Free Heart of the Hawk by Justine Dare Justine Davis Page B

graciously rather than embarrassing her by pointing out that this wasn’t in their agreement.
    In short, he acted exactly like a man might who felt genuinely sorry about having left her a widow. Like a man who felt guilty over what had been an instinctive act, committed to save his own life.
    “You do understand that, don’t you, Reverend?” Josh said, his voice as smooth as a snake’s tooth, and about as deadly.
    “I . . . of course. Of course. Only thing a man can do,” the reverend sputtered.
    Josh moved out of the doorway, and the little man darted through it like a rat making its bolt-hole just ahead of the cat. Kate stifled a giggle, then nearly gasped at her own temerity; she barely recognized herself anymore in this irreverent woman she seemed to have become.
    “That should keep him out of your way for a while,” Josh said as he pulled the door closed behind him and walked over to her.
    “Yes,” she said, examining the next ribbon in her pile carefully, “thank you.”
    She sensed rather than saw him shrug. “I figure cleaning out the no-accounts is part of my job.”
    Her head came up sharply. “Reverend Babcock, a no-account?”
    Josh grinned at her. She was almost getting used to it, this odd sensation that seized her whenever he did it.
    “I don’t have much patience with folks who spend their life telling others how to live theirs.”
    She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back at him. “He’s surely good at that,” she said.
    When his grin broadened, and her heart seemed to lose track of its rhythm, she hastily turned her gaze back to her ribbons and resumed her sorting.
    After a moment, because she couldn’t seem to stop this, either, she said with a sigh, “I doubt anyone ever told you how to live your life.”
    “If they did, it clearly didn’t take.”
    Something, some undertone of seriousness made her look up at him. His expression was distant, his eyes unfocused, as if he were looking inward. Then his jaw tightened, as if he didn’t like what he saw. She quickly returned her attention to her task, before he noticed she was watching him.
    She tugged on a pale pink ribbon, separating it from the pile and setting it aside. It would match perfectly the cloth Deborah had bought the other day, although her friend declared herself far too old at thirty for such frippery. She would give it to her, Kate thought, as a token of thanks for the friendship that had often been the only thing she’d had to hang on to. Deborah would have to take it—and use it—then.
    She smiled. It was wonderful to be free to do such things; Arly would have slapped her at the very idea of giving anything away.
    “You should smile more often.”
    Josh’s soft words brought color to her cheeks. She didn’t dare look up, for fear he would see.
    “It’s a nice smile,” he said.
    “And you are a smooth talker, Mr. Hawk.”
    He sighed. “I thought we agreed you were going to stop that.”
    She looked up at him then. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I did agree . . . Josh.”
    He smiled. Now that, she thought, was a nice smile. And it was yet another example of the irony that a man like this should have a smile that could melt a candle across a room.
    He moved then, reaching into the tangled pile of ribbons. He plucked one out and held it up.
    “You should save this one for yourself. Wear it in your hair, maybe.”
    “Me?” She gaped at him. “Why?”
    “Because it’s the color of your eyes.”
    She looked at the ribbon he held, an inch-wide strip of gleaming honey-gold. She looked back at his face, certain he was taunting her. But there was nothing in his expression except sincere assessment as he held the ribbon up to her face.
    “Don’t be foolish,” she said. “That ribbon’s a lovely gold color. My eyes are just . . . a very odd brown.”
    “Different,” he conceded, “but not odd. And they do match this gold ribbon, Kate.”
    Her breath caught; although he’d asked her to use his