Free Midnight Lover by Barbara Bretton Page A

"Son of a bitch!"
    Caroline furiously gathered her long hair into a loose knot. "Put me down," she commanded once again, "before I do something I'll regret."
    She could feel his body tense menacingly. "Put you down?" he asked.
    "Yes," she said, suddenly uneasy, "before I—"
    She never finished her words for he released his grip on her and she slid over his shoulder and down his chest, only to land in an embarrassing heap at his booted feet.
    "Good place for a woman," said one of his cowboy cohorts to a rumble of male laughter. "If they'd see things that way all the time , maybe we wouldn't mind having 'em around town."
    To Caroline's dismay, hot and embarrassing tears filled her eyes and threatened to disgrace her. Her chin stung where she'd scraped it on his holster as she slid from his shoulder. Her left ankle throbbed from bearing the brunt of this graceless fall. And her pride—dear God, her pride! It seemed she'd left her pride somewhere between Boston and Silver Spur and she wasn't entirely certain she had the will to recover it.
    And there Reardon stood, hands on his lean hips, towering over her, his body blocking the fierce sunshine and throwing her into shadow.
    You win, Mr. Reardon, she thought looking up at him. You brought both Bennetts to their knees. She had battled both circumstance and fate and emerged victorious but in this battle of wills she knew she had been vanquished.
    "Do as you will, Mr. Reardon," she said, her gaze intent upon him. "Put my baggage in the stagecoach and run me out of town. I lack the weapons to fight you after all."
    His gaze held hers and she had the sensation of time suddenly curving around her until it held her in its seductive embrace.
    "I didn't think you'd throw in your hand so easy, Miss Car-o-line," he said, his words for her ears alone. "I thought you'd kick up more of a fuss than this."
    "You want me out of town, Mr. Reardon, and I am willing to go. You should be quite pleased with yourself."
    He reached down and, grasping her wrists, pulled her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a down pillow. She winced as her twisted ankle throbbed but he didn't loosen his grip upon her; indeed, he drew her close until her breasts, chastely covered by her woolen traveling suit, grazed the front of his fringed vest.
    "You're stayin'."
    "Why?" She knew her voice betrayed the wild feelings blazing through her but there was no hope for it. A delicious, intoxicating lassitude that was as powerful as it was illogical spread through her limbs like heated honey when Jesse Reardon smiled at her.
    "Because the stagecoach left without you."
    His smile turned into a mocking grin and she struggled against him. "I would sell my soul to slap that expression from your blasted face!"
    "Careful what you wish for, darlin'," he drawled lazily. "In Silver Spur the devil just might hear you and come to claim his due."
    "I doubt that," she snapped, not caring that they were once again the center of attention. "I am of the mind the devil stands before me."
    "A compliment is it, Caroline?"
    "Only a fool would consider a comparison with Beelzebub to be a compliment." With that she brought the heel of her right shoe down upon his instep and nearly cried out in triumph as he swore and released his hold upon her.
    Gathering up her skirts, she inclined her head toward the two cowboys sitting atop her trunks.
    "If you would follow me, gentlemen," she said sweetly, "it appears I shall be staying in town after all."
    "Seven days," said Jesse Reardon. "When the next stage rolls into town, you're gonna be on board."
    "You're a gambling man, Mr. Reardon," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed back to the Crazy Arrow. "Perhaps you'd care to wager on it."
    "Fifty dollars gold says you're out of town before sundown next Friday night."
    She swallowed hard. "Fifty dollars gold is a great deal of money, Mr. Reardon." Fifty dollars gold was almost all she had remaining of her father's legacy to her.
    "Maybe you ain't