The Outlaws: Rafe (2 page)

So she had used some of the money sent to her over the years by her father to secretly outfit a wagon.
 
And hours before her wedding she quietly disappeared, leaving nary a word of explanation behind to either Desmond Dexter or Anson Chandler.
 
She knew they would eventually discover what she had done, but she hoped not too soon.
 
Only six months remained until her twenty-first birthday, placing her beyond Desmond and Chandler's influence.
 
She'd be in charge of her own life and free to pursue her father's murderer, for she knew in her heart her father's death had been no accident.

Angela suddenly became aware of a commotion in the street outside the tent and sensed trouble.
 
She rushed into the street, her gaze riveted on the crowd gathered outside the jailhouse across the road.
 
Even as she watched the crowd seemed to swell and undulate closer to the building.
 
Some held torches, all were armed.
 
She started to choose an alternate path to her hotel when she saw a man with his hands tied behind his back and a rope around his neck being dragged from the jailhouse.

 
A lynch mob!
 
She'd heard such things existed in the uncivilized West but she never thought to experience that travesty firsthand.
 
She watched in abject horror as the hapless man was hoisted upon a horse and led to a sturdy tree growing at the edge of the town square, well within sight of the revival tent.

Angela's heart nearly stopped when she saw someone throw one end of the rope over a thick branch above the prisoner.
 
They were going to hang him!
 
What kind of barbarians would do such a terrible thing?

Then the condemned man turned his head in her direction and the raw desperation of his expression was like a kick to Angela's gut.
 
She recognized him immediately.
 
The horror etched on his face matched that of her own.
 
The man wearing the noose around his neck was the same man who had rescued her from the drunken cowboys in Garden City!

Forces beyond reason and past explanation made Angela react as she did.
 
She had no idea what Rafe Gentry had done to warrant hanging, but she knew she couldn't allow it to happen.

"What has he done?" Angela asked the first man she encountered at the edge of the mob.

"Don't trouble yerself none over that one, Sister Angela," the man said, obviously recognizing her from the revival.
 
"The man is an outlaw.
 
He robbed a stage and killed five people."

Angela's blood froze.
 
Murder?
 
No, it wasn't possible.
 
The condemned man might be many things, but murderer wasn't one of them.
 
Her eyes met Rafe's.
 
The moment stretched, held.
 
But in that brief eternity she had learned all she needed to know about Rafe Gentry.
 
One had but to look into his unwavering silver gaze to know he was a hard man, but not a cold-blooded murderer.

She sensed the moment he had accepted his fate for all vestiges of emotion drained from his face and his shoulders stiffened as his gaze slid away from hers.
 
A scream gathered in Angela's throat as she pushed and shoved her way through the crowd.

"Stop!
 
You can't hang him.
 
He didn't do it!"

The man whose hand rested on the horse's rump froze, staring dumbly at Angela.

"Ain't you one of them traveling church people?"

"I'm Sister Angela.
 
You can't hang this man."

"Now, Sister Angela," the man cajoled.
 
"This ain't none of your concern."

"Saving souls is my concern," Angela persisted, "and hanging an innocent man is against the law."

A rumble of unrest rolled through the crowd.

"Has he had a proper trial?" Angela pressed.

"Don't need no trial," a man from the crowd shouted.
 
"The stagecoach driver and man who rode shotgun were good men; they're dead now.
 
So are the passengers."

"He gunned down five people, sister," Pete explained with growing impatience.
 
"Move aside.
 
This ain't gonna be a pretty sight."

"No, please!"
 
She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and said, "Rafe Gentry is the man I'm going to marry, he couldn't have killed five people.
 
He came here to meet me, not rob a stage."

Rafe's gaze returned abruptly to Sister Angela, his dark brows raised in askance.
 
What in the hell made her say he was her fiancé?
 
Did she think to reform him?

 
She appeared fragile, almost ethereal in the harsh glare of torchlight, her golden hair a gossamer halo about her head.
 
Her face was a perfect oval, her generous mouth sweetly curved, and there was a hint of sensuality in the slanted blue eyes that were focused on him with an intensity that startled him.

"Are you saying you and this man are gonna get hitched, Sister Angela?" Pete asked with disbelief.
 
He scratched his thatch of dark hair, clearly bewildered by this unforeseen turn of events.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Angela insisted.
 
"He was to meet me in Pueblo, but obviously he decided to join me in Ordway instead."

"He was caught red-handed," Pete argued.

Rafe was more than a little stunned when Sister Angela turned those fathomless blue eyes on him and said, "Tell these men what really happened, darling."

Before Rafe could open his mouth, Sheriff Tattersal pushed his way through the mob.
 
"Go home, all of you.
 
There won't be a hanging in my town.
 
Let the judge and jury decide his guilt."

"Let the prisoner talk," Pete said, glowering at the sheriff.
 
"Maybe Sister Angela is telling the truth and maybe she ain't."

Outnumbered, Tattersal apparently knew when to back down.
 
"Very well, let's hear what Mr. Gentry has to say."

"I talk much better without a rope around my neck and a nervous horse under me," Rafe said.

"Talk, mister," Pete growled.
 
"We'll decide later if tonight will be your last on earth."

Rafe sent Sister Angela an inscrutable look, his gunmetal eyes shuttered.
 
He cleared his throat and launched into a telling of how he had come upon the pair of outlaws after the killings and chased them away before they could make off with the money from the strongbox.

"See, I told you," Angela gloated.
 
"Rafe wouldn't harm a flea."

Rafe stifled a grin.
 
Obviously Sister Angela didn't know a damn thing about him if she thought that.
 
Suddenly the mob shifted restlessly and the horse beneath him grew agitated.
 
Rafe squeezed his legs in an effort to subdue the animal's flightiness.
 
He breathed a sigh of relief when the horseflesh beneath his thighs quivered, then quieted.

"Everything I told you is the truth," Rafe vowed.
 
"I emptied my guns at the outlaws, not into the passengers or driver."

"Is Sister Angela your intended bride?" Sheriff Tattersal asked.

Rafe looked down at the sweet-faced angel who for some unknown reason had lied through her teeth to save his life and wanted to grin from ear to ear.
 
Instead, he composed his features with difficulty and said, "Sister Angela has no reason to lie.
 
Think about it.
 
She's an evangelist, a holy woman who spreads God's gospel.
 
If I were guilty would she go out of her way to lie?"

Pete glanced at Sister Angela and looked away, as if ashamed of doubting her.
 
But he still didn't look convinced.

"What's going on here?"

The booming voice belonged to Reverend Conrad, the man responsible for bringing the revival to Ordway.
 
Rafe felt his muscles tauten as he watched the Reverend push his way through the mob.
 
He stifled a grown, certain that the preacher's interference would seal his fate.
 
The fire and brimstone preachers he had known in the past held a dim view of theft and murder, even though Rafe had committed neither.

Reverend Conrad saw Angela standing at the center of the mob and rushed to her aid.
 
"Sister Angela, what's going on?"

"Thank God you're here," Angela cried.
 
"You have to talk some sense into this unruly mob.
 
They're going to hang an innocent man."

Rafe stiffened as the Reverend fixed him with a steely gaze.
 
"What makes you think this man is innocent, Sister?"

Sister Angela looked at him squarely, neither flinching nor backing down.
 
Rafe marveled at her temerity.
 
She lied with such ease that had he not known better he would have believed he actually
was
her fiancé.

 
"Rafe Gentry is my fiancé, Reverend Conrad.
 
He's the man I was to meet and marry in Pueblo.
 
We were to travel to my father's mine as man and wife.
 
I had no idea he decided to meet me in Ordway instead.
 
Rafe couldn't have held up the stage and killed innocent people.
 
It had to have happened just like he said.
 
He came upon the outlaws and chased them away.
 
Regrettably, he arrived too late to save the passengers and driver."

The Reverend returned his attention to Rafe.
 
"Is that true, young man?"

"Yes sir," Rafe said without hesitation.
 
He could lie as easily as Sister Angela when it meant his life.
 
"I decided to meet Angela in Ordway instead of Pueblo."
 
His silver gaze bored into Angela.
 
"We've been parted a long time and I grew impatient to see her again.
 
That's the only reason I happened to be on the road when the stagecoach was attacked."

"I've known Rafe all my life," Angela added.
 
"He couldn't kill anyone."

"That's it, then," Reverend Conrad intoned authoritatively.
 
"Sister Angela has no earthly reason to lie.
 
Obviously you have the wrong man, sheriff."

Disappointment made the mob restive and they surged forward.
 
They had been primed for a hanging and Rafe's greatest fear was that they didn't give a hoot if he was innocent, as long as they were provided with entertainment.

Reverend Conrad must come to the same conclusion for he turned to the crowd and held up his hands for quiet.

"My good people," he intoned in a deep voice that commanded instant respect.
 
"If Sister Angela says this man is innocent, that's good enough for me.
 
If any of you wish to dispute her word, please step forward and speak your piece."

Rafe held his breath.
 
No one moved, though some clearly wanted to.
 
Who would dare look into an angel's face and call her a liar?
 
Even Sheriff Tattersal appeared unwilling to challenge Reverend Conrad and Sister Angela.

"You heard the Reverend, men.
 
Let Gentry go," Tattersal growled as he removed the rope from Rafe's neck.

Someone untied his hands and hauled him off the horse.
 
Rafe dragged in a shaky breath and massaged his neck where the rope had chafed his skin raw.
 
Though no one appeared willing to debate Rafe's innocence, the crowd was still dissatisfied and restive.
 
Rafe seriously doubted he'd make it out of town alive if he were to try to leave now.

But once again Reverend Conrad came to his rescue.
 
He seemed to sense the ugly mood and immediately sought to diffuse it.
 
He glanced at Angela, then at Rafe, and smiled, as if he had just arrived at a remarkable decision.

"My friends, I know you came out tonight expecting to witness a hanging but I have something more appropriate in mind.
 
We shall have a wedding instead.
 
Sister Angela and her fiancé intended to marry in Pueblo.
 
Since he has seen fit to join her in Ordway, it will be my pleasure to perform the ceremony immediately.
 
You are all invited to the revival tent to celebrate the marriage of Sister Angela and her young man."

General pandemonium ensued.
 
A muscle worked in Rafe's jaw.
 
Tension kept him upright.
 
But short of admitting he was not Angela's fiancé, there was nothing he could do but agree to the good Reverend's outrageous suggestion.
 
He cast a sidelong glance at the devious angel and was gratified to note that she appeared as stunned as he.
 
He braced himself, waiting for her to voice her objection.
 
But all she did was clamp her lips tightly together and glare at him.
 
Fortunately Reverend Conrad seemed not to notice.