Free Lady of the Gun by Faye Adams Page B

huge knot of tension had started to relax in her chest, and knowing what she still had to finish, she relished this momentary respite. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds around her as hiccups jerked her frame every few seconds and the remnants of a giggle escaped her lips now and then. A few peaceful moments passed before she sat up.
    "Where's Mirabelle?" she asked, looking around the yard.
    Brett glanced around them. "There she is.” He pointed toward the bam where the cat had stretched out lazily in the doorway, looking none the worse for wear despite her ordeal. "Damn cat," he fumed.
    Cass smiled widely. "Mmmm," she murmured noncommittally. "Looks like Pork Chop has calmed down too,” she said. Pushing herself up to her feet, she brushed the dirt and dust from her trousers. "Is dinner almost ready, Soony?” she asked.
    "Just about, Missy Cass."
    "What are we having?" Cass was suddenly famished.
    "Roast chicken."
    Cass turned to Brett and surprised him by smiling. "Sounds good, don't you think? Why don't you stay for dinner, and we'll see what we can do about cleaning up those scratches for you," she said as she turned toward the house.
     
    Chapter Five
     
    “Those aren't so bad," commented Cass as she watched Brett washing off the scratches Mirabelle had planted on his chest. "You're nothing more than a big baby, complaining the way you did," she finished.
    B rett had been standing with his back to her, watching her reflection in the mirror. Turning to face her, he smiled. "You really think so?"
    Something in Brett's smile caught Cass off guard. She'd been teasing him, unaffected by the fact that he'd removed his shirt to minister to his wounds, but now, in the breadth of a second, something had changed. Her gaze traveled a path over his chest, taking in the strong curve of muscle covered by a shadow of softly curling hair that narrowed as it trailed downward, seeming to point to a different, lower part of his body. Letting her eyes fall, she stared at the floor. "Dinner's nearly on the table," she told him quickly.
    Brett read the thoughts flitting through Cass's mind and felt a rush of desire course through his body with the force of a tidal wave. Standing perfectly still, the damp washcloth hanging limp in his hand, he whispered roughly, "Cass?"
    Cass couldn't raise her eyes to meet his. He made her feel things that were unfamiliar to her. Just the sound of her name on his breath sent sizzling little tingles skittering along her flesh. She remembered the way his kiss had felt and tasted earlier that day and wondered why this man had managed to start a wild fire inside her as no other male had ever done. "Come and eat . . . as soon as . . . you’re through here," she told him without looking up. Turning on her heel, she left the doorway of her uncle's room, not giving Brett another chance to speak.
    Brett felt conf used by Cass's reaction to him. Sighing, he turned back to the mirror and dropped the washcloth into the basin, glancing up at his reflection as he did. She's a strange one he decided, remembering the way she'd responded to him in the sheriff’s office. She'd poured herself into his kiss, giving back as much as she'd received, yet, now she blushed and stammered because he'd faced her with no shirt. Shaking his head in wonder, he reached for the clean shirt Darby had left for him; his own was snagged and spotted with blood from the cat scratches. Pulling Darby's shirt on over his shoulders, he headed from the bedroom to eat dinner.
    Cass saw Brett enter the room and busied herself with making sure the silverware was straight on the table. She caught her Uncle Darby watching her and stepped back from the table, stuffing her hands in her trouser pockets.
    " How are those scratches?" Darby asked as Brett neared the table.
    Brett tore his gaze from Cass's blushing face and looked at the older man. "I'll live," he answered, smiling. “Thanks again for the shirt."
    Darby