Redemption. B.J. Daniels

Her once dark hair was now splintered with lightning bolts of gray, but it was her dark eyes that held Kate’s attention.

      She gave the woman her hand, felt the icy-cold, thin skin as the gnarled hand closed around hers.

      Kate was instantly startled by the alarm that flashed in the woman’s black eyes. A rattled breath escaped the fortune-teller’s lips. Horror contorted her features.

      Kate tried to pull back her hand, but the woman’s grip was like a vise.

      “There is something dark. It’s all around you,” the seer said as if the words were being pried from her. “It’s like a curse that has followed you since birth. I see a man, several men—” Her voice broke as the clawlike fingers released hers so quickly Kate’s hand dropped to the small makeshift table. She felt the cool velvet of the table covering as she pushed away from the table and the crone’s distressed look.

      The old woman blinked, her eyes seeming to clear. She appeared upset to see Kate still there. Not half as upset as Kate, though.

      “You could have just told me I was going to meet a tall, dark stranger who would fall madly in love with me,” Kate snapped as she got to her feet. She hadn’t even wanted to come in here. She certainly didn’t need some dire fortune, let alone that accusing tone.

      The woman shook her head. “You have already met him. He is tall. Not so dark.”

      Kate thought of Jack French with his blond hair and pale blue eyes.

      “But the love affair is cursed because of the danger surrounding you.”

      “What kind of fortune-teller are you?” Kate demanded.

      “I can only speak what I see.”

      “If you think I’m paying for that lousy fortune—”

      “I don’t want your money.”

      Insulted, Kate opened her purse, threw down a twenty and stalked out. Before the canvas curtain closed behind her, she saw the old woman cross herself.

      Kate let the tent flap snap shut behind her as she stepped out into the sunlight, needing warmth to chase away the pall the old woman had cast over her.

      But as she stepped into a shaft of warm, golden sunlight, she saw the man she’d been trying to avoid earlier. Jack French was leaning against one of the tent posts, clearly waiting for her.

      “Bad news?” he asked. He wore a blue-checked shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. His jeans, like his boots, looked as new as the Stetson cocked back on his blond head.

      She glared at him and had the wild notion that he’d had something to do with what the old woman had told her. She knew she shouldn’t let the cowboy or the fortune-teller upset her. Neither knew anything about her. But she had already been on edge from earlier.

      “Were you listening to what she told me?” she snapped.

      He shook his head. “Just saw you come out scowling,” he said as he pushed off the tent post to join her.

      Obviously she’d wasted her time trying to avoid him. He must have seen her duck into the tent.

      “I thought fortune-tellers weren’t supposed to tell you anything bad about the future,” he said.

      “She must not have read the fortune-teller manual. Or maybe she foresaw you waiting outside the tent for me.”

      He grinned at that and shoved back his hat. “So she did mention me?” He studied her a moment. The grin faded. “You really are upset. Over what some carnival charlatan told you? I thought you were smarter than that.”

      She knew her face gave her away. She was upset. It was foolish. Had she really let what the old woman said shake her composure? She was angry with herself for even stepping into the tent to begin with. Of course, that was all Jack’s fault.

      “Or are you upset over the sketch of the dead man in today’s newspaper?” His eyes had narrowed, his gaze intent on her.

      She unconsciously lifted her chin, bracing herself. “I was shocked.”