Free Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance) by Devon Matthews Page B

clinging hands smoothed over the corrugated planes of his ribs. She didn’t know when or how it happened, but he had released her wrists at some point. His arms were now wrapped around her, one hand spread against the small of her back, holding her so close only the fabric of their clothing separated them.
    But, not close enough. The wondrous thrust and glide of his tongue, the slow stroke of his hands, the hard pressure of his thigh crowded between her legs demanded even more. A sweet, achy sensation tightened her breasts and pooled low in her belly.
    The newly turned out Miss Evangeline Clayton, lately of New York, where she’d spent two grueling years learning to deport herself like a lady and the proper way to deter a gentleman’s unwanted advances was helpless to defend herself against the disreputable gunfighter's scandalous assault on her senses.
    Worst of all, she wished he’d never stop.
    “Well, now. Ain’t this damn cozy!”
    The gruff voice intruded like the buzz of an annoying gnat.
    For Rane, it must have sounded more like a giant bee. He jerked away from her as if stung and spun around.
    The sudden emptiness staggered Angel. Unsteady, she turned.
    On the rockslide behind them stood Buck Sweeney, grinning down at them like they were the sweetest sight he’d seen in a while. A few feet away stood another man. Evidently, the owner of the second horse they’d seen over by the waterhole.
    Buck took another step down the talus slope. The motion sent sunlight skipping along the barrel of the pistol in his hand. Angel darted a glance at his companion. With sinking dread, she saw that both men had their weapons pointed straight at Rane.

    Chapter Six
     
    Angel froze, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe too deeply.
    Buck Sweeney held his cocked pistol at waist level and shifted to a hipshot stance. The oily smile on his face beamed confidence. “Make one move toward that Peacemaker, greaser, and you’ll be makin’ yer peace with the big jefe up yonder.”
    From the corner of her eye, she saw Rane slowly lift his hands and hold them palms outward.
    “Just don’t get spooked, gringo .” Rane’s accent had grown thicker. He gave the “r” an extra tumble before he rolled the insulting word off his tongue.
    Buck flashed a mouthful of teeth as discolored and sturdy as a mule’s, the beast Angel had always associated with him. “Afternoon, Miz ‘Vangeline.” He didn’t take his eyes off Rane for an instant.
    Angel swallowed and drew in a shaky breath. “What are you doing here, Buck?”
    “Why, lookin’ for you, naturally.” To Rane, he added, “Right handy of you to bring her to us.”
    “Yeah, you made it almost too easy,” Buck’s companion said. “The two of you was makin’ enough noise over here to wake the dead. Too bad for you, your brains fell in your pecker, boy.” The man threw back his head and cackled like a hen that had just dropped an egg.
    “Shut up, Arch,” Buck ordered.
    They intended to kill Rane. The reality exploded in Angel’s mind with a blinding, white flash. It churned like sickness in her stomach and nearly buckled her knees. Her heart kicked in so hard she felt the vibration clear to her boots.
    She no longer cared who Buck and his partner worked for. Somehow, she had to stop them.
    Buck flitted a glance in her direction. “Walk over there and get his gun,” he said, waggling the business end of his six-shooter in Rane’s direction. “Bring it here to me.”
    Angel didn’t move. “What do you intend to do with him?”
    Buck bridled, as if the question surprised him. “Well, what would you like fer me to do?”
    “Let him go.”
    Buck plastered a frown on his unpleasant mug. “That might not be too healthy.”
    Arch cackled again.
    “Shut the hell up!” Buck snapped. He gnashed his big teeth. “I swear to God, Arch, that laugh of yourn would peel the hide off a wooden Injun.” He motioned with the pistol once more. “Go on. Get his gun.”
    Moving