Free Jillian Hart by Lissa's Cowboy

off. Cattle can be a valuable business, especially rustled cattle."
    Lissa paled. "But there was a mountain lion. Surely that wasn't planned."
    "It was common knowledge when I was supposed to arrive, and where I would be riding." He set down the plate with the cake half-finished, with a clank on the bureau's edge. "From what I hear, half the town had an opinion about you marrying a city dweller you'd never even met."
    "You think the men stealing my cattle tried to kill you?"
    "They've killed before."
    She said nothing. He watched her stare hard at her hands, her face a hard line. "And they thought they could steal my heifers while we were getting married."
    "Looks that way to me." He couldn't tell if she was angry or frightened. He didn't know her well enough to interpret the stiff line of her jaw. He knelt beside her and covered her hands, so tightly clenched, so surprisingly strong, with his. "Don't you worry, Lissa. I know one end of a gun from another. No outlaw has killed me yet. I'm not about to let that happen now."
    "I want your word." Her chin lifted. Fire flashed in her eyes, that passion he'd seen a hint of before. "I don't want you to risk your life over this."
    "You could lose this place. We could lose it." He squeezed her hands gently. They felt cool against his skin. "We're in this together now, Lissa. You and me. I don't want you to worry. I'm not a reckless man, but I am a damn good shot."
    "That's what Will said." She breathed the words, soft as music, drawing like melody. "Whatever you did out there, you impressed him."
    "He's young."
    "He thinks you can rid this place of those violent rustlers." Something attractive, something that looked like pride, glimmered in her eyes, strengthened her voice. "I don't want to bury another husband. I want you to remember that the next time you race off with a gun."
    "I'll remember." He ached to brush away the curled tendrils of gold that brushed the sweet skin of her brow, but he held back. "I want this to be a good marriage. A real one."
    Her throat worked. "So do I."
    Her gaze traveled to the bed, neatly made and waiting, and guessed her anxieties. "Is Chad in bed for the night?"
    "He was hoping you could come read to him, like you promised in your letters. But I told him you didn't feel well tonight."
    His brows knit together. "What other promises did I make?"
    "To build him a tree house. To take him riding."
    "Easy enough promises to keep." Good humor tugged at his mouth, warmed his words. "What promises did I make you?"
    Her gaze strayed to the bed. "You said you'd give me time."
    "I see." He paused, silence falling between them. "That's one promise I don't want to keep for too long."
    She blushed. So male-hot and iron hard, he squeezed her fingers gently, the way a lover might. She had hoped some memory would return to him so that they would not have to discuss this. Again, she stared at the bed.
    "It's late." He stood, moving away with his limping gait, head held high despite the pain. "I'm going to go to sleep. Which side of the bed should I take?"
    Her throat closed. "The left side."
    Michael's side. As if he heard her thoughts, he said nothing. The knell of his boots stopped at the bureau. Light brushed across the muscular planes of his back and highlighted the crisp white bandage on the outer edge of his upper arm. At least he understood she needed time before they...before they were...intimate.
    Still, that bed was small. The thought of lying beside him made her breath catch.
    She heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor and leaped from her rocker. He was undressing! She caught a flash of white drawers, lean hips, and bare thighs. She headed straight for the door.
    "I guess I should have warned you." His voice trailed out into the hall. "I just figured you'd seen more of me than this when I was unconscious."
    "I didn't." The words tangled in her throat. She watched his hands hesitate at the waistband of his drawers, as if he were thinking twice about