Free An Outlaw's Christmas by Linda Lael Miller Page B

said.
    “Did Clay bring me any clothes?”
    She nodded. “Your trunk is right over there,” she said, pointing it out. “Shall I get you something from it?”
    He considered the offer. “I’ll do it myself,” he said. “The way I figure it, the more I move around, the better off I’ll be. Besides, I need to go outside again.”
    “Your horse is at the ranch,” Piper told him. “Clay took it with him when he left.”
    He grinned. “I know that,” he said. “This trip isn’t about the horse.”
    She blushed.
    Sawyer swung his legs over the side of the bed. Though the quilt covered his private parts, she couldn’t help noticing that he wasn’t wearing trousers.
    She backed quickly out of the bedroom, followed by the sound of his laughter.
    She didn’t speak to him or even glance in his direction, minutes later, when he came out of the bedroom, but she knew he was dressed this time, instead of wrapping his upper body in a blanket.
    She busied herself heating water—she was desperate for a bath, and planned on locking herself in the cloakroom with her small copper tub later on, when she was sure Sawyer had gone back to sleep—and then sliced Dara Rose’s fresh-baked bread and some of the ham, placing the food on plates. She opened a jar of peaches and added those, as well.
    Sawyer returned and, forgetting, she looked his way. Saw that he’d strapped on a gun belt when he got dressed. The handle of the Colt .45 jutted beneath his coat, which was shorter than the ruined one, and just as well made.
    “Supper,” she said, gesturing toward his full plate, which she’d already carried over to the desk, along with a knife, fork and spoon.
    Sawyer nodded in acknowledgment of the one-word invitation, closing the door behind him. “I see there’s another bed in the back room,” he said. “I was going to offer to sleep on the floor so you wouldn’t have to, but I guess that won’t be necessary.”
    Piper was at once touched and flustered by this statement, and turned her head so he wouldn’t see that in her face. She wasn’t about to discuss the second bed, because she didn’t expect to sleep in it, but she kept that to herself, too.
    “Clay insisted it would be safe to let you have your pistol back,” she said, recalling the look in his eyes when he’d awakened from whatever nightmare he’d been lost in and immediately grabbed the gun, prepared to fire. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m not convinced it was a wise decision.”
    Sawyer smiled wanly at this, made his way to her desk, and stood there, looking bewildered. He was wondering where she planned to sit, and she hastened, plate and silverware in hand, to one of the students’ places and sat on the bench.
    Looking relieved, and singularly worn out from getting dressed and making the long slog to and from the outhouse, he said he’d like to wash up before he ate.
    With a nod of her head, she indicated the basin she’d already filled with warm water and set on top of a bookshelf, along with a bar of soap and a towel. While Sawyer cleansed his hands and splashed his face, she began to eat. The ham and bread tasted especially good, after a couple of days of boiled pinto beans, and just the sight of those lovely peaches, picked in the autumn from Clay and Dara Rose’s own orchard and put up in their kitchen, made her mouth water in anticipation.
    Sawyer dried his face and hands with the towel. “I could use a shave,” he said, as he returned to the desk and sat down to have his supper.
    “Maybe tomorrow,” Piper replied. The stubble on his chin made him look like the rascal he probably was, but she didn’t find it unattractive. She probably should have, though, she thought. Particularly since they were shut in together, the pair of them, and almost certainly raising more of a scandal with every passing day.
    And night.
    “I’ll buy you a new cloak,” Sawyer said, out of the blue.
    Piper stopped eating, delicious though the food was.