Free Wyoming Wildfire (Harlequin Historical) by Elizabeth Lane

streamed over the edges of the overhanging roof. Since there would be no question of his leaving until the storm ended, Matt resolved to take his time, enjoying the warmth of the cabin while he tried to pry more information from his reluctant hostess.
    The weather was so black that Jessie had beenforced to light the lamp that hung above the table. The golden light glistened on her damp curls and heightened the porcelain contours of her face. Her eyes were downcast, and a baggy flannel shirt now covered the one he’d seen earlier. The seductive creature with the gaping buttons and tantalizing tongue was nowhere to be seen.
    Matt could not deny that he missed her.
    He watched as she took small bites of the stew and crusty brown bread as if forcing herself to eat. She’d been through a hellish day, he reminded himself. Under the circumstances, she appeared to be doing all right. But Matt had seen enough grief to know better.
    He remembered how she’d trembled in his arms, like a small volcano about to explode. He had meant only to support and comfort her, but the flick of that little cat tongue against his skin had affected him like the touch of flame to spilled gunpowder. The heat had flashed through his veins, igniting a blaze of need in his loins. In an instant he’d been rock hard and aching for her.
    Lord, she must have known what she was doing to him. No woman who bred horses could be too naive to know when a man was aroused. So why was she sitting at the far end of the table, buttoned up and glowing like an angel in some old church painting? Blast it, he had a job to do, and Jessie Hammond was driving him to distraction.
    Was that what she’d wanted, even planned? Whatwas going on in that beautiful head of hers? Was she out to win him, divert him or destroy him?
    He was damned well going to find out.
    “Good stew,” he said, breaking off a piece of bread to sop the gravy from the bowl. “Am I right in assuming you made it?”
    She looked up, her eyes reflecting glints of golden lamplight. “Yes. After I shot the deer, skinned it out and cut up the meat. I’m not what you’d call a helpless woman, Marshal.”
    “Call me Matt. And, believe me, helpless is one thing I’d never call you, lady. Especially after the way you shot that Stetson off my head. I take it you’ve done most of the hunting around here.”
    “Frank had a soft heart. He never liked killing things. Neither do I, for that matter, but sometimes it’s necessary.”
    “Was killing Allister necessary?”
    Her soft lips parted. Then, as the question sank home, her face went white with shock.
    “You think I killed him?”
    “I’m only asking a question. It’s part of my job,” Matt answered quietly.
    She rose to her feet, her hands clutching the edge of the table. “One question doesn’t exactly cover it,” she retorted. “Did I hate Allister enough to kill him? Absolutely! Am I sorry he’s dead? Aside from the consequences to my poor brother, no, not a whit! Hewas as treacherous as a rattlesnake! The world’s a better place without him!”
    “So, did you kill him, Jessie?”
    Her shoulders sagged slightly. “No. I swear by all that’s holy, I didn’t kill Allister, and neither did Frank.” Her head went up, eyes suddenly blazing. “We had nothing to gain by killing him. After the trouble over the stallion, even a fool would know that one of us would be blamed. As for the rifle—”
    “That gun makes for some damning evidence,” Matt interrupted her.
    “So why in heaven’s name would we leave it behind?”
    “Panic.” Matt studied her, leaning back in his chair. He’d gotten to her, all right. She was like a cornered wildcat, eyes flashing, body poised for attack or flight. “Let say, after you learned the rifle had been lost, you sent Frank on ahead with the stallion and went back for it alone. Allister caught you in the corral, one thing led to another, and the gun went off. When you realized you’d just killed a man,