Free Dark Torment by Karen Robards

shrugged, patently unconcerned. Sarah came a step nearer, her eyes shifting
back to the man dangling from Gallagher’s arm. He seemed to be going a
little blue around the mouth and nose.
    “You’d better let him go,” she said, not wanting
to be responsible if the man strangled.
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” There
was a finality about the words that told Sarah that Gallagher did not expect to
have his judgment questioned. Sarah looked daggers at him. She was getting
tired of all the men of her acquaintance automatically assuming an air of
superiority. And this one was a convict, yet!
    “I said let him go,” she repeated, challenging him
with her eyes. “Put him down on the ground and let him get his breath
back. For goodness’ sake, we can’t take him back to Lowella like
this. If there’s only one horse, he’s going to have to walk. Unless
you want to carry him.”
    Gallagher regarded her steadily for a moment, then shrugged again.
“Anything you say. Miss Sarah.”
    Sarah ignored that, watching with a small measure of triumph as
Gallagher let the man sink to the ground. He lay unmoving, looking so pathetic
that Sarah moved closer to get a better look at him. Perhaps he really was ill.
Though why she should be concerned, she didn’t know, she thought,
reminding herself that only moments before he had dragged her off her horse and
into the brush with intentions she didn’t want to contemplate. If
Gallagher hadn’t come when he had . . .
    “Get back!” The warning was Gallagher’s, but it
came too late. The man thrust himself up from the ground, his legs bunched
under him to give him greater momentum He shoved Sarah, who hovered near him,
eyes widening with surprise, backward with all his might. She reeled, and would
have fallen if Gallagher had not caught her, his arms sliding around her waist.
The feel of his hands gripping her rib cage with such intimacy, even though she
knew that his action was nothing more than an instinctive response to keep her
from falling, caused her to leap away from him. Her sudden, violent recoil sent
Gallagher staggering backward. He tripped over a fallen branch and fell
heavily, cursing harshly as his back hit the ground. Sarah winced, hurrying to
his side as the other man ran off through the trees as fast as his bandy legs
would carry him.
    “Dammit, woman, see what you’ve done.” Gallagher
was glaring up at her. He had turned over and lay flat on his belly in the
bracken, his eyes mere slits of pain as he regarded her with acute dislike.
“If you’re expecting me to go running after him, you can think
again. I may not be able to move for months.”
    “I’m sorry,” Sarah said automatically, before
she remembered whom she was addressing. Her brows slanted together to form an
irritated V over her eyes as she matched glare for glare with the man who lay
sprawled at her feet. “Don’t you dare swear at me!”
    “Why, you ungrateful . . .” Gallagher bit off the next
word, then appeared to remember her saying much the same thing to him not many
days before. He smiled, reluctantly, wryly. Sarah, who was remembering too, had
to smile back. The whole situation was ridiculous. And he looked so funny,
lying there on his stomach with a frond of fern decorating his black hair, his
big body framed by more feathery protrusions of greenery, a mingling of pain
and amusement on his face. It was the first time she had seen him smile without
nastiness or mockery; the effect was dazzling. “I beg your pardon. Miss
Sarah.”
    The warmth of his smile did much to rob the deliberate needling of
its bite. Sarah extended a hand to help him up. When he made no effort to
respond, but merely lay there looking up at her through narrowed eyes, she
frowned. Was he hurt more badly than she had imagined, or was he determined to
keep their feud going despite its senselessness? Biting her lip, she decided to
give him the benefit of the