The Last Renegade by Jo Goodman Page B

had taken on a brilliance that gave them a razor’s edge.
    “I thought you said your mother advocated for women’s rights.”
    “She does, and she taught me better,” Kellen said. “In my defense, I believe I mentioned I was the black sheep.”
    “You must sorely try her patience,” said Raine.
    “It’s been said, ma’am.”
    “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” she said. “You may call me Mrs. Berry or Lorraine, but please cease calling me ma’am.”
    “Raine?” he asked softly.
    It was what Adam and Ellen had called her. It was the name she gave to herself, the name of the woman reflected in her mirror. She wished she didn’t like the sound of it quite so much on Kellen Coltrane’s lips.
    Mustering carelessness, she said, “If you like.”
    Kellen did. He figured she was probably already regretting it, but he wasn’t giving her an opportunity to take it back. Raine. Her name lay cool and sweet on the tip of his tongue. It was a balm for the sting she could inflict with her eyes. He thought she looked uneasy, as though she was no longer certain of the ground she stood on. He gave her something to hold on to.
    “But not Lorrainey,” he said.
    Raine flared. Heat rushed into her cheeks. “You wouldn’t like the consequences.”
    Kellen decided she had recovered. “Probably not,” he said, and meant it. He didn’t need to know what the consequences were. “Now do you still want to know about Eli’s understanding?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s simple. He thinks you’re his.”
    Raine rolled her eyes.
    “And that you always have been.”
    She slowly shook her head from side to side. “I cannot explain it. There’s no accounting for him being so single-minded. I have never encouraged him.”
    “Love.”
    “What?”
    “Love accounts for it.”
    “No,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t.”
    “Then lust,” he said. “Greed, because he wants all of you. And pride because you wound him.”
    “Wound him? His hide is as thick as a buffalo’s.”
    His hide was at least that thick, Kellen thought, and his head was thicker. Still, he offered another explanation to Raine. “He has to pretend you don’t hurt him, doesn’t he? Otherwise he would look foolish to everyone within earshot.”
    “Are you suggesting I should stop prickling when he calls me Lorrainey and sit on his lap when he invites me?”
    “No.”
    “Because I can tell you what would happen if I showed him a scrap of kindness.”
    “I understand.”
    “He’d have me right there. In the saloon.”
    “I understand,” Kellen said again.
    “On the bar.”
    “I know.”
    “With people watching.”
    Kellen put out a hand. “Whoa.”
    Raine stopped. She looked away and tucked her chin against her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
    “So am I,” said Kellen. “Did it sound as if I were trying to excuse him?”
    “No.” She raised her head, shook it almost imperceptibly. “It sounded as if you were trying to blame me.”
    A muscle worked in his cheek. He waited for her to look at him again. When she finally did, he said, “I am more sorry than I can properly express.”
    She smiled faintly. “Then you must be sorry indeed. I’ve been noticing that you know a whole lot of words.”
    He returned her smile because she seemed to expect it. She had forgiven him even if he had not forgiven himself.
    He tipped his chair onto its rear legs. “What was it you gave me to put in Eli’s drink? I’d like to know it’s handy when he comes around again.”
    “Just a sleeping powder. Mr. Burnside, the druggist, makes it for me. Eli has a hollow leg. He never passes out. I usually slip it into his bottle myself, but he grabbed it too quickly. I was not confident you could manage him all evening. Did you have a plan?”
    “Other than keeping him occupied?”
    “Other than that.”
    “No. No plan.”
    “What did you think when his head hit the table?”
    “That I finally bored someone to death.”
    Laughter bubbled to Raine’s lips, leaving the