Halverson’s twitchy fingers strayed toward the butt of his Colt.
A grin slid across Daniel’s lips. “Your move, Marshal.”
“No, it’s mine.”
The honeyed voice undid the starch in Daniel’s knees. Amon propped him up. “Get back in the house.”
A gossamer hand wove fingers through Daniel’s. Her touch warmed the chill from his blood.
“Roy, this charade has gone on too long.” Not a single ripple disturbed the honey. “You go to Brownsville, but I won’t hide any longer.”
The captain’s gaze snapped to Halverson. “The Nueces Strip? I was unaware you planned to relocate, Marshal.” Eyes narrowed beneath lowered brows. “I believe we have a matter to discuss.”
The grief-stricken disbelief Halverson swung to Winnie sucked the strength from his voice. “Why?”
“For Mark. For the banker. For Montague and Henry and any others.” She tilted back her head, and Montana blue claimed the rest of Daniel’s heart. “But most of all, for Daniel.”
Chapter Thirteen
Winnie tripped over Montague…again. “Must you lie underfoot?”
The spotted hound raised his head, and the rest of his body followed. Tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, he stirred up a breeze with his tail.
How could she resist that canine smile? She scratched the big dog’s ears. “I must say you do an exemplary job of cleaning bits of food from the floor.”
She returned to the stove and dipped bubbling stew into two bowls. Montague almost knocked her over when he dove into his meal.
Lifting the second vessel, she turned toward the hearth.
Miss Muffet yipped from her tuffet.
“Well, come on.”
The terrier laid her frowsy muzzle on her forepaws and fixed Winnie with a forlorn stare.
“You’re not that old.” She sighed. If Miss Muffet wouldn’t come to the dish, the dish would go to Miss Muffet.
As usual.
The little lady fairly flew from the tuffet as Winnie set the bowl on the floor.
She’d not yet straightened when the small cabin’s door creaked open. Just the sound of Daniel’s boot steps put a flutter in her heartbeat.
He scuffed up behind her and turned her in his arms. No longer ragged and scruffy, he still managed to coat himself with dirt. “Ah, old socks. My favorite.”
“You’re in luck. I made biscuits, too.”
His lips brushed hers. “I can taste them already.”
He escorted her to the kitchen, tossed his hat on the table, and collapsed into a chair. At least he didn’t knock over the vase of daisies…this time.
After easing her into his lap, he laid a gentle palm over the slight bump in her belly. “How’re you feeling?”
“I’m fine. You don’t look so good.”
A gusty exhale puffed his cheeks. “Worn out. Those funny-looking cattle are ornery.”
“You’ll feel better after a bath. I’ve readied one.”
“If I sit in a tub of warm water, I’ll never find my feet again.”
“I’ll make sure you get up.”
His lips cocked in a suggestive grin, but for only a moment before he captured hers. She’d never tire of his heart-melting kiss.
When they separated, he nibbled her neck.
“I thought you were exhausted.”
“Uh-huh.” He raised his head. “But…”
She giggled. “Then take a bath.”
“Join me.”
“You, sir, possess wicked thoughts.”
“All the time.” Even tired and dirty, he could still seduce her with a wink. “I’d best bathe. Right away.”
He set her on her feet and rose. But instead of heading for the tub, he drew her into his arms. “I think I need a little fortification for the trip.”
Skepticism lifted her brows. “To walk across the room?”
“I get powerful cravings.” His whisper wrapped her in an all-over caress. “That’s the trouble with honey. Once a man gets a taste…”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR—Kathleen Rice Adams
A Texan to the bone, award-winning author Kathleen Rice Adams spends her days chasing news stories and her nights and weekends shooting it out with Wild West desperadoes. Leave the upstanding, law-abiding heroes to other folks. In Kathleen’s stories, even the good guys wear black hats.
For more classic tales of the Old West that never forget the power of love, visit her hideout on the web at KathleenRiceAdams.com.
YESTERDAY’S FLAME
Livia J. Washburn
This book is dedicated to all the firefighters who put their lives on the line every day to protect ours.
Chapter 1
"Now that is what I call a handsome man."
Annabel Lowell said distractedly, "What? Where?"
"That man right there," her friend Vickie Pasetta said, pointing.
Annabel turned, expecting to see Vickie indicating some tourist who had wandered into the San Francisco Fire Museum. Instead, she saw that Vickie was pointing at a large framed photograph on the wall. A brass plaque above the photograph read Engine Company No. 21.