Free Twelfth Moon by Lori Villarreal Page B

do?”
    “ He hurt me.” Jonah remembered those quietly uttered words. She’d said Robert had hurt her, that she’d killed him in self-defense.
    All the things Jonah had done to her in the last several days came rushing back to him – and all the things he’d said. It made him cringe. “Oh, God.” It’ll put hair on your chest…and your balls .
    He groaned again.
    What an ass!
    He’d told her he should hire a whore to make a man of him. He’d thrown her belly-down over a galloping horse, tied her already raw wrists, handcuffed her to a tree, tackled her, got her drunk and then pushed her into the tub, knocking her out. And that was all after she’d been lynched and hung.
    Jonah shoved his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. He’d been raised to treat women gently, with respect. If he had known— He straightened his back. He was through with recriminations for now. He quickly washed her hair, and then grabbed a towel, throwing it over his shoulder. He lifted Cade – her – from the water. Was that even her real name? Her head lolled back over his arm, exposing her slender neck. The bruise from the hanging rope was still visible, as well as the mark he’d put there when he’d jerked on the chain. He cursed aloud, carrying her to a chair where he settled her in his lap.
    He took on the task of drying her off as efficiently as possible, trying not to notice her curves, her satiny skin…her breasts. Even so, her soft bottom resting on his groin made him stiff as the barrel of his revolver.
    When he finished, he laid her on the bed, rolling her to the side so he could pull back the sheets, and then tucked her under the covers. He stood looking down at her. Inky-black lashes fanned out against skin lightly bronzed from the sun. Below her neck, her skin was the color of pure cream.
    Her black hair, no longer stringy and tamed by filth, had begun to curl as it dried, framing her oval face. His gaze moved to her small, slender nose, and then down to her mouth. Her lips were full and pink and soft. He recalled how they felt when she’d pressed them to his. If she had kissed him like that, the way she looked now, he would have fallen on her like a gold-crazed prospector who’d just discovered the mother-load.
    Jonah shook his head in an effort to clear it. What was he thinking? She’d killed his brother. She was a murderess and here he was, imagining what it would be like to sleep with her! With a sound of disgust, he turned from the bed and headed toward the door. If there was one thing he couldn’t allow himself to do, under any circumstances, was to be swayed by her beautiful body, her luscious mouth, and those green eyes.
    Grim with resolve, he slammed out of the room, down the stairs and through the saloon, leaving the doors swinging in his wake. He stalked over to Athos, retrieving his saddlebags, which held a change of clothes, including an extra shirt. She could use the shirt as a makeshift nightgown. The mere idea that she was naked under those sheets was enough to whittle away his resolve.
    Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, Jonah snapped his steely gaze in that direction. “You, there,” he said to the empty space near the watering trough. “Show yourself.”
    A young boy in too-large hand-me-downs moved slowly from behind the trough. “I was just admirin’ yer horse, mister,” he said shyly. “I didn’t touch nuffin’.”
    “What’s your name, boy?” Jonah narrowed his eyes. “You are a boy aren’t you?”
    The boy straightened his spine, lifting his chin a notch. “’Course I’m a boy,” he stated with true male effrontery. “You don’t see me wearin’ no dress, do ya?”
    Jonah chuckled. “Just making sure. Your name?”
    “Jimmy.”
    Jonah held up a silver coin. “Can I trust you to take my horses to the livery stable, Jimmy?”
    Jimmy never took his eyes off the coin. “Sure can, mister. Just ask anyone ’round these parts.”
    “Okay, then,”