Read Online Outlaw's Bride by Lori Copeland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lori Copeland
Ads: Link
as much as you have.”
She brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “He’s just not responding. He has a chip on his shoulder and refuses to warm to anyone.”
“Now, missy.” She always knew the judge disagreed with her when he called her “missy.” “All of our guests have begun their time with a chip on their shoulders. That’s a part of the process. Our success is measured by the wearing down of that chip. Sometimes it wears away fast, but others…well, others have to be whittled away a little at a time. It depends, to a degree, on how the chip was formed in the first place. Did it come a little at a time through years of abuse, or did it fall across his shoulders like a tree felled in the forest?”
He pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket. “I think there’s more to John McAllister than meets the eye. There’s something about this man…” He smoothed the paper and pushed it toward Ragan. “Here’s the message I received from Robert this morning. He contends his suspicions at the time of the trial were strongly in favor of Johnny’s innocence. There’s no concrete proof that McAllister is a member of the Puet gang. None at all.”
Ragan stood at the window and watched the mystifying man chop wood. Powerful muscles played across his back as he swung the ax with a vengeance. She sighed. Whoever he was, he didn’t intend to let anyone—most of all her—near him.
“Come away from the window, Ragan. We need to work on the book.”
Heat seared her cheeks as she quickly turned away.
Chapter Thirteen
A fter supper Ragan packed a large crock of mashed potatoes and a pot roast into a basket and closed the lid. She handed a bowl of green beans to Johnny and picked up the basket before she stepped to the parlor doorway. “Goodnight, Procky. Mr. McAllister is helping me carry food home tonight. He won’t be gone long.”
The judge waved back from his spot in front of the window where he was reading. “See you in the morning.”
She held the screen open for Johnny. Carrying the bowl of green beans, he preceded her to the porch. The judge’s earlier words rang in her head. He didn’t believe McAllister was a violent man, but they didn’t know that for certain. And here she’d just asked that he accompany her home. The Lord surely must watch over fools.
“Let me carry the basket. You carry the beans.”
“Thank you, but it’s not that heavy. Be careful, Mr. McAllister. The beans are still hot.”
As they reached the gate the sound of galloping horses caught their attention. Riders came into sight. Banditos, holding liquor bottles in the air, shouted drunken obscenities and spurred their mounts faster, heading straight for the house.
Grabbing Ragan’s hand, Johnny pulled her the few steps back and dove for the porch floor, shielding her body with his. Her heart slammed against her ribs as he curled around her, putting himself between her and the riders.
Glass shattered, and green beans spilled down the wooden steps. The judge’s petunia patch exploded in a barrage of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off rooftops, accompanied by derisive shouts and ribald laughter.
Together Johnny and Ragan scrambled under the porch swing, ducking as gunfire riddled the house.
“Keep down,” he warned, crawling on his belly across the painted wood toward the screen door. “Judge?” he shouted.
Judge McMann’s muffled voice came back. “I’m all right. Kitty and I are in the hall closet.”
The riders fired into the air, their horses toppling a section of picket fence. Weaving back and forth, they shot out windows, and bullets pinged against the weather vane on top of the judge’s house.
Trampling the lawn, they fired aimlessly, their merriment filling the once peaceful early evening.
Then, as quickly as they appeared, they galloped off. Johnny crawled from behind a wicker settee and helped Ragan to her feet. Green beans and bits of purple and white petunias littered the porch floor.
Ragan
She brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “He’s just not responding. He has a chip on his shoulder and refuses to warm to anyone.”
“Now, missy.” She always knew the judge disagreed with her when he called her “missy.” “All of our guests have begun their time with a chip on their shoulders. That’s a part of the process. Our success is measured by the wearing down of that chip. Sometimes it wears away fast, but others…well, others have to be whittled away a little at a time. It depends, to a degree, on how the chip was formed in the first place. Did it come a little at a time through years of abuse, or did it fall across his shoulders like a tree felled in the forest?”
He pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket. “I think there’s more to John McAllister than meets the eye. There’s something about this man…” He smoothed the paper and pushed it toward Ragan. “Here’s the message I received from Robert this morning. He contends his suspicions at the time of the trial were strongly in favor of Johnny’s innocence. There’s no concrete proof that McAllister is a member of the Puet gang. None at all.”
Ragan stood at the window and watched the mystifying man chop wood. Powerful muscles played across his back as he swung the ax with a vengeance. She sighed. Whoever he was, he didn’t intend to let anyone—most of all her—near him.
“Come away from the window, Ragan. We need to work on the book.”
Heat seared her cheeks as she quickly turned away.
Chapter Thirteen
A fter supper Ragan packed a large crock of mashed potatoes and a pot roast into a basket and closed the lid. She handed a bowl of green beans to Johnny and picked up the basket before she stepped to the parlor doorway. “Goodnight, Procky. Mr. McAllister is helping me carry food home tonight. He won’t be gone long.”
The judge waved back from his spot in front of the window where he was reading. “See you in the morning.”
She held the screen open for Johnny. Carrying the bowl of green beans, he preceded her to the porch. The judge’s earlier words rang in her head. He didn’t believe McAllister was a violent man, but they didn’t know that for certain. And here she’d just asked that he accompany her home. The Lord surely must watch over fools.
“Let me carry the basket. You carry the beans.”
“Thank you, but it’s not that heavy. Be careful, Mr. McAllister. The beans are still hot.”
As they reached the gate the sound of galloping horses caught their attention. Riders came into sight. Banditos, holding liquor bottles in the air, shouted drunken obscenities and spurred their mounts faster, heading straight for the house.
Grabbing Ragan’s hand, Johnny pulled her the few steps back and dove for the porch floor, shielding her body with his. Her heart slammed against her ribs as he curled around her, putting himself between her and the riders.
Glass shattered, and green beans spilled down the wooden steps. The judge’s petunia patch exploded in a barrage of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off rooftops, accompanied by derisive shouts and ribald laughter.
Together Johnny and Ragan scrambled under the porch swing, ducking as gunfire riddled the house.
“Keep down,” he warned, crawling on his belly across the painted wood toward the screen door. “Judge?” he shouted.
Judge McMann’s muffled voice came back. “I’m all right. Kitty and I are in the hall closet.”
The riders fired into the air, their horses toppling a section of picket fence. Weaving back and forth, they shot out windows, and bullets pinged against the weather vane on top of the judge’s house.
Trampling the lawn, they fired aimlessly, their merriment filling the once peaceful early evening.
Then, as quickly as they appeared, they galloped off. Johnny crawled from behind a wicker settee and helped Ragan to her feet. Green beans and bits of purple and white petunias littered the porch floor.
Ragan
Similar Books
