Free A Wanted Man by Linda Lael Miller

hadn’t questioned her orders. He’d simply taken the most direct route to the depot, unloaded her belongings onto a porter’s cart, tipped his hat to her, and wished her Godspeed.
    Now, standing in a boardinghouse room, trembling with cold and the fear stirred up by remembering, Lark considered filling a single reticule and running away again.
    There wouldn’t be a stagecoach through town until Thursday morning, and she didn’t have the fare, but perhaps she could prevail upon someone, a freight driver or a peddler, for instance, to give her a ride to—where?
    Flagstaff?
    She sat down heavily on the edge of her bed. What would she do when she got to Flagstaff?
    Perhaps she could pawn her cameo brooch there and buy passage on a train—
    No, not a train.
    Autry might have agents aboard, because of the recent robberies, to protect his financial interests. And any one of them might recognize her as the upstart wife who’d dared to fly the coop and add insult to injury by having divorce papers served upon her outraged husband only ten days after her departure.
    Tears filled Lark’s eyes. She pinned the cherished cameo brooch, her mother’s most precious treasure, to the bodice of her dress. How could she part with it?
    Besides, she didn’t want to run. She loved her pupils, loved seeing the light of understanding in their eyes when they suddenly grasped some new concept or idea, mastered some elusive skill. She loved Stone Creek, damnably cold though it was in winter and, anyway, she’d been invited to the O’Ballivans’ home for supper on Friday night.
    She bit down hard on her lower lip. She’d behaved like a hussy, down there in the kitchen. Sat in Rowdy’s lap, like some…dancehall girl. And, dear God, at the slightest encouragement from him, she’d have gone willingly, even eagerly, to his bed.
    He’d been so tender.
    He’d been so strong.
    And he’d as much as said, outright, that he’d have her.
    Nevertheless, there will come a day—or perhaps a night—when I know everything there is to know about you, Lark Morgan, and a few things you don’t even know about yourself.
    She blushed at the memory of his words and the way he’d said them.
    He meant to seduce her, sooner or later, and he’d taken the first step in the process the night before, in Mrs. Porter’s kitchen.
    What would be next?
    A kiss? A caress?
    Rowdy Rhodes was a patient man, that much was obvious. One by one, he would strip away her defenses, like garments.
    If she stayed in Stone Creek, her downfall was inevitable.
    She’d barely resisted him the night before, barely kept herself from lifting her head from his shoulder, finding his mouth with her own, kissing him, like some brazen trollop, some tramp—
    Some saloon singer.
    Lark gave an involuntary whimper.
    Even now, at what should have been a safe distance, with Mrs. Porter and Mai Lee up and about, she wanted him.
    Wanted his hands on her breasts, her hips, her thighs.
    “Stop it!” she said aloud, squeezing her eyes shut.
    After several minutes of deep, slow breathing, Lark regained some semblance of self-control.
    A light rap sounded at her door. “Mai Lee has breakfast ready, dear,” Mrs. Porter called cheerfully. “And if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for school.”
    “Coming,” Lark called back, with an effort at equal good cheer. But her voice quavered a little.
    The creaking of the front gate sent her scurrying to her window. She tugged aside the curtain and looked out.
    Rowdy was just stepping onto the sidewalk, Pardner cavorting at his side.
    She let out a long breath. At least she wouldn’t have to sit across the table from him, choking down her breakfast, pretending she hadn’t let him rub her feet the night before, hadn’t sat in his lap and felt so foolishly safe that she’d fallen asleep.
    She watched from the window until she was sure Rowdy wouldn’t double back, then hurried downstairs with as much dignity as she could manage. Their two chairs,