Free My Angel by Christine Young Page B

the premises when the pandemonium began. Before anyone discovered Emma missing, Angela had to get away.
     
    Angela began packing, a heavy sigh coming from her. Why couldn't her father listen and try to understand? Hearing her side of the story didn't seem unreasonable. Her father wanted to see her polished. She wasn't a piece of silver, and she had no need for fancy Eastern society. She stuffed the dress she'd worn to the bordello into her valise.
     
    No matter what Sam Chamberlain had in mind for her, he could not erase her Sioux blood. Her mother, White Flower, was half Sioux. Angela had inherited her blond hair and blue eyes from her grandmother, who had been captured by a Sioux chieftain. Many summers she' d lived with her tribe, been part of their customs, admired their courage and honesty. She admired Emma, too. She paused a moment.
     
    "I'm proud of you, Emma Barringer,'' she said, "but you've put a hitch in the plans."
     
    Angela dug through her remaining clothes. She continued her search until she found her buckskins and moccasins. Dressing quickly, she turned to the mirror to braid her hair.
     
    "Good Lord,'' she murmured. The sight of herself made her grimace with distaste. There wasn't enough water in the state of Colorado to wash the paint off her face. She pursed her lips, then puckered her mouth into a funny expression.
     
    Her search for the soap took too many minutes. The scrubbing took longer. She washed until her cheeks were pink and raw. The kohl around her eyes smudged and burned. When she was finished, the paint was not all gone, but she liked the wide-eyed look a small amount of makeup gave her.
     
    "Too bad you can't see me now, Devil." She flashed the mirror a mischievous grin before turning away. She slipped her knife into its sheath and tucked in her shirt. If Devil wanted her, he'd have to find her. She'd give him one week, she decided. Then she'd start looking for him.
     
    "Angela! Open the door." Her father's voice from outside the door sent a ripple of fear down her spine, followed by a calming moment of resignation.
     
    "Angela!"
     
    Her name was uttered with such force, her heart missed a beat and she broke out hi a clammy sweat. She wasn't ready to face her father. Sam's frantic, angry pounding on her door was sure to break it down. "I'm coming." Her voice quavered and her nerves jumped. Knowing she had no other recourse, she slowly opened the door.
     
    "Papa." She stiffened her shoulders and braced herself for her father's anger.
     
    "What are you doing here? Never mind. I already know, but you'll answer my questions when this over. Do you understand?"
     
    "Yes, Papa." She'd never seen him so angry. "But only because I need to explain my actions. I want you to understand.''
     
    "You're leaving," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her out the door. "You're going to the stables right now and you're going to find what looks like the fastest horse and you're getting out of here."
     
    "Yes, Papa," she said.
     
    "Stay in your room until I get back to the hotel. You've a lot to answer for, young lady. As of this morning, I thought you were safe and on your way to Boston ."
     
    "I know," she agreed. "But, Father, I'm not a child. I can take care of myself and make my own decisions," she said, her voice strong and sure.
     
    He stared at her, a white-hot anger emanating from him. Her heart pounded erratically against her chest. She'd never before disobeyed him this blatantly. His fury with her was understandable, yet her own determination to make her own way stood at the forefront of her mind. She wanted his respect, needed his blessing, but if neither was forthcoming, she'd deal with the consequences.
     
    "Angela?" His voice was filled with heated rage. "What are you up to?" His hands on her shoulders shook, his eyes alight with anger and fear she suddenly understood went beyond all reason. And she knew he held himself in check, that it was all he could do to keep from