A Wanted Man by Susan Kay Law

expect you to work the clock around.”
    “I don’t know about that.” He plopped the hat back on his head, for which she was immediately sorry. It shadowed his face too well and made it all the harder to discern his thoughts and moods. “I’m sure he did not get where he was by working short and easy days.He strikes me as the sort who demands the same from his employees.”
    She burst into laughter. “You pegged him so quickly, did you?”
    “It wasn’t hard.” He shrugged. “I know his type well enough.” He slowed the horse as they approached the rock tower. “Where do you want to set up?”
    “This is fine.”
    An hour passed. Maybe two, while Sam sat with his back against a lone, stunted cottonwood that clung to the bank of a nearly dry creek, and Laura sat beneath a sheltering umbrella, perched on the little three-legged stool he’d lugged out there for her, ripping through page after page of sketches.
    At least I make a good pack animal, he thought wryly. Laura was such a bit of thing she never could have carried all those supplies—an easel, a canvas, paints and pencils and chalks, the umbrella and stool and blanket and a gingham-lined picnic basket—by herself.
    Because he certainly hadn’t accomplished much else since he’d joined up with her party. Mostly, he’d sat on his ass and watched her.
    Oh, there wasn’t much else he could do. He couldn’t hurry her on to the Silver Spur without arousing suspicion. But it disturbed him how…content he was with the situation. There should have been at least some impatience simmering beneath his calculatedly watchful facade.
    He was not accustomed to doing nothing. He generally assessed a situation, acted quickly, and moved on. Waiting was not his style, though he could do it when circumstances warranted.
    But being there with her held an undeniable appeal.A breeze sighed in from the west, rippling the long, yellow-green grass, brushing his face. The sun beamed benignly, a shade too warm, just enough to remind you it was there. He tipped his head back. Above him green leaves shimmied, a summer dance.
    He could never get enough of this, the simple, sweeping pleasure of sitting in the open air and admiring a lovely day. He’d spent so many days confined, space and light denied him, wondering if he’d ever have another opportunity, that freedom still felt new.
    And then, of course, there was Laura. And therein lay a more complex problem.
    He did not seem to tire of watching her. That was odd enough in itself. A particular woman rarely held his attention for long, and it generally required a bit more effort on her part than her mere existence. And it was not as if Laura possessed the kind of beauty that blared its presence from across the room, snagging your attention and holding it.
    Laura’s was a gentler attractiveness, quieter, composed of the constant flare of interest in her eyes, the kindness in her expression, the concentration with which she approached her work. And perhaps that is why it did not burn itself out so quickly: When you had to search for that beauty, await the fleeting, tantalizing glimpses of it, it never became stale but retained its freshness and fascination.
    She sat right at the edge of the blanket, at the border where the umbrella’s shadow ended, so that her pad on its easel received full sunlight while she remained in the shade. And even as he watched, she scooted her stool forward until the sunlight blazed on her hair, and she had to squint against its power.
    “Damn.” He sprang to his feet. She did not look upuntil his shadow fell across her—either she was so lost in her concentration she did not note his approach, or she had been aware from the first and looked up a beat too late in an attempt to hide it. “You’re out in the sun again.”
    “Are you going to scold me now, too?” She lifted her face full into the brightness of it. “I like it.”
    There was more color in her face than when they’d first met, a