Free Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) by Elizabeth Lane Page A

me. Pa won’t be able to hear you, since he’s sleeping outside. But I will. My room’s just through that wall.”
    Anna swallowed the bitter lump in her throat. Why couldn’t this love-hungry little boy have gotten the mother he needed? Someone warm and open and competent, instead of a jaded saloon singer on the run from the law? “Thank you,” she said, choking slightly on the words. “I’ll remember that.”
    “Joshua Stone, you get in here and finish your take-aways, or you know what Papa will say!” Carrie’s strained, young voice called from the kitchen. Anna struggled to ignore a jab of pity. Malachi’sdaughter had too much responsibility for her tender age. A girl like Carrie needed fun and pretty dresses and the laughter of friends. She needed time to enjoy her growing-up years, instead of being shoved into adulthood as Anna herself had been. What would become of her if no one cared enough to ease her way?
    “Joshua—” Carrie’s voice carried an implied threat.
    “Coming!” The boy scampered out of the room, leaving Anna to latch the door and sink wearily down on the edge of the bed. No, she admonished herself, she could not allow herself to get involved with these appealing youngsters. She could not allow herself to look at their father and wonder what he really needed in a woman. Tomorrow, or surely the day after, she would be gone from this miserable place. She could not afford to leave any part of herself behind—least of all her heart.
    Aching with weariness, she stood up, stripped off her muddy gown and petticoat and let them drop in a sodden circle around her feet. Long thorn scratches and itchy red mosquito bites covered her arms. She wet the washcloth and, starting with her face and neck, began to scrub away the worst of the mess. Once, turning, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored door of the wardrobe. The face of a wild-woman stared back at her, eyes laced with red and sunk into dark pools of exhaustion, hair plastered to her skull except for a few mud-stiffened locks that stood straight out from her head.
    Anna jumped back with a startled gasp. Then, as she recognized herself, she broke into silent, half-hysterical laughter. What a mess she was! She’d probablyscared Malachi Stone half to death when she’d kissed him. Well, so much the better!
    Her hand still stung from the vehement slap she’d delivered to his face. Malachi had deserved that slap and more. If she could apologize, it would only be for not having hit him harder.
    Anna shuddered, remembering those contemptuous eyes and the words that had sent her reeling. No, she could not leave this place too soon. Coming here had been just one more mistake in a life filled with mistakes. Another bad dream in a life filled with nightmares.
    Gingerly she peeled her underclothes and stockings off her bruised body. Her feet, skin puckered from the dampness, were so sensitive that she winced when they came in contact with the plank floor.
    Malachi’s flannel nightshirt was rough against her bare skin, but Anna was too tired to care. She used the washcloth to sponge as much mud as she could from her hair. Then she blew out the lamp, crawled between the worn sheets and closed her eyes. Through the gathering fog of sleep, she heard the heavy tread of Malachi’s boots in the kitchen and his deep voice speaking to the children. Then the darkness swirled around her and she sank gratefully into it.
    The crow of a rooster woke Anna from a slumber so heavy that her memory of the night seemed no longer than a breath. She jerked awake, eyes wide-open, muscles tensed for flight. Only as she remembered where she was did she allow herself to sink back onto the pillow and ease into the morning.
    The bedroom was dim, but bright sunlight filtering through a crack between the shutters told her the morning was well along. Where were Malachi and the children? Why hadn’t anyone awakened her?
    She sat up groggily, her hair spilling over the