Free The Last Renegade by Jo Goodman

Pennyroyal. I thought that would be enough.”
    Kellen was not prepared to reveal that the letters she wrote to Nat Church were the source of almost everything he knew.
    Whatever Nat Church’s intentions, Kellen had been charged with going to the Pennyroyal.
Should find her…tell her…she’s waiting
. And now that he knew the content of the letters, it seemed clear that the
she
in wait was Mrs. Berry. Perhaps Nat Church had only ever wanted him to tell Mrs. Berry that he wouldn’t be coming.
    Except that it didn’t settle right with him to leave it there. He still wanted to know why a man was dead and a woman was in so much pain she could wound you with a look.
    “I wasn’t sure you
were
the owner when we met,” he said. “I knew we would figure it out eventually, and so we have. You can appreciate my caution. Nat Church is dead for lack of it.”
    She lowered her head and stared at her folded hands. “I didn’t think I had to warn him. No one knew he was…” Her head snapped up; suspicion narrowed her eyes. “Tell me again how you know what you know.”
    “He wanted me to know. He made sure I did.”
    “Why?”
    “I can’t speak to his reasons. He wasn’t one for explaining things like that. He trusted me.”
    “He never wrote that he was bringing anyone with him.”
    “Perhaps because he didn’t want you to know that he thought better about doing the job alone.”
    “So he chose you?”
    Kellen smiled again. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” The smile disappeared. He picked up his glass, emptied it, then leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. He rolled the glass between his palms. “You played your cards close.”
    “Not close enough. He’s dead. Bringing you along didn’t keep him safe.”
    “He didn’t ask me along to keep him safe. The job, as I understand it, is to keep you safe.”
    She flushed. Her folded hands tightened. “I never asked for that.”
    “You asked for protection for the town. You’re part of the town, aren’t you?”
    Her flush deepened, but she did not respond to the rhetorical question. “Someone found out that he was coming here and killed him.”
    “You have to consider the possibility his murder had nothing at all to do with the reasons he was coming here. He was a lawman.”
    “Retired.”
    Kellen had suspected as much.
    “Retired, yes, but not without enemies. Not everyone hangs, you know. Not everyone is shot dead. Some go to prison, some of them get out, and some of them who get out go looking.” He thought he saw her shiver. He stopped rolling the glass. “Should I start a fire in the stove?”
    She shook her head. “No, not on my account.”
    He moved the glass to the table as he stood. “Then on mine.”
    “Where are you from?” Before he could answer, she said, “And please don’t say you’re not from around here. There is no point in being obtuse when that much is certain. I put your accent east of the Mississippi. Northeast?”
    “I didn’t realize it was still obvious. I haven’t lived there for years.” Kellen set about lighting the tinder and nursing the fire. “New England, generally. New Haven, specifically.”
    “New Haven. Isn’t there a college there?”
    “Yale,” he said. “You’re thinking of Yale.”
    “No, I was thinking of Harvard.”
    He chuckled. “I don’t think anyone except students and graduates much cares if you confuse them.”
    “I think you might be a graduate of one of them.”
    “Well, I am.” He closed the door on the stove and held out his hands to warm them. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he said, “Yale, if that’s your next question. My father is a professor there. Humanities.”
    “Humanities,” she repeated. “What does that mean?”
    “He studies and lectures in disciplines that elevate humankind. Ancient languages. History. Philosophy. Religion. He enjoys literature above all the rest. Ancient Greek literature.”
    “I see.”
    He saw her eyes dart to the guns.