detected a hint of regret in those gray eyes of his over the crunchy pears they’d left behind. Maybe she was just imagining it. “Stop thinking about the hunger, and it won’t bother you so much,” he said.

“Well I’ve got to eat something!” she cried.

He laughed gently, his eyes glinting at her with wicked humor. As though he enjoyed her discomfort! But then, why wouldn’t he? He was a vicious criminal.

“I thought you’d rather die than eat,” he said.

“Oh, give me a piece of that horrible stuff,” she snapped, swiping a hunk from his hand. She took a bite of the dry, tasteless biscuit and winced as she chewed. And chewed. Finally, she gathered up the necessary resources to swallow. “How terrible! Daddy probably ate better during the war!”

“Don’t blame me, Princess. I got it off my law friends.”

“The men you killed, you mean.”

“Once and for all, I did not kill anybody.”

“Ha! I witnessed the crime with my own eyes,” she said, not bothering to lie. “I saw that man begging for his life before you pummeled him.”

“You saw wrong,” he said. “I didn’t kill anybody. Think about it. If I were a murderer, why would I be wasting my time hauling you around?”

For a moment, Millie was stumped. But a common criminal couldn’t fool a mind like hers for long. “That’s simple,” she said proudly. “You obviously know how valuable I am.”

His mouth fell open. “Valuable!”

“Of course. I told you right away that my daddy would pay a high price for my return.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that fairy story?”

“It’s the truth!” she yelped in frustration.

“Well, I don’t believe it, any more than you believe I’m not a murderer.”

Millie frowned. “But I can prove Daddy’s an important person.”

The gray eyes glinted in challenge. “How?”

It was so obvious! “Take me back to Chariton. If you ask anyone there, they’ll tell you.”

This suggestion was greeted with a full-throated cackle. “Princess, you’ve got to think of something better than that.”

“Or any town in these parts. My daddy’s well-known. Haven’t you ever heard of Sam Houston?”

That name finally got his attention. The man sat up a little straighter. “Heard of him? I’m named after him!” He frowned. “But he’s dead. You can’t be...”

Her lips lifted in a smug smile. She couldn’t help it. It was about time the man started taking her seriously. “No, I’m not. But my daddy used to work for Mr. Houston, before the war.”

He tilted his head skeptically. “I thought you said your father was a storekeeper.”

“He is. He owns a store, and a bank.”

The man frowned thoughtfully. “So...that’s how he can get his hands on all those armloads of dollars you keep promising me.”

“That’s right. Daddy is quite wealthy.” She smiled in relief. Now that the man knew she was rich, her situation would surely improve. “So now that you believe me, won’t you let me go? It would be better for you in the end. After all, they’re bound to catch up with you.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said. She couldn’t see his face too well in the darkness. Just enough to take note of the hard cast to his expression. Its intensity made her shiver. “Don’t think I’m swallowing every word you feed me, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you’d say anything to free yourself.”

“You’re a fine one to call me a liar, you —” All at once, something about what he’d said seemed odd to her. He’d said he was named after Sam Houston. But the man who’d murdered his wife had been named Winter. Jesse Winter.

“You’re not him,” she said.

He looked up from the ground. “Who?”

“The murderer,” she said, adding quickly. “At least, you’re not the one I thought you were. His name was Jesse Winter.”

“That’s my brother. I’m Sam Winter.”

The knowledge didn’t comfort her. There was obviously a strain of exceptionally bad blood running in the Winter family, if they could create two such vicious characters in one generation. Her father hadn’t allowed her anywhere near the courtroom during the Winter trial, but she suddenly remembered. “You hid your brother, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“They were sending you to jail for that?” she asked.

He nodded curtly. “For two years.”

That seemed a bit severe to Millie, but the law was the law. “If everyone aided criminals,” she said, “we’d never be able to catch them.”

“What if some of these so-called criminals are actually innocent?” he asked challengingly.

“But your brother was guilty. A jury convicted him.”

“You think juries are always right, Miss...what did you say your name was?”

“Lively,” she told him. “Millicent Lively.”

“Don’t you think people are capable of making mistakes, Miss Lively? After all —” His words were cut off, and for a moment, Millie wondered if perhaps he wasn’t choking. He sat with his mouth open, the strangest expression on his face. “Your name is Lively?”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Your father...” Sam swallowed. “He’s not Horace Lively, by any chance, is he? Colonel Horace P. Lively?”

Her face lit up. “That’s Daddy!”

“Oh, God.” The man swallowed slowly. “This is fine. Just fine!” he said, his voice rising petulantly.

“I told you all along he was important.”

The man’s searing gray eyes glistened in the darkness, fastening on her with growing anger. “Why didn’t you just say it flat out? ‘My father is Colonel Horace P. Lively.’ I thought maybe he just owned a big store. You didn’t tell me he was a man with a statewide reputation. A war hero!”

She smirked in satisfaction. “Well, now you know.”

He picked up a rock and tossed it into the darkness. The sound of it hitting a tree echoed back to them. “Now is too late,” Sam said. “If I’d known, I could have left you there. Even if you had a big mouth and would have blabbered lies all over the place and told the authorities where I’d ridden off. At least I wouldn’t be charged with kidnapping Old Lightfooted Lively’s daughter!”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s just what I’ve been telling you all along,” she insisted. “If you only would have listened!”

He sighed in despair. Good, Millie thought. Let him worry for a while! “This is a helluva fix I’m in,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you let me go now?” she suggested. “You’ve seen me ride. You know I can get back to Chariton all right. And I’ll tell Daddy that you were a perfect gentleman and released me as soon as you knew who I was.”

“I’m in too deep now,” he said. “I’ve got to think of a way to get rid of you.”

“You mean —” Instinctively, she touched her neck, as if the ominous words had choked the breath out of her.

“Don’t worry,” he snapped. “Believe it or not, I’m more concerned about someone else’s liberty than yours.”

“A murderer’s, you mean.”

“My brother is innocent,” Sam said, his voice suddenly more menacing than she’d ever heard it. “I won’t have you talk against him.”

She was silent for a moment, watching him. She could just make out his intent expression in the darkness. Finally, she gathered the courage to ask, “What are you going to do with me? Leave me here, tied up?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Sam said. “I’ll have to decide in the morning.”

Millie frowned. Morning. She couldn’t believe it would ever come. It seemed a lifetime of darkness away.

“Get some shut-eye,” Sam instructed her. He sat back down where he’d been, then stretched himself out to his full length across the ground. “More than likely, tomorrow will be harder than today.”

Harder? After a day with no food or rest? Millie had no idea how she was supposed to sleep propped up and bound to an oak tree, but that didn’t appear to concern Mr. Sam Winter. “This is no bed of roses, you know,” she said tightly.

He looked over at her, frowning. He then stood, picked up one of the horse blankets and spread it across her feet and outstretched legs. “That’ll have to do, Princess. Sorry I couldn’t provide better accommodations.”

Her lips turned down, and she watched with envy as he stretched out across the grass again. Oh, well. At least she was alive. For someone taken hostage by a cold-blooded killer, a man who’d murdered two lawmen, that was quite a bit to be thankful for. But what would morning bring?

She sank against the rough bark and closed her eyes. She was tired. And sore! Good rider though she was, she’d never ridden so vigorously for so long before. She’d never needed to — until Sam Winter pointed a gun at her.

Odd, she thought, yawning sleepily. He must be an awfully insightful criminal. “Sam?”

There was a short pause before he answered her. “Yeah?”

It was a deep voice. Soft, husky. Again, she would have liked it, had it belonged to another man. A nice man. “How did you know my nickname?”

“Huh?”

“The one my daddy calls me by,” she clarified, her voice tired and heavy.

“What’s that?”

“Princess.”

His deep-throated chuckle was the only reply Millie received before she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Two

Even before he opened his eyes, Sam could feel something beating down on him. Not the sun; he could tell by the cool, damp air against his skin that it wasn’t yet light. But something equal to the sun’s intensity. He allowed himself to take a tentative peek — and was immediately confronted by a pair of angry brown eyes peering at him through the waning darkness.

His hostage’s arms were crossed over her chest. “I smell like a horse!” she snapped in an imperious tone Sam wasn’t as yet prepared to contend with. Not at this hour, at least.

He closed his eyes again. In his dreams, Salina’s murder had never happened. He’d been back at his farm, confronting nothing more than another early fall day of harvesting the fruits of his labors. Honest work. Work that made a man feel satisfied with himself at the end of the day. Unlike kidnapping.

He forced himself to sit upright and face the day ahead of him. At least it was still well before dawn. They could cover a lot of miles today, which they needed to do now that he had decided where to deposit Miss Lively. Well after she dozed off, Sam had lain awake, considering his options. One thing he definitely didn’t have time for was keeping a girl with dancing dark eyes and enticing lips with him. He’d spent too much time already remembering how slender her waist was, how delicate she felt on his lap. How pretty she was...

And what a rich, powerful daddy she had. An angry daddy, too, once he discovered what had happened to his little princess.

Finally, he’d concluded that the best place for Millie would be with one of his father’s old friends, Gus Beaver. Gus and his wife, Louise, lived on a remote farm and would make certain Miss Lively stayed put, with her mouth shut, until Sam was able to free Jesse. Going to Gus’s wouldn’t take him too much out of his way, but he had no time to waste.

Sam stood up, dusted himself off and prepared to untie Millie, who hadn’t stopped glaring at him.

“I’m not budging an inch until I’ve had a bath,” she said to him before he could take so much as a step forward.

“A bath!” Sam exclaimed. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? There’s a stream not far from here, you said yesterday. You can’t possibly expect me to ride around the country dirty and smelling bad, can you?”

“Welcome to the unwashed masses, Miss Lively.”

Her chin jutted out defiantly, in a manner he was beginning to know and dread. “I am not the masses. Every day since I can remember, my maid, Alberta, has drawn me a warm bath. It’s not as if I’m asking for the moon. Just to wade in a cold stream. I wouldn’t think that too much to ask.”

“Well, it is,” he retorted.

“Hmm.” She tossed her mussed head of black hair behmd her to indicate her utter disdain. “My daddy always says cleanliness is next to godliness. I suppose that just shows what class of person you are!”

“Sorry, Princess, I don’t have time to be godly right at this moment.”

“Then you might as well shoot me now,” she argued petulantly, kicking off the striped wool saddle blanket. “I’d rather be dead than so dirty I’m attracting bugs!”

Sam could deal with bugs. An uppity rich girl with a powerful daddy bothered him a whole lot more. Yesterday he’d never have dreamed that taking the woman would make him feel as if he were traveling across Texas with a lit stick of dynamite, but that’s how it seemed now.

Why hadn’t he seen the signs? Her soft tan boots that looked like they’d barely ever touched dirt, her prissy sidesaddle, the fine yellow dress that even in its simplicity was better than any of the dresses the womenfolk of his acquaintance had ever worn — those things all shouted mockingly at him now. Even in the darkness he could make out that damn yellow dress.

So, probably, could any person who saw them, even from a half mile away. Damn!

Sam bit back a ragged sigh. No use worrying about things he couldn’t do anything about. Unless...

An idea occurred to him. A wicked idea, tailor-made to give the haughty little princess a cold douse of reality. Maybe next time she would think twice before she started making demands.

“All right,” he said, with a reluctance he now didn’t feel, “I suppose we could stop long enough for you to take a quick dip.” He leaned down and untied her bonds, then reached quickly for his rifle, in case she had any sneaky ideas.

Apparently she didn’t. Her smile of satisfaction showed through the darkness as she stood up and dusted herself off. “Now that’s more like it!” she said, her voice a pleased chirp. “I won’t be but a minute.”

“I’ll see to that. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Her eyes became round and alert. “What? Surely you don’t think...”

“Surely you don’t think I’m going to let you swim away from me,” he told her. “You just start walking to the creek.”

She took one look at the barrel of his gun, turned, and began marching stiffly ahead of him. Funny, now that she knew she was going to have a witness to her morning bath—someone besides her maid Alberta—the woman seemed in less of a hurry to spiff herself up.

As the soft bubbling of the creek came into earshot, Millie’s steps slowed to a crawl. Finally she stopped, and turned, a genial smile on her face. “Sam...” Her voice was far too pleasant to be trustworthy, and her manner was all flounce and flutter, now that she knew he had her over a barrel. “That’s such a nice name.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded obligingly. “Sam, now that I’ve had time to give the matter further thought, I do believe I could wait another day, or perhaps even a week or so, before I take a bath.”

He smiled back. “I’ve given it some thought, too,” he told her. “And I’ve decided I wouldn’t want to be responsible for depriving you of your daily dose of godliness.”

“Oh, but I don’t mind, honestly.”

He shot his eyebrows upward, feigning shock. “What would your daddy say if he found out?”

Her black eyes grew fiery as all pretense of friendliness was dropped. “He’d rather that than that I stripped down in front of a criminal!”

“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling broadly. “I won’t look.”

She clucked skeptically. “As if I would trust your word—the word of a murderer!”

The tag stung. Would he ever be able to prove to the world that he and his brother weren’t criminals? Obviously not, if Miss Millicent Lively had her way. “Just remember, Princess. This murderer will be nearby in case you decide to swim away. Now walk.”

She tossed him a glare and marched forward again until they reached the edge of a stream. It wasn’t very wide, but there was a spot where it formed a very small pond—big enough for Millie to splash around in. Sam nudged her toward it, then nodded.

“Take off your dress and hop in,” he instructed.

After sending him an annoyed glance, she squinted down at the water at her feet. “This water is brown,” she declared distastefully. “And there are probably snakes in there!”

“Just jump in. Most likely, you’ll scare them all away,” Sam said, growing impatient. “Now take off that dress and get in.”