Free Much Ado About Madams by Jacquie Rogers

mustn’t curse around ladies.”
    Women. Who could ever understand them. First they love you, then they lambaste you. And this woman was worse than the lot of them with her inviting green eyes and demure manner. She had felt him up as skillfully as any whore he’d ever been with—while she’d slept. Makes a man want to get a lot of sleeping tonic.
    He gulped some air, trying to ease the pain. “You better get dressed while I collect firewood. After breakfast, I’m getting you back to Dickshooter before you do any more damage.”
    He yanked on his pants, instantly regretting his haste when the waistband slid over his still-throbbing parts. Damn that woman, anyway! He bent over and pulled on his boots, incurring even more pain, and beat a hasty retreat to the sagebrush.
    Sage fires burned hot, but not as hot as he’d been while she was sliding her hands all over his body. For a stodgy schoolmarm, that woman had some passion stored up in her! He broke off some sage twigs, and picked up some dried juniper logs. She wasn’t very old, either. Her creamy skin and nicely rounded bottom shouldn’t have been wasted on such a prude.
    His pain turned into a different kind of discomfort, one that needed assuaged. Maybe he’d use one of the ladies after all. Naw, that was out of the question. He could just see his father bedding any one of them, except Holly. But then, since she was only fifteen or so, he wouldn’t even consider using her. At twenty-eight, he was nearly twice her age. Lucinda, though, was ripe for the plucking. Just not amenable.
    He leaned over to pick up one more piece of wood, only to fumble and drop half his load. What a way to start a day, he thought, as he repacked all the wood in his arms.
    * * * * *
    Lucinda waited a few minutes to make sure he was out of sight, then threw the covers off her, stood up, and stretched in the rays of the morning sun. This beautiful land hid treasures and perils in equal abundance. Reese was definitely one of the perils. She walked over to her heap of clothing and picked up her corset, damp from the dew. The brisk, wilderness morning discouraged any thought she may have had of putting on her petticoats, wrinkled beyond use, and her dress was still damp from the previous evening’s dousing.
    She shook out her clothes as best she could, but she knew she’d freeze during the ride back to Dickshooter if she wore them. She’d been cold enough last night to know she never wanted to be that cold again. But then, she’d been warmer than she’d ever been, too.
    Piffle. Everyone in town would think she’d been compromised, anyway. She saw a blue shirt sleeve hanging out of Reese’s saddlebag. “Well, you have on a man’s underwear, why not wear his clothes, too?” she muttered. If her reputation was going to be ruined, she might as well be warm. The suffragists would agree, she was sure. Her former guardian would not, nor would respectable ladies.
    Not that she cared.
    She cared.
    His shirt fit her like a tent. The sleeves hung two inches over her hands, and the shirttail hung to her knees. She must look like that midget she’d seen at the circus, she mused. Wishing it wouldn’t smell so much like Reese, she rolled up the sleeves and found a pair of breeches. She rolled up the pantlegs several inches before she bothered to put them on. Still, she knew there was no way they’d stay up. She needed a belt.
    “ Ahem, go ahead—rummage through my stuff and wear my clothes. I don’t mind.” Lucinda whirled toward Reese’s voice. He held an armful of firewood as he stared at her and smiled, but it was not a humorous smile.
    “ My clothes are still wet, and I wanted to get dressed before you returned, so I . . .”
    “ Went snooping in my things?”
    “ The shirtsleeve was sticking out of the saddlebag . . .”
    He tossed the wood beside the firepit, then crouched and cautiously fed kindling to the barely live embers. Within moments, a small flame flickered and he laid a