the soft earth. Her senses reeled. All that mattered was the soaring in her heart for a man she’d grown to love.
She lifted her fingers from his hair and stopped the kiss, not wanting the moment to end but understanding where the passion led. Visions of Jenkins . . . his dirty hands . . . his vile breath . . . “We need to get back before church.”
“You’re right.” Morgan took a deep breath and smiled. “What you do to me isn’t fair.”
He helped her onto the wagon seat and placed the basket on the wagon bed. They said little on the return trip. The birds and insects serenaded them and broke the tortuous silence.
“This has been a lovely picnic,” she said. “My first, and it will always be the best.”
He took her hand into his. “God willing, I want to make every day a picnic much finer than today.”
She heard the longing in his voice. “Morgan. That’s not real life. Ignoring the ugly things doesn’t make them go away. The things I’ve done can’t be washed down a muddy creek. Someday I must pay.”
“Did you ever rob anyone?”
“No.”
“Ever shoot anyone except for the man in Billings?”
“You and I shot at a few when Jenkins was after us.”
“That was self-defense.”
“Morgan, I’ve read the newspapers and seen the wanted posters. I rode with the Jenkins gang. No matter that he threatened to kill me or Tim if I left. No matter that he threatened to sell me to a brothel. No court of law will ever believe me. Then—”
“Then what?”
“I want to be free of all this. Some days, I don’t care if it’s Jenkins who finds me or the law.”
Chapter 17
“Let’s all go riding this afternoon,” Jocelyn suggested one Sunday afternoon. Casey sat outside with Jocelyn and Bonnie while Morgan and Grant discussed a problem with one of the ranch hands.
“Yes, I’d love to,” Bonnie said. “What do you think, Shawne?”
“I didn’t think it was proper for a lady to wear men’s clothing,” she said, all the while thinking how she missed riding her stallion.
“It’s not.” Jocelyn laughed. “We wear riding skirts. It’s so much easier and takes care of those ladies who fret about being proper.”
Casey had no idea what they were talking about. Women were either ladies and wore skirts and dresses, or they weren’t and wore trousers like a man. “I’m not so sure what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll show you mine.” Bonnie hurried into the house. Moments later she presented the skirt. “See, it’s split like a man’s trousers but very proper. You can swing up into the saddle easily without the nuisance of a dress or sidesaddle. I thought you rode here on that monster horse of yours.”
“I did, but I wore men’s clothes.” No point in lying about it. She’d not yet had an opportunity to ride Stampede, but Morgan had insisted the stallion pasture at the ranch.
Casey examined the article of clothing. “I think I could make one with the sewing lessons I’ve been taking.”
“Of course you could,” Jocelyn said. “But today you can wear one of mine. They’re so sensible for ranch work.”
The thought of riding again without regard to dress thrilled her.
Once they all changed clothes and prepared their horses, Casey climbed into the saddle of her stallion.
“Shawne, how do you control such a strong-willed horse?” Jocelyn said. Stampede reared and snorted.
“My brother taught me.” She sensed the old twist in the pit of her stomach.
“And you rode that animal to Kahlerville?” Jocelyn swung up onto her own mare. Casey caught her breath. Please, no more questions. “Yes, ma’am.”
“From where?” Bonnie said.
I will not lie. “West Texas.”
Bonnie’s eyes widened. “By yourself? Weren’t you afraid?”
Casey forced herself to look at her new friend. “It’s a long story, and one I’m not ready to talk about yet.” She took a ragged breath and saw Jocelyn stare at her intently. Did the woman know?
Jocelyn’s features shifted to concern. “When you’re ready, we’ll have a good old-fashioned lady’s talk over a cup of coffee. This afternoon we’re off to have a good time.”
How much longer can I keep the truth from this precious family and dear Reverend Rainer and Sarah? Every day brings more deceit. Every day puts them in danger. What kind of a woman am I?
Galloping across the countryside reminded Casey of days gone by. She relived the wild freedom of the wind blowing through her hair and the excitement of a powerful animal racing beneath her. When Stampede lunged forward, living up