An Outlaw in Wonderland by Lori Austin Page A

her.
    Annabeth set down her daddy’s Colt and went outside.
    •   •   •
    In the spring of 1865, the war ended at last. Once Ethan was released from prison,
     he was able to return to Chimborazo and retrieve his things. He’d had the wherewithal
     to sew some gold pieces, along with his father’s watch and his mother’s ring, into
     the cuff of a very old pair of trousers. Once he ripped them open, he bought a horse,
     asked a few questions about the Phelans, and then followed the provided directions
     to the farm on the outskirts of Richmond.
    As he dismounted, the wind whistled through the empty barn. Was the place as deserted
     as it felt? If he called her name, would she answer? What if she’d disappeared from
     Richmond as she’d disappeared from Castle Thunder? What if she were dead?
    Ethan swallowed and went to the front door. Did he knock or did he just go in? He
     lifted his hand, but before he could decide, the door flew open.
    “Your hair!” he blurted.
    Annabeth lifted a hand to her shaved head. “It’ll grow back.”
    “How?” he asked. “Why?”
    “It’s a common punishment.”
    “Punishment?” he repeated. “For what?” Ethan couldn’t think what she might have done
     to deserve this.
    “Fraternizing with the enemy.”
    It took him an instant to realize she meant him. Certainly she was from Virginia;
     he’d only pretended to be. But they’d worked at each other’s sides to save lives.
     Neither one of them had cared if those lives were Yankee or Reb.
    “You were nursing soldiers,” he said. “Just because you were helping me—”
    “I was doing more than helping you, Ethan.” Her gaze met his, and he remembered what
     they had done. The only thing that had kept him sane in the past three months was
     the hope that he could someday do it again.
    “No one knew.” Ethan considered her patchy scalp. Or at least he’d thought no one
     knew.
    She turned, and her skirt tightened across her middle, revealing the slight rounding
     of her stomach beneath her dress.
    “Beth,” he whispered, and she lifted her gaze, smiling at the wonder in his.
    “I’m with child.”
    Dizziness washed over him. He put out a hand, and she took it, hers tightening. What
     if the war had gone on? What if he’d died in prison? What if she’d died out here?
    “I’m sorry,” he said, and she yanked her hand away. He stumbled forward, trying to
     get it back.
    “I’m not,” she snapped. “This baby is the only good thing that’s happened to me since—”
     Her voice broke.
    “Since?”
    “Since Fort Sumter.”
    He went silent. He remembered a lot of good things—the first day they’d met, the first
     time they’d kissed, the scent of her hair, the drift of her breath, the feel of her
     skin in the dark, the people they’d saved, the life they’d had—certainly it hadn’t
     been easy, but it had been theirs.
    “Why didn’t you come to Castle Thunder and tell me?”
    “It’s a prison, Ethan. They weren’t going to let me in.”
    “Why did they let you out?”
    “They never had any proof I wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She covered
     her mouth, coughed. Was she ill? He wanted to put his hand to her forehead, but she
     held herself just out of reach. “Whitlock’s was overcrowded, so they released me.
     I was afraid if I came back, if I insisted on seeing you . . .” Her voice drifted
     off.
    “They might not let you out again.” He nodded. “I understand.”
    “Where’s Mikey?” she asked. “Is he—”
    “He’s alive, but . . .” Quickly, he told her everything.
    “He thinks his name is Mikhail and that Fedya is his brother,” she repeated. “So he
     probably went and found Fedya after he escaped.”
    “Alexi,” Ethan muttered.
    She spread her hands. “Does it matter?”
    “Honestly, Beth, I have no idea anymore.” He ran his hand through his hair; he wanted
     to tear it out. “I need to find him, make sure that he’s