Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) by Elizabeth Lane

rage. Her eyes were amber pools of fury. Malachi fought for his very soul as he held her at arm’s length, reminding himself of the way this voluptuous little golden-haired angel had lied to him.
    “Who are you, Anna?” he demanded.
    “Why should it matter now?”
    “It shouldn’t—didn’t, in fact. Not until I heard you singing. A voice like that wouldn’t belong to a common whore.”
    “Oh? What about an uncommon whore, then?” Her sarcasm cut like a blade dipped in acid.
    “Don’t, Anna.” He loosened his painful grip, but still did not let her go. “In the two days since we met, you and I have done each other enough hurt anddamage to last halfway to doomsday. Don’t you think it’s time we declared a truce?”
    “What do you want from me?” She glared up at him suspiciously.
    “The truth.” He let his arms drop to his side, releasing her. “Nothing more, nothing less. And you can start by telling me who you really are.”
    Anna faced him, her arms tingling where his powerful hands had gripped them so tightly. A ray of late-afternoon sunlight slanted across his light-brown hair, touching the unruly locks with subtle glints of red. His face was smudged with trail dust, his gray eyes bloodshot with weariness. Inexplicably she found herself wanting to reach up and smooth the sweaty hair back from his forehead, then to brush a tentative fingertip along the curve of his wind-burned lips. He was a good man, and so tired…
    But that would be foolish, she reminded herself. Malachi had every reason to detest her. If she were to reach out to him, he would be quick to let her know it.
    “I’m waiting,” he said.
    “Why should I waste my breath telling you things you wouldn’t believe anyway?” Anna retorted.
    His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment she thought he was going to be angry again. But then his breath eased out in a weary sigh.
    “Walk with me,” he said.
    When Anna hesitated he took her arm. His touch was light, but forceful enough to convince her against arguing. Together they moved down the rocky slope, through tall clumps of pink-plumed tamarisk and silky spring willows. The sun hung low above the rimof the canyon, casting rainbow patterns of light and shadow on the towering walls. A mourning dove fluttered from the top of a mesquite bush, its wistful call echoing across the canyon.
    They had nearly reached the river before Malachi spoke, breaking the silence between them.
    “I want to apologize for what I said to you last night,” he said. “I was tired, my guard was down—but that’s beside the point. No man should speak to a woman like that.”
    “If you’re waiting for me to apologize for the slap, don’t hold your breath,” Anna said coldly. “You deserved it.”
    “I understand.” He stared at the river for a long moment before he spoke again. “Whatever you might say about my being straitlaced, I’m no saint, Anna. Growing up, I was as wild as any fool kid in the territory. When I was twenty, I spent a year in Yuma Prison for beating a banker’s son half senseless in a bar fight. Came out of Yuma ten times worse than when I went in.”
    He lowered his powerful frame to the flat top of a boulder, eyes gazing out at the river. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was telling her the story of his life. When he finished, it would be her turn, and Malachi would expect as much as he had given.
    “Drinking, gambling, loose women—there was nothing along those lines I wasn’t well acquainted with,” he said. “I’d find a job herding cattle or busting broncs, and as soon as I got paid, I’d blow most of it on one big night in town. More often than not, I’d get myself fired when I didn’t show up for work the next day. Things went on that way for a coupleof years. Then, one night in Santa Fe, everything changed.”
    Malachi’s long, callused fingers picked up a pebble and tossed it into the river. Anna gazed at his craggy profile, trying to picture him