Free Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings by Heather Graham Page A

exceptionally sleek, his face clean shaven but rugged.
    Outlaw? He couldn’t be. His manners were perfect. He could taunt her easily enough, but he was kind and courteous to Mrs. Peabody, the perfect gentleman. He was so obviously Indian, yet so obviously white. He had been well educated somewhere, but he seemed to live nowhere, with nothing but his beautiful bay and his saddlebags. And vengeance. The whole idea gave her goose bumps. And yet, he had his right to it, that was what Mr. Delaney had said.…
    He turned, his coffee cup cradled in his hand. “Eat up,” he told her.
    â€œIf you’re in a hurry, I don’t have to eat—”
    â€œYes, you do,” he said with amusement. “You’re definitely going to need your strength.”
    For the ranch? For herself? For him?
    She lowered her face quickly. Damn him, she had to stop blushing. She wasn’t going to let him spend endless days and nights doing this to her!
    Her hunger had been real; she ate everything. When she was finished, they rose, and she discovered that Mrs. Peabody already had asked her boys to bring Jessica’s trunk out to the wagon. They were all set to go. Moments later, they both had said their goodbyes. She crawled up on the wagon, taking the reins. But Blade leapt up beside her, taking them from her.
    â€œYou’re welcome to ride your horse—” she began.
    â€œHe’s tethered to the back,” he assured her curtly. Then his gaze was upon her for a long moment. “I’ve got to make sure I earn my keep, eh, Mrs. Dylan?”
    She gritted her teeth, swiftly looking downward, aware that Mrs. Peabody and Mr. Delaney were still waving, watching them start their ride out of town.
    â€œI do wish that you’d stop that!” she whispered.
    â€œWhy? You were the one doing the bargaining, the one who suggested the price.”
    â€œBecause I would have paid anything—”
    â€œFor this land? I am dying to see it!”
    â€œMy husband left it to me!” she said icily.
    â€œYour husband—the chaste Yank?” he said.
    â€œThe dead one,” she murmured, looking away. Then she stared at him suddenly. “Does that bother you? That he was a Union soldier?”
    â€œThat you’re a Yank?” he inquired, his gaze upon her again, a black brow arched. “No,” he said after a moment. “Hell, no, the war’s over, isn’t it? Long over.”
    But there was a note of bitterness to his voice. The war wasn’t really over. Not for him.
    â€œI don’t give a damn what he was, or what you are, Mrs. Dylan. Not so long as it doesn’t affect our bargain.”
    She stiffened her shoulders and looked ahead. “If you’re going to earn your keep, McKenna, start getting us there!”
    He, too, looked ahead, and they rode in silence for a long while.
    Morning turned into afternoon. They stopped at a stream, watered the horses, drank deeply themselves and moved onward again. Blade rode his bay for awhile, and Jessica took the reins. She soon learned why he had been helping her. In an hour, her hands were blistering.
    â€œThe trail is steep here!” he yelled at her suddenly. “You’ve got to control those horses!”
    â€œI’m trying!” Damn the blisters. She took firm hold, and they moved through the trees. And then, with the sun setting and casting an incredible golden glow upon the valley below, she saw it.
    Charlie’s land. There was the house, a log structure, big and sprawling in an L-shape. There were corrals and paddocks before it, long stables and a huge barn. Even from this distance, she could see they were all in need of repair. Still, the spread below her was impressive.
    â€œHow much is yours?” Blade asked.
    â€œFive hundred acres,” she told him.
    He sniffed. “Cattle land, trees, a stream passing through there …” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe