Read Online Night Hawk by Beverly Jenkins - Free Book Online

the unfamiliar surroundings. Seeing the marshal seated in a chair in the shadows brought everything rushing back. Calming her racing heart, she wondered how long he’d been there. “What time is it?”
    â€œAlmost four.”
    The flickering light from an oil lamp on a small table beside him was just strong enough to pierce the darkness. Near her bed was a fireplace that she’d apparently been too tired to notice earlier. Its heat warmed the air, and the dancing flames added their light to the shadows. She didn’t question his presence; she was his prisoner after all, but the sight of him left her rattled. That her body was calling did not. “I need to use the facilities.” From her visits earlier in the evening she knew it was outside.
    Swinging her legs from beneath the warm bedding showed that the gown had hiked up during her sleep and that her copper legs were on full display in the soft glow. Refusing to look his way to gauge his reaction, she set the garment to rights and got to her feet. “I suppose you’ll be going with me.” She pushed bare feet into her old boots and donned the pink robe Betsy had left.
    He answered by rising from the chair.
    On the short walk there, she shivered in the cold.
    â€œShould’ve brought your coat.”
    â€œI’ve been out in worse, in less.” When she lived with the sisters, it was her job to chop the morning wood while wearing only a thin jacket as protection against the frosty air.
    When they reached the door, she asked, “You’re not coming in with me, are you?”
    â€œNo.”
    Thankful for that at least, she went inside.
    On the return trip, he maintained his silence but his presence loomed as vividly as the star-studded sky stretched above her head. She was still tired and wanted to go back to sleep, but wasn’t sure how difficult that might be knowing he’d be seated only a few feet away.
    Back inside the Tanners’ spare room again, she climbed beneath the bedding and felt the shivers coursing over her as her body tried to warm up again after the brief sojourn outside.
    â€œIf you’re worried about me bothering you, don’t.”
    She paused and sought to make out his features in the wavering darkness. From any other man those words might have left her skeptical, but him she believed, even if she didn’t know why, and even though she remembered those smoldering emerald eyes looking down on her from atop the washing tower. “I appreciate that.”
    â€œGo back to sleep. Train to catch in the morning.”
    Ian knew she’d drifted off when the soft sounds of her snores rose against the silence. He pulled the lamp a bit closer and went back to reading his Bible. After Tilda’s death, pain and grief waged a war for his soul. The night he found her body, he’d screamed at every god he knew and in every language he spoke. Why? Why did a woman as sweet and innocent as his Tilda have to die so horrifically? For weeks after her funeral, rage and revenge consumed every moment of every day and he neither slept nor ate. In spite of all his inner turmoil he continued to ask why. Tilda had been a churchgoer and always believed the Bible held the answers, so he picked it up one night. Having been raised by his Catholic mother, Ian was familiar with the holy book but hadn’t opened one in decades.
    The New Testament had been Tilda’s favorite, and as he read a bit each night, he learned why. She’d tried to live her life by the Son’s teaching by being charitable and forgiving to everyone she knew. He, on the other hand, found the Old Testament more to his liking. Yahweh gave no quarter, and after tracking down Tilda’s killer, Ian spent his years as a bounty hunter doing the same.
    He stretched his arms and shoulders in his chair. The few hours of sleep he’d snatched right after midnight had been more than enough. He’d slept confident that he’d