Free Much Ado About Madams by Jacquie Rogers Page A

couple of small twigs next to it. As he fed it, the fire grew, inviting her to share its precious heat. Heavens, she was tired of being cold! He fashioned a tripod out of three forked branches and hung the coffee pot from it.
    Lucinda crept closer to the fire. She needed to store up all the heat she could get. It had taken a long time for her to get warm enough to sleep the night before, and the morning breeze was too brisk to go riding without a jacket, which she didn’t have. “I’m sorry I used your clothes.”
    Reese shrugged. “It’s probably the smartest thing you’ve done since you got to Idaho Territory.” He went over to his saddle, picked up a rope, and cut a hank off the end. “Here, loop this through the suspender holes and tie it to the button in the front, then wrap it all the way around you before you lose your britches.” He grinned. “Not that that would be a bad thing.”
    Why does he always have to taunt me, she wondered. Still, she accepted the rope with dubious gratitude, and did as he instructed.
    “ You’ll have to wear your own shoes and bonnet.” He poured a tin cup full of coffee and handed it to her.
    “ Thanks.” The tin cup was as hot as the boiling coffee it held and seared her hands. “Ouch!” She jerked and sloshed it, scalding her fingers. She dropped the cup, coffee splashing and fire spitting, and stuck her stinging fingers in her mouth.
    “ Are you always this clumsy, or do you save it all for me?” he said as he moved the bucket of cold spring water to her side. “Stick your hand in here for a minute or two, and it won’t blister.”
    His sarcastic words did not match the concerned look in his eyes. How could this man upset her sensibilities so, even with her fingers stinging in pain? Well, she wouldn’t allow his rakish ways get to her . “Butter is the proper treatment for burns.”
    Reese merely nodded. “Do as I say while I look for it. I imagine Sadie packed some with your picnic food.”
    She plunged her hand into the water. The coldness took the sting away immediately, and she was loath to remove her hand from the bucket when he returned with the butter and a towel. His searing gaze sent a shiver down her spine.
    “ Are you cold?” he asked, with more caring than she wanted to hear. He wrapped the picnic blanket around her shoulders. “Now, give me your hand.”
    His words were loaded. They could have meant, “ Give me your heart and soul ,” or “ Let me care for you for the rest of your life. ” Entranced by his caring, almost seductive, demeanor, she hesitated. How could a brothel owner be so kind? Or so enticing? Don’t be such a fool, you just slept with the man. Still reluctant, she placed her dripping, cold hand into his dry, warm palm.
    Her stomach twittered, probably for want of breakfast, she decided, except she didn’t have even the slightest of hunger pangs. He stroked her fingers with butter. The strange twittering grew stronger and spread downwards. She definitely had to use the privy. No privy.
    Her world centered around his gentle touch. The smoke from the crackling fire lost its smell, replaced by bay rum. The bird’s songs became an invitation to heaven. His gaze caught hers and held it.
    * * * * *
    Reese didn’t know if he could stand much more of this perplexing woman. Her eyes were filled with trust mixed with passion, and he wished she’d look somewhere else. She bore into his soul with that look of hers. He never knew from one moment to the next if she’d be a prude or a seductress, a scared rabbit or an Amazon warrior princess spouting suffragist tripe.
    He scooped out another dollop of butter. Gently as he could, he applied it to her scalded skin. Her hands were free of calluses, white and smooth like a real lady’s. Women like her were the reason he’d moved out here—to get away from them. They made themselves all too available, not knowing that his father had been a lying, cheating gambler who ran a string of