Outlaw's Bride by Lori Copeland

possibly killing one of us.” She shaded her eyes, peering down the road.
    Judge McMann, Johnny, and the Ramsey family were all gathered to welcome the shootist. Ragan dabbed at the trickle of perspiration on her forehead.
    Mary paused, hands on slender hips, eyes narrowed with challenge. “If he’s not gonna kill anyone, how come he’s called a ‘shoots it’?”
    Ragan bit back a smile. She glanced at Johnny and blushed when he grinned and murmured, “Why indeed?”
    “Shootist, Mary, shootist,” Ragan said. “It doesn’t mean—oh, look! Is that the stage I see?” Eyes shifted northward again and focused on a coach dragging a cloud of dust as it approached.
    A cheer went up as word spread that the legend was, for sure this time, about to arrive.
    Ragan pulled Holly aside. “Watch Papa closely this afternoon. With all the excitement, he’s likely to wander off.”
    “Ragan! Yoo-hoo!”
    Ragan clamped her eyes shut, and then she reopened them to see Everett coming toward her. She spared him a brief glance before cupping her hand to her eyes and expectantly peering down the road.
    Becca poked Johnny, giggling. “Everett loves Ragan.” “Rebecca!” Ragan shot her youngest sister a stern look.
    “It’s true!”
    Ragan glared, but Becca only reiterated, “Well, he does.”
    “Everett.” Ragan smiled as the tall, painfully thin telegraph clerk approached. “You’ve met Mr. McAllister?”
    Everett eyed Johnny, and then he looked back at Ragan. “I’ve seen him around.” He reached out and touched Fulton’s shoulder. “Afternoon, sir. It’s good to see you out and about.”
    Reverend Ramsey seemed confused, as if he had just awakened and realized there were people around him. He focused on Johnny, a smile breaking across his features. “Why—who’s this fine young man?” He frowned. “Ahh, of course…the new schoolmaster. Looks as though we have a good one this time. I’ve brought the children to meet you. Say hello, children.”
    Fulton Ramsey’s daughters exchanged embarrassed looks before murmuring obedient hellos.
    Sliding her arm protectively around her father’s shoulders, Ragan said, “Papa, this isn’t the new schoolmaster. It’s Johnny McAllister. Remember? He’s staying with Procky.”
    “Oh, yes.” Fulton smiled pleasantly, extending his hand. “You’ll be good for Paradise,” he told Johnny. “An education is extremely important for our young people. They can’t read the Good Book if they don’t have an education.”
    Everett edged closer to the small circle. “Ragan, you look mighty fetching today.”
    “Thank you, Everett.” Ragan quickly changed the subject. “We’ll be meeting Mercer any moment now. Isn’t it exciting?”
    “I intend to learn to shoot a gun more accurately.” His eyes darted to Johnny and then to the stage finally pulling to a halt in front of the mercantile. “Very soon, actually. Just have to find the spare time.”
    Judge McMann had to shout to be heard over the band. “Better leave the shooting to the experts, son.”
    Everett ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar, damp from the building heat. “I can shoot, Judge! I just need more practice, that’s all.”
    Four men piled from the top of the stage. A twitter went through the crowd, and all eyes were glued on the descending passengers. The young men turned out to be area boys, and excitement turned into a disappointed buzz. Not an eye patch in the bunch.
    The Thompson sisters alighted from inside the coach, back from their aunt’s funeral in San Francisco. For a moment they looked startled at the gathering before they threaded their way through the crowd.
    Eyes switched back to the open door. A small, innocuous-lookingman stepped off the coach. He couldn’t be more than five foot four and a hundred ten pounds, with thinning brown hair. The new arrival paused, squinting over the rims of thick spectacles.
    Then a young boy carrying a portmanteau tied with string hopped