The Last Renegade by Jo Goodman

at her skepticism. “You have sisters.”
    Her patent disbelief amused him. He held up two fingers. “Kitty. That’s Kathleen. And Anne.” He unfolded the remaining fingers and thumb, holding out his palm to forestall more questions. “Two brothers, also. Michael is older. Rob is younger. He and Anne are twins. I don’t know how much you needed to know about Nat Church before you hired him, but I can tell you that Michael is a lawyer, Kitty and her husband run a private school for girls, and Rob and Anne are still at home. You already know my father is a professor of humanities at Yale. My mother, Katherine, is an advocate for temperance and women’s rights.”
    Raine took all the information in. “I don’t know if you can appreciate that none of that really eases my mind as to your presence in my rooms. Tell me, how would your family describe you?”
    “Black sheep.”
    “Well,” she said after a moment. “That puts it all into perspective, doesn’t it?”
    “Some have said so.”
    Raine sighed. She removed the combs from her hair, set them on one corner of the writing desk, and smoothed back the crown of her head with her palm. She would have taken the pins from the coil at her nape, but she had sense enough still to recognize it as an inherently intimate activity. Instead, she went to the stove in the corner of the room and added coals to the grate.
    “What was your game the other night?” she asked, coming around to face him. “Did you give it any thought before you sidled up to Eli Burdick? He could kill you as soon as look at you.”
    “That occurred to me.” Kellen opened his jacket and reached inside his vest. He held up a .51 caliber derringer with a burnished hardwood grip and laid it on the desk.
    Raine looked at it, then at him. “You didn’t have that the day we met.”
    “I didn’t have it where you could see it,” he corrected. “There is no point in strapping on one of the Colts when I’m in the saloon. That’s telegraphing that I’m looking for trouble.”
    “How is striking up a conversation with Eli different from that? You stay holed up in your room most of the day, eschew company at dinner, and disappear again afterward, but when you finally decide to be sociable, you choose Eli Burdick as a boon companion? The first evening in town? Mr. Coltrane, I’ve been observing you, and I have to wonder at your strategy and at your ability to carry out the terms of our agreement without assistance from Nat Church.”
    Kellen gave her another moment in the event she found more words. When she did not, he calmly offered, “No one got shot, did they?”
    Raine stared at him.
    “I mean,” he went on, “that is the point of the engagement, isn’t it? You don’t
want
people killed. You want the killing to stop. Or have I misunderstood?”
    “I don’t—”
    He spoke as if she hadn’t begun to. “Because I can assure you, it’s a whole lot easier to kill people than it is to tiptoe around
not
killing them. Take Eli the other night, for instance. I could have put a bullet through the soft underside of his jaw anytime he tipped his head to knock back a drink. Calling you Lorrainey provoked me about as much as him drinking straight from the bottle. Now, even with two kinds of provocation, I wouldn’t have shot him dead right then because I had no defense for it that a court would recognize. I don’t have toconsult my lawyer brother to know that what Mr. Burdick was doing is mostly considered an annoyance and not a good enough reason to kill him.”
    Raine found herself strangely fascinated. His voice was low and seductive, his argument absurdly diverting, and humor played about his mouth like a secret he meant to try to keep. Without being conscious of it at first, she moved closer. Her hands rested lightly on the shawl she had thrown over the back of a chair.
    Kellen extended his feet again. “The dilemma, naturally enough, is how to encourage Mr. Burdick to reach for his