Shades of a Desperado Read online

  “Women don’t love men like me,” the outlaw growled as bis fingers dug into ber arms.

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Sharon Sala

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “Women don’t love men like me,” the outlaw growled as bis fingers dug into ber arms.

  She reached up, tunneling her fingers through the thick black length of his hair. “And just what kind of man are you, if not a man to love?”

  A bitter expression tore the smile from his face. “A man on the wrong side of the law. I’ve killed before, and I’ll very likely kill again. I’m a badlands desperado who’s forgotten how to pray, and you’d be well-advised to leave me alone.”

  She laid her hand gently against the edge of his cheek. “I would if I could.... Besides, haven’t you heard that a woman’s love can make a bad man good?”

  He looked down, then tilted her chin until she was staring him straight in the face. “Don’t you understand? Once a desperado, always a desperado....”

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to a new year of reading here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. As always, we’ve got six top-notch books for you, starting with Sharon Sala’s Shades of a Desperado. This Intimate Moments Extra title is a compelling tale of a love that would not die, and the lovers—a desperado and his lady of the night—who are reincarnated in twentieth-century guise to complete the circle begun so many years ago. Theirs is a tale you won’t soon forget

  In Angel’s Child, Kathryn Jensen creates a hero whose heavenly mission brings him face-to-face with the all-too-earthly feelings he harbors for the heroine. Suzanne Brockmann brings her TALL, DARK AND DANGEROUS miniseries to a close with Frisco’s Kid, the tale of a man who thinks he has no future, and the woman and child who transform his life. Welcome Kayla Daniels to the line with Wanted: Mom and Me, and join an on-the-run mother and child as they find safety—and a renewed sense of family—in the person of one very sexy sheriff. Ingrid Weaver is back with On the Way to a Wedding... You won’t want to miss a single pulse-pounding page as lawman Nick Strada fakes his own death—then has to take beautiful Lauren Abbot on the run with him. Finally, welcome Cheryl Biggs, whose The Return of the Cowboy captures the feel of the West and all the passion you could want.

  Enjoy them all—then come back next month for even more of the most exciting romance reading around...only in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

  Happy New Year!

  Leslie Wainger

  Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  SHARON SALA

  SHADES OF A DESPERADO

  Books by Sharon Sala

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Annie and the Outlaw #597

  The Miracle Man #650

  When You Call My Name #687

  Shades of a Desperado #757

  SHARON SALA

  is a child of the country. As a farmer’s daughter, her vivid imagination made solitude a thing to cherish. As a farmer’s wife, she learned to take each day as it came without worrying about the next. After she and her husband, Bill, raised two children and too many crops to count, she went from clotheslines to deadlines with a smile on her face. Writing is nothing more than the fulfillment of a lifelong habit of daydreaming. Giving birth to characters in her mind and then sharing them with those who like to read is the thing she loves best.

  To the people who have the faith to trust in something

  other than what they see before their eyes,

  God will bless you.

  To those who act on instinct, rather than rules,

  God watches over you.

  To those who trust with their hearts and not their heads,

  I thank God.

  To those who live today with memories of a past that

  won’t let go, have faith in God.

  To Leslie Wainger,

  who shared a dream, may God be with you always.

  Prologue

  1877

  The Black Hills of the Dakota Territory

  The gun in Dakota’s hands felt warm and familiar to him, but the look in his eyes was as harsh and bitter as the Dakota lands for which he’d been named. Across the room, he watched Mercy Hollister from the tiny cabin’s only bed like a hawk with its prey; the knot in his gut tightening with every breath that he took.

  Damn her beautiful, lying face.

  Twice his forefinger brushed the pistol’s hair trigger as he contemplated the hole the bullet would make in her soft white body, and each time, the knot in his belly gave a lurch, reminding him that he’d been a fool to trust, and an even bigger fool to love.

  Angry with himself and the futility of it all, he brushed a hand across his face, as if wiping away what was left of a bad dream, yet when he looked up, the reality of the situation remained. He was running from the law with the woman he now believed had betrayed him...and he still loved her.

  He raised himself from a reclining position long enough to glance out the small, dusty windowpane. The plume of dust he’d seen earlier down on the flats was just that little bit closer, evidence that Sheriff Ab Schuler and his posse had found them after all.

  He dropped back against the wall, only half-aware of the soft, aimless tune Mercy was humming as she stripped down to wash her trail-weary body. As his gaze swept her nudity, he hated himself for the weakness of still wanting a woman who’d turned him in for the money, and he was certain Mercy had done just that.

  If she wasn’t the one who’d told where they were going, how else had they been found? He’d been using this hideout for more than three years, and to date, no lawman had even gotten close to finding it. But, Dakota reminded himself, he’d never been fool enough before to tell a woman anything but a lie. That was before Mercy—before he’d let her into his heart and into his life. Now Ab Schuler was riding Dakota’s trail like it was a marked map.

  He knew the price on his head was enough to make brother turn against brother. Why had he let himself believe a harlot would be different? Why had he let himself fall in love with a woman whose last lover before him had been the very sheriff who was dogging their trail? Just because she cried out with joy when they made love, just because she swore she loved him more than life itself, that didn’t make it so.

  The gun felt heavy in his hands, almost as heavy as the weight in his heart. With a slow, angry sigh, he laid it on his belly, letting it balance on the flat, bare plane as he put his hands behind his head and leaned against the wall. Using his fists for a pillow, he angled his long legs off one side of the narrow bunk, watching her as she washed and wondering if he had the guts to kill her.

  Unaware of the drama being played out in Dakota’s mind, Mercy dipped a rag in a basin of tepid water, ignoring the sediment in the bottom of the pan. Riding the trail with an outlaw had been harder than she’d imagined, but she had no regrets. Ever since she and Dakota left Trinity three days ago, she’d been eating dirt, as well as wearing it. Washing it off her body felt like heaven.

  And, for the first ti
me in as long as she could remember, she was happy—truly happy. It had taken guts for her to leave the security of a roof over her head, a warm, dry bed and daily food on the table, even if she’d had to earn it by lying down for every sorry-ass man who passed through town.

  Loving an outlaw hadn’t been in Mercy’s plans, but Dakota had been a hard man to resist. His black hair was only a few shades darker than his gaze, yet when he smiled at her, she saw the man he could have been...and in his eyes, she was the woman she should have been. She saw something in Dakota’s face that she’d never seen before in another living soul. Trust. He not only loved her, he trusted her. She didn’t know where this crazy life she’d chosen was going to lead, but as long as she was by Dakota’s side, she would be happy.

  She dipped the rag in the basin again, swishing it around and then wringing it out before lifting the weight of her long, dark hair to wash the back of her neck. Even though the water was less than clear, she couldn’t remember ever being as glad to feel clean as she did right now.

  The bunk creaked behind her, and she smiled. She could feel Dakota’s gaze on her bare body. The cabin he’d brought her to was little more than a roof and four walls, yet with him at her side, it seemed like a mansion. It was going to be home...their home.

  Suddenly, she could wait no longer. Clean or not, she wanted to lie in Dakota’s arms, to feel his hands on her body and his mouth on her lips. She needed to hear the words he always whispered in her ear right before he took her over the edge of reason.

  Sweet Mercy...have mercy....

  She smiled to herself, picturing the look on his face when he said it, and dropped the rag into the basin. She turned with anticipation in her eyes. But the smile on her lips stilled before it became full-blown.

  There was a look on Dakota’s face that she’d never seen—a cold, deadly expression that stopped her breath and very nearly her heart. She inhaled sharply as fear sliced through her daydreams, rudely yanking her back to the reality of loving a man who lived by the gun.

  “Dakota?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t move.

  Mercy darted toward the bed, forgetting her sponge bath and the fact that she was naked.

  Oddly, her nudity did not raise Dakota’s lust. Instead, it seemed to enhance the innocence of the blue-eyed woman coming toward him, as if she were proving she had nothing to hide.

  Don’t fall for this again, he reminded himself, but when she fell into his arms with tears on her face, he cursed the surge of protective longing that swept over him.

  Even now, sweet Mercy, when I know you for what you really are...

  “Sweetheart! What’s wrong?” Mercy asked.

  Angry with himself and with her, he took her and rolled, pinning her beneath him on the dusty, narrow bunk. But when he pressed the barrel of his gun against her temple, he broke out in a cold sweat, unable to pull the trigger.

  Mercy was in shock. Never in the six months that she’d known Dakota had he treated her in such a fashion. Other men had, but she thought he was different, and because this was so unexpected, she couldn’t stop her tears.

  “Dakota! Talk to me! Tell me what’s wrong! You know I love you! You know I’d do anything for you! Why are you treating me this way?”

  Dakota shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but all he succeeded in doing was hazing his vision of her.

  Mercy couldn’t believe what was happening. Even though there were tears in Dakota’s eyes, she feared for her life. None of this was making any sense.

  “Stop this!” she screamed, and began hammering on his bare chest with her fists. “You’re scaring me! Whatever is wrong, I’ve got a right to know!”

  Words ripped from his throat in harsh, angry grunts. “Why? Why did you do it?”

  “Do what?” she cried. “I didn’t do anything but love you!”

  Dakota blinked, trying to clear his vision. The action did little except blur the fear he saw on her face.

  Make her pay, he told himself, shifting his body so that she was completely immobile, pinned to the bed by his weight. With his last ounce of determination, he increased the pressure of the gun against her temple. Their gazes locked as he cocked the hammer. The small, metallic click echoed loudly in the sudden silence of the small one-room shack.

  Mercy froze, her eyes widening in horror as she became aware of the desperation on Dakota’s face.

  “Dakota...My God...don’t! I love you! Doesn’t that mean anything to you anymore?”

  Her words ripped through the pain in his chest, spilling the hurtful anger into every part of his body. With a cold, cruel smile, he leaned down, dragging his mouth across her face and ripping a kiss from her trembling lips. Even now, as brutally as he was treating her, he felt her respond.

  Finally he tore himself away, only slightly satisfied with the small drop of blood lingering on the edge of her lower lip. With a low, guttural curse, he raked his gun down her cheek. As badly as he wanted to hate her, he caught himself regretting the fear he’d put into her eyes. But his heart wasn’t the only thing breaking. His voice cracked as he spoke.

  “I guess I didn’t know you quite as well as I thought. You’re quite a little soldier, aren’t you, darlin’?”

  Tears tracked down her face, only to disappear in the thick black hair pillowing her head. Her voice was weak and shaking as she lifted her hands in supplication.

  “My God, my God...I don’t know what you mean.”

  With an angry swipe of his hand, he slapped her hands away, refusing the gesture of peace.

  “Since you’ve ridden just about every man you ever met, I guess that earns you the title.”

  Mercy stiffened. Not once in their entire relationship had Dakota ever alluded to her life as a prostitute, and now, when she’d given it and everything else up for him, he had thrown it in her face. Hurt by an accusation she couldn’t deny, her tears fell faster, in anger now.

  “Damn you!” she cried, and then choked on a sob as she hit him full force on the side of the face with the flat of her hand.

  The slap ricocheted from tooth to tooth, and still Dakota kept his gun aimed at her head.

  “Father pull the trigger or get off me!” Mercy screamed, and began hitting Dakota with doubled-up fists. “If you hate me this much, then do it! I dare you!”

  He neither moved nor answered as his dark, angry gaze continued to burn across her features.

  Groaning with disbelief, she pushed at his chest with the flat of both hands, trying to get out from under his weight.

  “My God! I was such a fool! I left everything I had to ride with you! I put my own life at risk to run with a man with a price on his head. I gave you something I never gave another living soul.”

  The rage in her startled him. He might have expected it from an innocent...but not from Mercy. She was anything but innocent. Though he knew that, it was still all Dakota could do to meet her gaze.

  “Damn you, Dakota, I thought you were different, but I was wrong! You’re no better than every other man who spilled himself in me. In fact, you’re worse! At least they didn’t bell me a lie to get me to spread my legs. If that’s all you wanted, then why didn’t you say so?”

  When she shifted beneath him, blatantly offering herself up to his maleness with a look in her eyes he would never forget, all the rage in him died. He eased the hammer on the pistol down without firing the shot. Choking on sobs, she went limp with relief. Dakota buried his face in the curve of her neck and swallowed a sob of his own.

  A silent moment passed while Mercy struggled to get past her shock and Dakota fought to regain his sense of purpose. He was the first to act. Without speaking, he rolled himself from her body and stalked to the other end of the room, where he’d dumped his gear. He turned once, looking back at her with a longing he didn’t know how to hide, then began dressing to ride.

  Mercy watched in disbelief, trying to figure out what had gone so terribly wrong. But when Dakota jammed his hat on his head, slung
his saddlebags over his shoulder and picked up his rifle, she jumped out of bed in sudden fright. Dear God! He was leaving her behind!

  “Wait for me!” she begged, and started pulling on clothes in wild abandon.

  He paused in the doorway, staring long and hard out toward the valley below, then spun abruptly, as if making a sudden decision. Without giving himself time to change his mind, he tossed her his rifle.

  “Here,” he drawled. “I know you can shoot, so if you love me like you say you do, then don’t let Schuler take me back to hang.”

  Mercy caught the gun in midair as the door slammed shut behind him. Her face paled as she clutched the rifle. Suddenly she understood. The posse must have found them, and if Dakota’s behavior was anything by which to judge, he believed she’d betrayed him!

  “Dakota! No!”

  But it was too late. She heard him riding away.

  Frantic, she began grabbing at her clothing, her entire body in tremors. Buttons wouldn’t go into holes, and fabric stuck to her still-damp body, hindering the haste she so desperately needed. Finally she had everything on but her boots. As she bent down to slip them on, the handgun she’d begun carrying in the pocket of her skirt shifted against her thigh. She shuddered and said a small prayer. Seconds later, she was out of the cabin, with the rifle in her hand and the handgun bumping against her leg as she ran.

  Sensing her panic, her horse shied, dancing sideways, nickering and tossing its head as she tried to mount.

  “Whoa, whoa...easy, boy,” she muttered, trying to calm the horse, as well as her own racing heart, but it wasn’t to be.

  As she was in the midst of trying to get her toe in the stirrup, the sounds of gunfire echoed from the canyon below. Startled by the abrupt and unexpected noise, the horse reared, then bolted, dumping her in the dirt and leaving her unable to ride to Dakota’s aid.