Liz Ireland by The Outlaw's Bride

a sickly half smile and clutched her whiskey bottle so tightly she feared it would shatter. The big empty house? Empty except for a sick boy, a pregnant girl and an outlaw…
    “Maybe this isn’t the best time and place to be having a private discussion.” More than anything, Emma wished she could put Rose Ellen and Annalise on the next stage south out of town, but that wouldn’t be till tomorrow. And she doubted she could force her sister to leave that quickly.
    “We won’t be able to have any privacy at home, now that woman is there,” Rose Ellen grumbled as they started toward the wagon. She carried her own bags only reluctantly, when she noticed that Emma’s arms were already full with Annalise and the large bag. She clucked her tongue at Emma’s continued silence. “Although I suppose our house—excuse me, your house—is sufficiently largefor four people to rattle around in without being too much of a bother.”
    Emma smiled, in spite of the barb. “I might as well tell you now, Rose Ellen, that there won’t just be four of us.”
    Rose Ellen blinked in dismay. “Oh?”
    “I’m taking care of a little boy. He’s sick.”
    Rose Ellen shot her a dubious look. “Who are his family?”
    Emma swallowed. “Do you remember Cal Winters, the farmer?”
    Her sister dropped her bags and planted her hands on her hips. “Emma, have you lost your mind?”
    “And you might as well know, there’s someone else.”
    “Someone else!” By this time, Rose Ellen almost seemed to relish the enormity of her sister’s folly. “Who?”
    Emma sucked in a deep breath and gathered her courage. “You see, I’ve taken in a…” The word stranger seemed insufficient; it raised more questions than it answered. Naturally, outlaw was unthinkable. It would send Rose Ellen running to the sheriff lickety-split. “A boarder.”
    “A boarder!” Rose Ellen repeated, thunderstruck. “Then it’s worse than Janine had the courage to tell me!” Clearly, she considered a single woman taking in strangers for pay to be the height of bad taste. Pity and disgust mixed in her expression. “A boarder—oh, Emma! Whatever possessed you?”
    Faced with the prospect of having an outlaw in the same house with her sister, Emma was beginning to wonder that herself.
    The gun wasn’t in the kitchen, or the parlor, or anywhere that he could see. Lang hobbled over to the little secretary in the corner of the dining room and shamelessly began searching through drawers that weren’t his to open—somethinghe never would have dreamed of doing a month ago. But now was different. He was a wanted man.
    He was pretty sure he’d had the gun when he arrived at the Colby house. He’d had it when he’d stolen the horse to make his getaway, and he doubted he would have let it go in his flight. He especially wouldn’t have let it get away from him if he’d known what he was wanted for.
    Murder .
    The word rang again and again in his mind. Wanted for murder. Not just robbery, or horse thieving, which could cost him his life anyway; but murder. Lawmen, bounty hunters and just ordinary folks would be looking for him. There was probably a price on his head. Nowhere would be safe—maybe not even here, if Emma Colby finally got some sense and decided to kick him out or to bring the sheriff back with her.
    He prayed that wouldn’t happen. But if it did, he wanted to be ready. And he wanted to be armed. His first instinct had been to surrender to the authorities. But on second thought he decided he should wait. He was innocent, but innocent men had been hanged before.
    Collapsing into the dainty chair to partially relieve the sharp pains shooting through his leg and his side, he took a deep breath and realized the little nooks and drawers in front of him were far too small to conceal a weapon. He would have to drag himself into another room, maybe even outside, if he wanted to discover where Emma had hidden that blasted gun.
    He buried his head in his hands,