Free Catch Me by Lorelie Brown

enough ’til now. And I don’t much believe you won’t be escaping, either, any more than I believed you not fighting me.”
    She shrugged. “I don’t blame you. You’ll see soon enough, I suppose.”
    He sat back on his heels, knees splayed and his hands dangling between. His free hands. It was difficult not to feel irritated about that when her own still carried the weight of the steel handcuffs. She figured it wasn’t worth the effort to suppress. Just because she’d decided not to run wasn’t a reason to pretend that everything had turned up roses.
    “May I ask what’s affected this change in your outlook?” he asked.
    “Father’s well on his way to recovery. While I’d like to be there, his health doesn’t seem predicated on my presence.” She picked at a loose string on her pants seam. “And I’m no hardened criminal. I’m bound to be captured soon enough. I might as well go with you.”
    “And the fact that I’ll be taking your father’s job?”
    Her sigh gusted about their small campsite. “I still don’t like it. But the doctors have already said it’s probable Father will have to adapt to a slower pace of life, which isn’t particularly compatible with being a sheriff. And Father never could convince Robert to let himself be deputized, so Fresh Springs has gone without. It might as well be you who takes over.”
    He took the almost-boiling coffee off the fire and set it on a flat rock. “Robert?”
    She ran a finger over and over the smooth steel about her wrists and chewed at the tender inside of her lip. “My brother. He died in a shootout three years ago.”
    “I thought Fresh Springs was supposed to be a quiet little town.”
    “It is, sure enough. Much of that’s been due to Father’s reputation.”
    Collier shot her a purely skeptical look, with one eyebrow raised and a quizzical quirk to his lips.
    “It’s true.” She laced her fingers together and propped her chin on her fists. “Even the Wailins Gang left Fresh Springs alone, except for one nasty raid on a homestead. Awful time that was. They killed the entire Duggins family, all the way down to the littlest baby.”
    “I heard of them. Hank Wailins was hanged just a few months ago.”
    He handed her a biscuit layered with salt pork and a tin cup filled with near-black coffee. An oily swirl covered the top, but she took it with appreciation anyhow. After the sleepless night she’d passed, she’d take any kind of perk-me-up.
    “That’s right.” She took a healthy swig and relished the warmth that spiraled down her chest. “As sick as he was, Father was still part of the posse that brought him in.”
    “You’re awfully proud of your father, aren’t you?” He shoved nearly half his biscuit in his mouth.
    “Why wouldn’t I be? He’s a good man.” She took a much smaller nibble off her breakfast and chewed. “How about you? Aren’t you proud of your family?”
    He stood and tossed the dregs of his coffee into the fire. “Hurry up with your food. I’d like to get back on the road soon.” He strode to the far side of the clearing and began checking up on the horses.
    Maggie stayed where she was, sipping away at her coffee. She hadn’t missed his avoidance. It wasn’t the first time he’d ducked saying something about his family.
    She wasn’t completely dense. That not everyone had as wonderful a home life as hers was something she couldn’t help but notice over the years. But she’d never met anyone who flat out refused to talk about their past. She wondered what Collier had done to cause such a complete rift.
    She sucked down the last bit of her coffee and shoved the last quarter of her biscuit in her mouth.
    No matter. Collier was no business of hers, and he never would be.

Chapter Eight
    Around midday, they came to the Brazos River. The approach wasn’t bad, with softly sloping sides covered in knee-high grass. White-tipped rapids splashed down the course, the runoff of late spring snow melts