Free Spirit of the Wolf by Loree Lough Page B

"if you were my woman, you wouldn't go anywhere alone."
    If you were my woman , he'd said. She liked the sound of that, and grinned. "Why wouldn't you let me go anywhere alone? Do you see me as a needy, helpless female?"
    Chance focused on the team. "Needy and helpless? You? " He chuckled. "Hardly."
    His sideways flattery made her sit up a little straighter, but she decided it was time to change the subject. "Matt's doing well, don't you think?"
    Chance nodded. "That boy's bound and determined to be fully mended before the harvest." His eyes met hers again. "I reckon stubbornness runs in your family."
    She smiled. "I'll just take that as a compliment, Chance Walker."
    He'd been wearing the name for ten long years, yet he still bristled every time he heard it. If his Uncle Josh had been there at the moment, he'd have beaten him senseless. The man's lie had cost Chance his home. His freedom. Even his name. He'd been feeling pretty chipper since learning Micah expected him to accompany Bess into Baltimore. Suddenly, a foul mood enveloped him.
    Chance wondered what the proper and pretty Miss Bess Beckley would think if he told her he'd been convicted of murder. If he told her a jury had decided he should swing for the crime. If he told her he'd been on the run for ten long years, changing towns like most folks changed socks, always looking over his shoulder for the next U.S. Marshall or the next bounty hunter....
    He believed he could predict her reaction. Her big dark eyes would widen with disbelief and fear. She'd gasp with surprise. Those strong yet delicate hands would fly protectively to her throat. Then she'd lick those full pink lips and throw back her slender shoulders, saying, in effect, that she wasn't the least bit afraid of him, a convicted killer. Not Bess Beckley!
    He wanted to hug her for that.
    Several minutes ticked by, and neither of them said a word.
    "Why so quiet all of a sudden?" she asked.
    He tugged at the brim of his hat, bringing it to rest lower on his forehead. "Guess I just don't feel much like talkin'." She couldn’t know, not now, not ever, what dark thoughts were lurking in his brain. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen in response to his gruffer-than-intended response, as if to say, 'well fine, then, if it's silence you want, it's silence you'll get!' Chance breathed a sigh of relief.
    She folded her hands primly in her lap, held her head high, and stared straight ahead. Try as she might, Bess did not understand this man. He angered and aroused and frightened her, all at the same time. She wondered for the hundredth time what horrible secret he hid, and if, when exposed, it would explain his quick-silver moodswings. So lost in thought was she that Bess never noticed he'd increased the horses' pace.
    Chance was deep in thoughts of his own. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. But then, he hadn't meant to let himself g row this fond of her, either. He remembered how helpless he'd felt when the jurors made their decision. He didn't have much left at that point, but at least he'd managed to stay in full control of his emotions through it all. He never begged for mercy, even when the judge's gavel slammed hard on the bench and sealed his fate. Never whimpered, even as they shackled and chained him like a rabid dog in the smelly jail wagon. Never shed a tear, though he knew his young life was about to end. Way he saw it, he had all of eternity to cry about the unfairness of it. He'd show those so-called good Christians what pride and dignity was all about!
    So why , then, couldn't he control his feelings for Bess?
    For the next two hours, the silence was broken only by the clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the crunch of road grit beneath the wagon's huge iron-rimmed wheels. Now and then, as they passed a clump of trees or a thicket, they heard bugs buzzing and birds chirping.
    Several times, he opened his mouth and took a breath, thinking maybe he'd say the first thing that came into his