Diablo by Patricia; Potter

“You think he would tell me how he escaped?”
    Real fear snaked through her. She leaned over and put her hand on Robin’s shoulder, but he shook it off impatiently. She sighed. He was still so young. She wanted him to have a good life, a family and children. She wanted …
    She wanted those same things for herself. But what decent man—and she would have no other kind—would want the daughter and niece of notorious outlaws?
    She kept remembering her mother. A Kentucky belle who had fallen in love with an outlaw and run off with him. She’d died by pieces as she waited for him in dirty boarding houses, never knowing whether he was dead or alive. And when Robin came early, they were on the run again, and there had been no doctor. Nicky and her pa had watched her die in a dirty, cold cave. Her pa was never the same again.
    Then Sanctuary had become her home, and she’d felt a measure of safety here.
    She didn’t feel safe any longer.
    Kane arrived at Thompson’s house precisely at seven. He’d had a few drinks first, though he’d been careful not to have too many. He needed all his wits tonight.
    Nat Thompson opened the door when he knocked. “O’Brien,” he acknowledged. “Good of you to come.”
    Kane had to rein in his temper and his mouth. He’d had damn little choice. He simply nodded.
    Thompson had studied him before—when they’d first met—but that had been nothing to the perusal now. Kane felt like a specimen pinned to a board as the outlaw’s dark eyes seemed to penetrate his very soul. He shook off the notion. It was intimidation only. Damn good intimidation.
    Thompson finally moved. “Like a drink?”
    Hell yes. But Kane made sure his eyes revealed nothing as he moved inside the house, his gaze taking in the gingham curtains, the bouquet of wild flowers in a painted jar on the table. Small homey touches he hadn’t noticed during that other brief visit.
    Nicole? Where was she? His gaze went to the partially opened door of what he guessed was the kitchen, his nose twitching as he smelled something very nice wafting through the doorway.
    A drink was thrust in his hand, and he sipped it carefully, turning his attention back to Nat Thompson, who was still watching him with cagey eyes.
    â€œGood whiskey,” he remarked with casual indifference.
    A gleam of appreciation shown in Thompson’s eyes. “I’m glad you approve.” There was a tiny bite of sarcasm in the words, and Kane reminded himself not to underestimate the man.
    Thompson gestured him to a chair, and Kane sat. So did Thompson, who took a couple of sips himself before speaking again. “My nephew is real taken with that bird. I wanted to thank you for that.”
    Kane fought to contain his surprise. Thompson had made him aware of his proprietary view of his family, but the warm huskiness of the man’s voice revealed a deep caring. Kane felt his gut constrict. He didn’t want Thompson’s thanks or appreciation or any other damn thing. He wanted to get his job done and get the hell out of here.
    â€œMy niece said she met you the other morning.” It was spoken as a question, and Kane wondered what else Nicole had said. Nicky. Remember, her name is Nicky. He didn’t think Nat Thompson would appreciate the fact that Kane knew her as Nicole.
    â€œI ride a lot,” he said.
    â€œSo I hear,” Thompson said. “How did you like Rosita’s?”
    Was there anything Thompson didn’t know? Probably even how well he did in bed. The idea didn’t sit at all well with Kane. He didn’t like being spied on. But then that was exactly what he was doing to Thompson. He shrugged.
    Thompson played with his glass a moment. “How long you planning to stay?”
    â€œUntil I run out of money.”
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œMaybe then there won’t be so many posses after me. I’ll make my way