A Wanted Man by Linda Lael Miller

won’t be in a cold, dirty shack with the wind blowing through cracks in the walls.”
    Lark took three furious steps toward him. “We are not going to dally! ” she replied, in a bursting whisper.
    He threw back his head and laughed. When he looked at her again, though, the twinkle was gone from his eyes. They smoldered like the banked embers of a blue fire.
    She waited for him to speak, which was her second mistake. Coming here at all had been her first, and she had only herself to blame for the consequences.
    He was standing in front of her before she actually saw him move.
    He rested his hands on her shoulders, searched her wind-chapped face and kissed her.
    Lark made a startled “mmmm” sound, when their mouths collided, and then he was really kissing her. His tongue moved against hers, and his lips—well, his lips —
    Drunken heat flashed through Lark. She trembled, and stood on tiptoe, and kissed Rowdy Rhodes right back.
    When they finally broke apart, Rowdy looked stunned.
    “Oh, shit, ” he muttered. Hatless, he shoved a hand through his hair.
    “Well, that was a gallant thing to say,” Lark retorted.
    He laughed again, quietly this time, but the baffled expression lingered in his eyes. “Go home, Lark,” he said. “Go back to Mrs. Porter’s place, right now. If you don’t, I can’t promise I won’t take you inside my nice, warm marshal’s house, kiss you until your clothes melt, and have you like you’ve never been had before.”
    Lark started to speak, then stopped herself, because she had no idea what she’d say. Her cheeks ached, and so did every inch of flesh beneath her somber black woolen frock, her camisole and petticoats, and her bloomers.
    Mortification gave her the impetus to turn on one heel and start to walk away. Fury made her turn back again, though, with a hand shooting up to slap Mr. Rowdy Rhodes for his outrageous impudence.
    Kiss-you-until-your-clothes-melt, indeed.
    He caught her by the wrist, easily stayed the blow she’d fully intended to deliver, and with all her might, too.
    “Go home, ” he said.
    “Let go of my hand,” Lark replied tartly, breathless.
    Slowly, staring into her eyes, Rowdy opened his fingers and released her.
    Lark’s hand fell to her side.
    There was nothing to do but go home.
    Feet as heavy as if they’d suddenly turned to bedrock, Lark straightened her cloak, patted her hair, pivoted smartly on one heel and walked away with all the dignity she could muster.
    She’d only covered a few yards when he halted her with a single hoarse word.
    “Lark?”
    She stiffened her spine. Did not turn around.
    He chuckled, and she actually felt the sound, ruffling the fine hairs at her nape. “I’ll see you at supper,” he said.
    She made a strangled sound of pure fury and left.
    Pardner followed her as far as the street, gazing up at her in piteous concern.
    She paused, sighed and patted the dog’s head. “Thank you for walking Lydia home,” she told him. “Unlike your master, you are a gentleman.”

    O NCE L ARK WAS OUT OF SIGHT , Rowdy let out his breath and muttered a curse. He shouldn’t have kissed her like that. Shouldn’t have said the things he’d said.
    Oh, he’d meant them, all right.
    Meant the kiss, too.
    But now, because he’d said what he had, it was all going to happen. He would make love to Lark Morgan. And then his pa would rob a train, or a Wanted poster would come in the mail, with a sketch of his own face on it, and he’d have to hit the trail.
    It had happened before.
    It would happen again.
    Rowdy thrust a hand through his hair. He was fed up with running, and in that moment, if Sam O’Ballivan had been standing in front of him, he probably would have turned himself in, just to be done with it.
    But what would happen to Pardner if he did that?
    What would happen to Lark?
    He was asking himself those things when an old white horse trotted around the side of the jailhouse with Gideon on its back.
    Seeing Rowdy, Gideon visibly