the next day’s lessons.
When a shadow suddenly fell across the room, she stiffened and glanced up to find Swift standing in the doorway. Because she hadn’t heard him approach, she dropped her gaze to his boots. His silver spurs had been removed. As much as she detested the chinking noise the spurs made, a perverse anger swept over her. Why had he taken them off? The better to sneak up on her?
Brown-red dust coated the toes and heels of his boots. She swallowed and trailed her gaze upward. More dust clung to his pants. Dressed all in black, with his hat over his eyes and the gun belt low on his hips, he looked every bit the heartless gunslinger, the kind of man who was lightning quick to anger and deadly on the draw. The kind of man who would rule a woman’s every thought, word, and action.
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled back over his corded forearms, as if he’d been working. The collar hung open, the top three buttons unfastened to reveal a V of bronzed chest.
“M-may I help you?”
“Something that belongs to me is here,” he replied silkily. “I thought I’d walk over and collect it.”
Amy gripped the edge of the book so hard her knuckles ached. “I thought I made myself clear last night and this morning. I’m not yours. Nothing on God’s earth could convince me to marry a man who hasn’t even the common decency to remove his weapons in a schoolhouse. Hunter may not step in on my behalf, but there is law here in Wolf’s Landing. If you bother me again, I’m going directly to the jail to tell Marshal Hilton.”
He tipped his head so the sunshine slanted under the brim of his hat, revealing his slow, taunting grin. His hatband of silver conchae flashed into her eyes like a mirror.
With a flick of his fingers, he unbuckled his gun belt and slung it over his shoulder as he stepped inside. “I was talking about my poncho, Amy. I worked all day with Hunter up at the mine, and it gets damned chilly if I go underground. The poncho’s the closest thing to a jacket that I’ve got.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, feeling ridiculous. How could she have forgotten the poncho? Swift rattled her so badly that she was fortunate to recall her own name when he was around.
So he’d been working at the mine all day, had he? No doubt catching up on old times with Hunter. That was just like a man, making threats and leaving a woman to stew, never giving it another thought, while she thought of nothing else.
He stepped to the coatrack. “I’m sorry if I startled you. It was so late, I figured you’d be gone.”
To her dismay, instead of collecting his poncho, he hung his gun belt on a hook and strolled around the classroom, hands clasped behind him. Her attention centered on the knife and scabbard attached to his pants belt. She recognized the hand-carved handle; he still carried the same knife he had years ago. She could almost feel the smooth wood against her palm, still warm from his hand, the thrill of hitting her mark.
He paused before a display of drawings. “Not a bad likeness of a horse. Who drew it?”
“Peter Crenton. His father owns the Lucky Nugget Saloon. He’s a little redheaded boy. You may have noticed him.”
He nodded. “That carrot red hair was hard to miss.”
“His name is in the bottom right corner.”
“I can’t read, Amy. You know that.”
A pang of sadness hit her at the life he had led, but she pushed it away. “What can you do, Swift? Besides ride a horse, steal from the God-fearing, and sling a gun, I mean?”
He nudged his hat back, the movement slow and lazy, then turned to survey her, his mouth still curved in a grin. “I make love real good.”
Fiery heat flooded up her neck to her face, pooling in her cheeks. She stared at him, her eyes dry, her eyelids stuck open.
“What can you do?” he countered. “Besides teaching children and scaring off men by spouting rules of etiquette, I mean.”
Amy ran the tip of her tongue across her lip.
“Do you make love
When a shadow suddenly fell across the room, she stiffened and glanced up to find Swift standing in the doorway. Because she hadn’t heard him approach, she dropped her gaze to his boots. His silver spurs had been removed. As much as she detested the chinking noise the spurs made, a perverse anger swept over her. Why had he taken them off? The better to sneak up on her?
Brown-red dust coated the toes and heels of his boots. She swallowed and trailed her gaze upward. More dust clung to his pants. Dressed all in black, with his hat over his eyes and the gun belt low on his hips, he looked every bit the heartless gunslinger, the kind of man who was lightning quick to anger and deadly on the draw. The kind of man who would rule a woman’s every thought, word, and action.
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled back over his corded forearms, as if he’d been working. The collar hung open, the top three buttons unfastened to reveal a V of bronzed chest.
“M-may I help you?”
“Something that belongs to me is here,” he replied silkily. “I thought I’d walk over and collect it.”
Amy gripped the edge of the book so hard her knuckles ached. “I thought I made myself clear last night and this morning. I’m not yours. Nothing on God’s earth could convince me to marry a man who hasn’t even the common decency to remove his weapons in a schoolhouse. Hunter may not step in on my behalf, but there is law here in Wolf’s Landing. If you bother me again, I’m going directly to the jail to tell Marshal Hilton.”
He tipped his head so the sunshine slanted under the brim of his hat, revealing his slow, taunting grin. His hatband of silver conchae flashed into her eyes like a mirror.
With a flick of his fingers, he unbuckled his gun belt and slung it over his shoulder as he stepped inside. “I was talking about my poncho, Amy. I worked all day with Hunter up at the mine, and it gets damned chilly if I go underground. The poncho’s the closest thing to a jacket that I’ve got.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, feeling ridiculous. How could she have forgotten the poncho? Swift rattled her so badly that she was fortunate to recall her own name when he was around.
So he’d been working at the mine all day, had he? No doubt catching up on old times with Hunter. That was just like a man, making threats and leaving a woman to stew, never giving it another thought, while she thought of nothing else.
He stepped to the coatrack. “I’m sorry if I startled you. It was so late, I figured you’d be gone.”
To her dismay, instead of collecting his poncho, he hung his gun belt on a hook and strolled around the classroom, hands clasped behind him. Her attention centered on the knife and scabbard attached to his pants belt. She recognized the hand-carved handle; he still carried the same knife he had years ago. She could almost feel the smooth wood against her palm, still warm from his hand, the thrill of hitting her mark.
He paused before a display of drawings. “Not a bad likeness of a horse. Who drew it?”
“Peter Crenton. His father owns the Lucky Nugget Saloon. He’s a little redheaded boy. You may have noticed him.”
He nodded. “That carrot red hair was hard to miss.”
“His name is in the bottom right corner.”
“I can’t read, Amy. You know that.”
A pang of sadness hit her at the life he had led, but she pushed it away. “What can you do, Swift? Besides ride a horse, steal from the God-fearing, and sling a gun, I mean?”
He nudged his hat back, the movement slow and lazy, then turned to survey her, his mouth still curved in a grin. “I make love real good.”
Fiery heat flooded up her neck to her face, pooling in her cheeks. She stared at him, her eyes dry, her eyelids stuck open.
“What can you do?” he countered. “Besides teaching children and scaring off men by spouting rules of etiquette, I mean.”
Amy ran the tip of her tongue across her lip.
“Do you make love
Similar Books
