An Outlaw's Redemption

Chapter Fourteen

The man snatched her waist and leaned in for a kiss, provoking a quick slap across his face. Barlow grinned at the sight and thought to himself, it serves the fella right for forcing himself on the lady.

That's when he saw it — the dangerous look of a man who did not handle rejection. He'd seen that look many times in his life, but the first had always been seared in his memory. It was the look his mother's killer had given her just before he commissioned her death. Heart pounding against his chest, he began tunneling his way through the crammed street of wagons and horses. He had spent twenty years since his mother's death building barriers to keep out the world from hurting him again, but when this feisty, headstrong, beautiful woman walked into his life with a way of looking at him with such trust blazing in her bright brown eyes, all he could think about was protecting the one piece of the world that had found its way into his heart.

An angry heat crawled up his spine, invading his neck with fire. The man, unable to keep his hands to himself, pathetically assaulted her; giving Barlow the chance to redeem his hesitation years ago.

"Hey," he grasped the man's shoulder and yanked him around. The man's surprised expression turned to one of arrogance, "Who in blazes are you?"

"Someone who knows when a man has long overstayed his welcome," he returned the hateful glare, slowly moving his hand toward his holster, just in case.

"Leave the lady alone," his words came out through grit teeth. A quick glance at where his hand rested caused both the doctor and the man to take a step back. Muttering something under his breath the man left without a fight. Rachel smoothed her skirt down and kept her eyes lowered. Weston Barlow's throat tightened. Relaxing his gun hand, he stared at her. She was a whole head shorter than him. Her ivory brow framed by silky brown hair gathered in a loose braid across her petite shoulder. A rebellious strand dangled on her lowered cheek. His jaw locked; the desire to gather that rebellious strand of hair with his fingers and tuck it behind her ear rattled his senses. He tried to take a step back, but the dainty, woodsy aroma of Lemon Verbena perfume tempted him to stay close. He breathed in deeply. His hand lifted regardless of the battle within him, and he reached out to tilt her chin up. Her eyes lifted and met his gaze. His hand still supporting her chin as he asked, "Are you okay?"

Her large, dark eyes stared back at him, and her mouth curled into a rueful smile; it was the only thing that softened her cool demeanor.

He swallowed hard.

He was nearly twice her size, towered over her, and between them was the only one wearing a gun, yet this woman was unlike any he'd ever know.

She intimidated him; something few people ever did.

"Thank you, but I do believe I could have handled that man on my own, Mr. Clark."

He shifted his position and tipped his hat, "Pardon me — I was just trying to be helpful."

Her own words echoed in her ears as he turned. Her features softened and she grabbed his elbow, "Jesse?"

"Yes?" he glanced over his shoulder, knowing that whether he approved of the new name she had given him or not, he would just have to accept it...and truth be told, he was beginning to like the new name.

"Thank you," her voice came out soft and sincere.

He offered her that heart melting, tantalizing smile of his, "My pleasure, Doc. I guess you can call us even now."

"Are you headed back to the ranch?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "Naw, I figured I'd get a bite to eat while I was in town."