Free Deborah Camp by Blazing Embers Page A

knowingly and their full lips twitch into alluring smiles.
    Her golden lashes lifted to reveal wariness instead of the appreciation he’d expected.
    “And what if I am? I got a gun and if you—”
    “Hold on a minute,” he broke in. “I’m only making conversation. Don’t go accusing me of—”
    “I’ll kill you if you touch me!” she said, her voice rising and falling with her exhaled breath. Her eyes were enormous, like those of a cornered animal.
    The fun went out of him and he dropped his spoon into the bowl. “Let’s get something straight,” he said, ignoring her wild-eyed accusations. “I’m not going to do you any harm. I’m beholden to you for doctoring me. So settle down and quit looking at me as if I’m going to pounce on you at any moment. I’m not that desperate for the loving of a woman.” He leaned back in the chair and ran his hands down his shirtfront. “You’re awfully skittish. Has someone been around here bothering you?”
    She nodded once. “You.”
    “Me?” He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers and noticed that the band was loose. He must have lost ten pounds! He glanced down at his concave belly, realizing that he was far from being satiated. “I don’t know how I could bother you when I’ve been out cold most of the time.”
    “Who’s Annabelle?”
    “Anna—” He gritted his teeth, realizing that he hadn’t been completely out cold after all. “Oh, just a woman I know.”
    “And Blackie?”
    “A fella I used to pal around with.” He tapped his fingers against his chest. “Have you had fun listening to me?”
    “No.” She rose swiftly and dumped her bowl into a shallow wash basin. “You finished?”
    “Could I have another helping?”
    “What?” She propped her hands on her hips like a stern mother. “You still hungry?”
    He held up his bowl. “ ‘More, sir?’ ” he begged, batting his dark lashes in a pitiful show.
    “Sir?” She tipped up her nose and sniffed. “I ain’t a man.”
    “I was quoting from one of Dickens’s works.” He shook his head at her bewildered expression. “Never mind. Could I have another helping of that stew? It’s mighty tasty.”
    “I guess so.” She snatched the bowl from his hands andtook it to the stove to fill it. “Did you kill somebody or something?”
    “No.” Rook smiled his thanks when she placed the bowl in front of him again. “You’re determined to think I’m an outlaw, aren’t you?”
    “I ain’t got no reason not to think it.”
    “Who taught you your colorful language, Cassie Potter? Your pa?” He grinned when she turned her back on him and made a pretense of washing the dishes. “What did he die of?”
    “A bullet in the back. For all I know, you shot him.”
    He studied her erect spine and her shoulders that trembled ever so slightly beneath her loose-fitting blouse. No wonder she was frightened of him! Her father had been shot and killed. The poor girl had been living a nightmare the past few days.
    “Cassie, I’m sorry about your father.” He shifted in the chair to see her profile, and the bruised skin around his wound tightened in a sharp reminder that he was still at a disadvantage. “You don’t know who shot him?”
    “You, probably.”
    “Not me.” He wished she would face him, but she was thoroughly involved with her dishwashing. “I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it. Why would someone shoot him?”
    “How the hell would I know?” she snapped, whirling around and dropping into the straight-back chair like a stone. “Why did someone shoot you?”
    He conceded the point with a swift shrug. “You don’t have any relatives close by?”
    “No, but I got friends.”
    “I’m sure you do.” One side of his mouth inched up before he could stop it when he recalled her recent visitor. He’d seen him through the windows and had disliked the man on sight. His red hair, sly manner, and calculated movements had reminded Rook of a fox. A fox after a