Lady Gone Bad Read Online Free

the kid was an outlaw, maybe he wanted a deputy to owe him one. On the other hand, the boy might be leading him straight to another outlaw gang. For now, he couldn’t do anything but trust the kid and hope to come up aces.
    He glanced back. The lynch mob wasn’t giving up. He could see their dust cloud, gaining ground all the time. At this rate, they’d never reach a safe haven. If he could get rid of the noose and handcuffs, he could guide Justice and move faster.
    “Hey,” he called, his voice cracking with dryness. “Stop. Free me.”
    “Cave ahead.” The kid gestured at a bluff. “Get us out of sight.”
    Relief poured through him like a river, washing to the surface all the aches and pains he’d been holding at bay. He hurt like a house afire and needed to get out of the saddle fast.
    Soon the boy led their horses out of the bright sunlight into the shadow of a small cave, dismounted, and untied the lasso.
    “Thanks.” Rafe coughed out the word, then cautiously stepped down from the gelding, felt his legs buckle, and sat down hard on his butt. “Free me quick.”
    “Aim to.” The kid started working on the noose again.
    Rafe forced his body to remain still, but he wanted to rip off the rope with his teeth. He felt a pat on his shoulder from the boy’s gloved hand.
    “Gotta cut you loose.”
    “Do it.” He waited impatiently, knowing the necktie party was getting closer every moment.
    He glimpsed a sharp knife before he felt sawing on the rope, back and forth. Hurt like hell, but he didn’t care. When the knife finally cut through stiff fibers, the blade pricked his raw skin. Again, he didn’t care. All that mattered was his relief when the noose was finally jerked over his head and tossed to the ground. He took a deep, satisfying breath and stretched his neck in relief.
    “Cuffs now.” The kid lifted a small packet out of his saddlebag. He squatted down beside Rafe and unrolled a blue cloth bag to reveal a row of picklocks, each in a separate cloth noose.
    Rafe watched a gloved hand select a pick. The boy had long fingers, slender wrists. With a few deft movements, the lock clicked open. Rafe jerked off the cuffs, tossed them down, and then rubbed circulation into his raw, swollen wrists.
    The kid quickly rolled up the picklocks, replaced them in his saddlebag, and brought back a canteen.
    Rafe poured water over his face, took several deep gulps, and sighed in satisfaction. He wet his bandanna and tied it around his neck to cool and protect his raw, sore skin.
    “Better get,” the kid said, motioning toward the horses.
    “Thanks.” Rafe held out his hand in introduction. “Name’s Rafe.” Something about the boy seemed familiar, but he couldn’t see much in the dim light and the kid kept his hat pulled low. “Rafe Morgan.”
    The boy turned over Rafe’s hand and put cornpone and jerky in it.
    “I can’t take your food. Bad enough I drank your water. Put you in danger.”
    “Eat it on the run.” The kid picked up his canteen and headed for his horse, looking like he wore his older brother’s clothes.
    “Thanks. I’ll pay you back.” Rafe grabbed his handcuffs and the noose, tossing them into a saddlebag. No easy trail left behind. “What the hell kind of town lynches the law?”
    “The Bend.” The boy swung up in his saddle like he’d been doing it since birth.
    Rafe mounted Justice. “A low-down, conniving polecat set me up. When I catch her, I’ll take her to the Hangin’ Judge.”
    The kid set off down the trail without reply.
    As Rafe followed, he gnawed at the cornpone and felt his mind click into gear. Details kept him alive. The boy carried picklocks. An outlaw’s tool. Cowboys could be overly proud of small feet and fancy boots, but this kid took the cake. Gunslingers wore fancy boots like the boy’s hand-tooled design of a rearing horse silhouette, crisp white against blood red. The kid was young, but folks grew up fast in the West. There were lots of ways he could