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

shoulders of Malachi’s old nightshirt. The garment all but drowned her petite body, neck askew, sleeves hanging over her hands. Impatiently she pushed the cuffs up to her elbows and flung back the coverlet. Ready or not, it was time she got up and faced the day.
    Her sore muscles screamed as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. So much for riding bareback astride a mule. Likely as not she’d be hobbling around like an old woman all day.
    Grimacing, she groped for her clothes, only to discover that her dress and underthings were gone. Only a damp spot on the plank floor marked the spot where she’d left them. Someone, it appeared, had stolen into the room and gathered them up to be laundered. Carrie, Anna surmised, since she could not imagine either Malachi or the boy doing such a thing. It was an embarrassing act of kindness, proving as it did, her own utter uselessness. But the least she could do was go outside and express her thanks.
    Steeling herself for the next encounter with Malachi, Anna squared her shoulders, padded stiffly through the empty kitchen, hobbled out onto the porch and stopped short, stunned by what she saw.
    Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the canyon in full daylight. Rocky walls rose upward on all sides to crest in towering buttes and pinnacles in shades of fawn, gray, mauve and terra cotta. Theirsize dwarfed the house to the proportion of a toy, the people and animals to the size of ants. Even the river was no more than a chocolate ribbon, trailing through the narrow lowland, cutting ever deeper on its slow journey into the depths of the earth.
    High above, billowing white clouds drifted in a sky of pure turquoise. Their moving shadows cast a kaleidoscope of subtly changing color on the rocks—lavenders deepening to umber, browns brightening to gold. A pair of ravens, inky black etchings against the brightness, spiraled on updrafts of warm air.
    A low growl jerked Anna’s attention back to earth. Malachi’s big wolf dog crouched in the dooryard a dozen paces away, its teeth bared and its ears laid flat against its massive head.
    Anna’s throat had gone dry, but she willed herself not to back away. The beast was tame, she reminded herself. She had seen Malachi scratching its ears. Last night she had panicked, but no common cur was going to make a fool of her a second time.
    Looking into the wild, pale eyes, she reached to one side and picked up a stick of firewood from a stack on the porch. Not that she planned to use it as a weapon—Anna had a higher regard for animals than she did for most people. But she did want the dog to know that she was through being intimidated.
    “Easy boy,” she coaxed, stepping off the porch. “Let’s make a truce. You don’t growl at me, and I won’t run when you come around. What do you say?”
    She took a tentative step forward, the firewood held lightly at her side. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “I’m not asking for love. Just a bit of civility.”
    The dog lowered its head. A warning growl rumbled in its throat. Then, suddenly, it lunged, snapping and snarling with such fury that Anna dropped the firewood and staggered backward, stumbling against the edge of the porch.
    “Doubtful! Shame on you!” Carrie came out of the willows carrying a basket of wet laundry. The dog broke off his attack and bounded to her side, romping like an overgrown pup.
    “Please tell your dog I’m not a prowler,” Anna said. “He still doesn’t seem to know that.”
    “You shouldn’t have threatened him.” Carrie scowled down at the fallen chunk of wood. “Doubtful doesn’t like being challenged.”
    “I wasn’t threatening him last night.” Anna struggled to her feet, hot-faced and irritated.
    “But you were sneaking around in the dark. Papa told me all about it.”
    All ? Anna wondered, deciding she wouldn’t lay bets on that likelihood. “Where’s your father now?” she asked, rubbing a bruised hip through the