Free Explaining Herself by Yvonne Jocks

sold out and moved back east a long time back, not long before the railroad. The Triple-Bar bought up his land, and Mama said they would've had to pay a lot more if they'd known about the railroad."
    "Wrights still own the Triple-Bar?"
    That, she thought, was an odd way to phrase it. Did they still own the Triple-Bar? They'd owned it all along!
    "Sure they do. Colonel Wright, and his wife, and their son and daughter. I don't much like them, either," she admitted. "Colonel Wright hired a range detecti —I mean, a gunman to run my brother-in-law out of town. The sheep farmer, you know. But the Wrights wouldn't rustle cattle."
    Ross sat still, considering.
    "They have plenty," she assured him.
    Scowling down at his knife, he asked, "Ever hear tell of a local family named Laurence?"
    Laurence. She shook her head. "Should I have?"
    He finally returned the knife to his boot. "They were lynched as rustlers some time back."
    OH! She pushed all the way off the rock, standing straight again. "That's awful! But they couldn't be involved now, if they were lynched. Accomplices, maybe."
    "Or ghosts." Ross slid off the rock beside her.
    Right beside her. Almost like when he'd been standing between her and a suspected bad man. His nearness felt warm and safe. He smelled good, like leather and herbal salve.
    He'd listened to her.
    Somewhere off in the distance, a coyote yip-yipped at the moon, as if to agree about ghosts. Victoria stepped just a little closer to Ross —even if she'd spent her whole life hearing coyotes at night. Even if she knew what little cowards coyotes were.
    It seemed as good a reason as any.
    He stiffened beside her. 'You ..." Then he swallowed. "Best get inside, where it's safe."
    She looked up at him and nodded, not about to go inside yet. She was enjoying this excited, warm, tingly feeling of being close to the range detective far too much. "Is that all you wanted to know? Ross?"
    He had to tip his head downward to see her, they were standing so close. As ever, the movement seemed graceful, cautious, contained. "For now."
    "You'll tell me if you have more questions?"
    He nodded slowly.
    "Promise?"
    "No." Wonderingly, he lifted his fingers to her lips. His fingertips felt soft, oh so careful. His gaze searched her face as he whispered, "I can't promise you anything."
    "Will you promise to try, then? Please?" She felt like shivering, and not from wet petticoats. It suddenly seemed more important than rustlers or bad men.
    To her relief, Ross nodded. Only when she spread her hand on his arm —to catch her balance, to catch her breath, to feel his hidden gun—did she realize that he was shaking too. A fine, almost imperceptible trembling. She had to know.
    "If you asked me out here to kiss me . . . I'll let you."
    His eyes, lingering on hers, seemed so very sad. Haunted. Like the rustler ghosts. "I shouldn't," he said.
    So she kissed him.
    Her mouth felt even softer against his lips than it had under his fingertips, and Laramie sank into that softness like he would into rest, peace, sanctuary. He breathed her in, savored her breath on him —and closed his hands into two fists, desperate not to do more.
    Until this moment, he'd never fully understood the appeal of kissing. The few times he'd tried it —
    No. He wouldn't think of paid women around her again. This was nothing like those frenzied preambles to embarrassment and release. This was a preamble to nothing.
    Victoria Garrison's kiss was whole and holy, a completion unto itself. And in only a moment, it was gone.
    She dropped back onto her heels, and only then did Laramie realize how Vic had drawn herself up high enough to reach him by pulling on his arms; he hadn't even felt pain under his shoulder bandage. She looked up at him now, somehow awed and confused and . . . thinking.
    Always thinking. "That's not right," she said softly, the smooth skin between her eyebrows creasing.
    "No," he murmured, his senses swirling like the creek. "I..." Then he registered