Wildfire in His Arms by Johanna Lindsey

confidential matter.
    â€œFriend of yours?” she asked, tapping the paper.
    â€œNo, it’s probably related to the work I’m doing for Marshal Hayes. He mentioned the Pinkertons were investigating train robberies.” Degan almost sounded annoyed when he added, “He wasn’t supposed to tell his superiors that I was temporarily taking over for him while he’s away. It appears that he did anyway.”
    She grinned. “Or maybe they think you’ve become a—” He glanced at her so sharply she didn’t finish, admitting instead, “Okay, bad joke. Besides, the railroads would go out of business if you started robbing—” His look turned so dark she flinched this time. “I’ll just shut up now.”
    She was surprised to hear him request that hot water be delivered to his room, but didn’t comment on it. Talking to him was actually more aggravating than not talking to him. And she’d been doing far too much of that. She supposed it was nervous chatter. He did make her a little nervous, but only because she couldn’t figure him out. With most folks, you had plenty of warning about what they might do. With Degan Grant, you just got surprised.
    But on the way up to his room she began to wonder about that hot water. Was he was going to have a bath before delivering her to jail? That would definitely be odd. Or was he that fastidious? Actually, as polished as his appearance was, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was the sort who had to have a bath every day no matter what, and he’d probably missed a day or two while searching for her in the hills. So he might just feel he couldn’t wait another minute to get cleaned up. She wished he’d said so, so she could’ve laughed at him.
    She used to be like that—once upon a time. Now she didn’t have that luxury and had gotten used to the grime. But as they neared his room on the second floor, she didn’t feel like laughing. She was getting quite nervous. Was he going to strip down in front of her? What if he ordered her to scrub his back? That would mean she’d have to put her hands on that hard, strong, strapping body of his! She couldn’t, wouldn’t. She’d been disconcerted enough when he’d slid her down his body at the restaurant. What could he be thinking, bathing with her in the room?
    Max froze as he opened the door. Now would be the time to run, but as if he’d read her mind, he put his hand on her back and gave her a little push inside. The room was nice, but then it was one of the biggest hotels Max had ever seen, so that wasn’t surprising. A large bed with a beautiful burgundy brocade cover, two stuffed chairs in a dark rose material with a low table between them, a small desk, a large wardrobe, and a soft carpet underfoot. If his valise weren’t already in the room, she would have thought he hadn’t been in it until now, it was so neat and clean. She set her saddlebags down and went over to one of the two windows. They both faced the street, with no porch roof below them for her to hop out on. Damn.
    Turning around, she watched Degan stripping the bed of what had appeared to be clean bedding. He crossed the room to drop the whole bundle in the hall outside his door. She raised a brow at him when he turned back around, but he wasn’t interested in giving her an explanation. He did leave the door open though. If he would just move farther into the room, she could make a mad dash for it. . . .
    Then the water arrived, four buckets carried by two young men, who emptied them in the tub behind a screen in the corner. That was fast, Max thought. But they weren’t done. A few minutes later, they were back with another four buckets. She figured the water source had to be closer than downstairs. They left one bucket full for rinsing, then asked Degan if he needed anything else. He shook his head and closed the door after them