Free The Rascal by Lisa Plumley

proof of that. Why wouldn’t he just move?
    “That’s five good candidates down, too.” Sighing, he stared down…at shoes identical to her own. Drat the man! “I might have known just any husband wouldn’t do in your case.”
    Grace yanked her gaze from his all-too-familiar footwear to find Murphy shaking his head with mock sorrow. In a rush, the reasons behind her sudden appeal to the opposite gender became entirely clear. The truth struck her with almost as much impact as that dastardly Jack Murphy’s sparkling blue eyes did.
    She jerked her chin higher. Find her a husband, would he? There was no chance of that!
    Despite Molly and Sarah’s apparent happiness with their marriages, Grace remained skeptical. Any institution thatrequired a woman to forfeit her name, parade about in her most impractical attire, procure a wedding cake and kowtow to a man simply had to be counterproductive to female happiness.
    “I might have known you’d try to make good on your offer.” She stepped nearer, despite the danger of their matching shoes becoming too noticeable. “And I do mean ‘try.’”
    He scratched his shoulder contemplatively. Squinted. Locked eyes with her again, giving her full benefit of his dazzling Irishman’s gaze. Against all reason, Grace held her breath.
    Had she pushed him too far? Would he abandon his efforts now? The notion left her strangely bereft. Without Jack Murphy to enliven—er, disrupt —her days—
    He interrupted her untoward thought with a chuckle.
    “‘Try’? I don’t know about that.” Behind him, the raucous saloon carried on its debauchery, even at midday. No wonder she wanted it relocated somewhere more suitable. “I came mighty close to succeeding with Arbus, over there.”
    Was he mad? The man had discussed his drawers in public!
    “On the contrary,” Grace disagreed, absently shifting her baseballs. “But please don’t let your failures till this point distress you. I realize you may feel discouraged right now.”
    He offered a bland look. “I’ll try to keep a level head.”
    “Yes, you most certainly should.”
    With some surprise, Grace realized that she enjoyed their bantering, too…which explained why she’d lingered so long already. Especially when she had work to do, and contraband baseballs to conceal in some safe place upstairs. Oddly enough, though, arguing with Jack Murphy felt invigorating. It gave her an opportunity to hold her own—to feel bonded, in a way, with someone who didn’t fear her, pity her or find her incomprehensible. That was a rarity in Morrow Creek.
    She arched her brows. “It’s not a personal failing of yours. You must feel assured of that. Scientifically speaking, men simply aren’t very adept at the intricacies of relations.”
    She gave him a sham commiserating tsk-tsk.
    Which affected Jack Murphy not at all.
    “You, Miss Crabtree, have no idea what I’m adept at.”
    That was ridiculous. “I most certainly—”
    “No idea.” He looked smug…and not in the least deterred. Which was extremely odd. “No idea a’tall.”
    The oaf. “Of course I do. You’re adept at pulling whiskeys, causing trouble and, of course, wasting my time.”
    He only smiled more widely—even knowingly—at her.
    Something in his rascally demeanor made Grace pause. It wasn’t often that people flummoxed her. Surely this one man—however aggravating—hadn’t managed that feat?
    No. It wasn’t possible. She knew what he was up to— marrying her off like some pathetic old maid. It should have been simple to detect from the first. Because truth be told, Jack Murphy was as charming as a field of daisies…and approximately as skilled at subterfuge. That much was plain. Like most of his gender, Grace reminded herself, he was an open book to the discerning female, ripe for page turning and easy interpretation.
    The only real mystery was why she hadn’t detected his ham-fisted attempts to hurl marriageable men her way— exactly as he’d offered