Free Lover's Gold by Kat Martin Page A

settee. There appeared to be only one other room in the house besides the front room— kitchen area, and he assumed that was the bedroom. The women sat at a handmade wooden table covered with a dainty white embroidered tablecloth, probably just for the occasion of Elaina’s visit.
    Morgan had enjoyed watching the girl as she worked with the child. She had a way with people; she really cared, and they could sense it. He figured most of her cures were probably a result of her concern as much as her grandma’s herbs.
    He wondered if he had a woman, maybe even a child of his own somewhere. He didn’t think so, but his mind kept receiving fuzzy images of another redheaded boy, and he was unable to sort out just who it might be. He continued to feel a sense of familiarity with everything he saw; the feeling even more intense since he’d entered the patch town.
    He observed Elaina covertly. From where he sat he could admire the way her dark hair glinted beneath the sun peeking through the open kitchen window. She was a real beauty all right. Mary Colson was filling her in on the local gossip, and her laughter at some outrageous story revealed sparkling teeth between ruby lips that were just a little pouty.
    He remembered the warmth of her kiss. It had affected him more than he’d expected. It had been hard to control his urge to open her dress and fill his hands with her high, lush breasts. But his strength had not returned completely, and he didn’t want to frighten her. He saw her laugh again and absently twist a mahogany curl around one long, slim finger. A surge of blood to his loins reminded him of the plans he had for the girl. He wanted her in his bed, but he wanted her there willingly.
    On Thursday Morgan sat in the straight-backed chair in his hotel room, his feet propped up on the bureau, his gaze following the milling shoppers on the street below. After their return from the patch town, Elaina had tended him faithfully but had been careful to keep her distance.
    Chuck and Henry Dawson had been in and out of his room several times, and Dolph Redmond had come to express his fervent wish to see Morgan back on his feet. There were paybacks due the miners who’d had a hand in Morgan’s injuries, Dolph said. Morgan guessed that was probably the reason Chuck Dawson had allowed Elaina to spend so much time in his company. The three men were hoping he’d get well enough to take revenge on whoever had shot him. Then they’d be able to use the miner’s death as a deterrent to future unrest.
    Morgan intended to oblige them, only not quite in the manner the men expected. He was more and more convinced that Elaina had played a role in his injuries, and that suited his conscience just fine. His obsession with bedding the tawny-eyed girl was becoming almost tangible.
    It seemed crystal clear to Morgan that Chuck Dawson’s only interest in Elaina McAllister was carnal—just as Morgan’s was. Marrying the girl, Morgan guessed, seemed to Dawson the only way he could satisfy his prurient urges. For all Morgan’s own desire to have the girl in his bed, he knew marriage was out of the question. There was still too much he didn’t know about himself. Besides, a gunman had no place in his life for a woman, much less a wife.
    On Friday Elaina stuck her head into his room and announced she’d be returning to the patch town to check on Johnny Colson, and Morgan was welcome to accompany her again—if he promised to behave himself.
    Morgan welcomed the occasion.
    As it turned out, Johnny Colson was much improved, and Mrs. Colson thanked Elaina by packing a picnic lunch for her and Morgan to enjoy on their way back to town. It seemed a perfect opportunity for what he had in mind.
    “Any chance I could talk you into stopping long enough to enjoy this lunch?” He lifted the red checked cloth that covered the wicker basket and sniffed. “The food smells delicious. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.” He unfastened the top