Free Kit Gardner by Twilight

suddenly aflame. Color bloomed in her cheeks, and he wondered how many men she’d known in her lifetime. Not many, judging by her discomfort. Her fists suddenly took a death grip on her skirts.
    “I...” She waved a hand in a vague direction and seemed incapable of looking him in the eye.
    “Ah. You don’t regularly dine in the barn with men you shoot.”
    That prompted a glare. “I’ve never shot anyone.”
    “I’m flattered.”
    “Have you?”
    He set the platter upon two stacked bales and straddled another. He glanced at her, aware that her heavy-soled shoes shuffled nervously upon the hay-strewn floor. “An odd question, ma’am, given that you’ve hired me on and fixed me a fine dinner. What is it you’re curious about? My ability to defend you and your son, or my evil intentions here? I thought we were beyond that.”
    She jutted her chin at him. “A woman can’t be too careful when she lives alone. Indeed, one can’t help but cringe at the tales of horror and pillaging common to the taming of the frontier. I’m still not quite used to it, even after twenty-two years.”
    “You should have asked if I owned a gun, then.”
    “Do you?”
    “Why, yes, ma’am, I do.” He watched those sapphire eyes skitter about the shadowed barn before they settled upon his saddle and gear, heaped upon the floor at his booted feet. He could see it all, the blossoming realization that he could, at any moment, snatch his pistol from his saddlebags, level it between those beautiful blue eyes...
    Ignoring all those unspoken accusations, he plunged his spoon into his soup and took a heaping swallow. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had ever tasted so good, even without his characteristic whiskey to accompany it. Two, three more spoonfuls and the bowl was nearly empty. He glanced again at her, suddenly aware that she was staring at him now, not at his gear. He shoved the napkin across his mouth, tossed it aside, then half rose from his seat, one hand reaching for his gear. “I keep my gun in my saddlebag. I don’t suppose you’d care to see it?”
    She shook her head and took a step back. Wariness again invaded her eyes. “N-no. Thank you, I’d rather not. I trust you know how to use it.” At the moment, she didn’t look like she trusted him one damn bit. So much for honest faces.
    “I wouldn’t carry one if I didn’t.” He settled his bare back against the barn wall and felt the sagging boards give a good three inches. “Wouldn’t make much sense.”
    “No.” She clasped and unclasped her hands and seemed to take a peculiar interest in the unfathomable darkness overhead. Looking at him was obviously beyond her capabilities at the moment. No, Jessica Wynne wasn’t the sort to linger in shadowy barns with half-naked men, at least not comfortably. She must want something, then. Perhaps reassurance that she had indeed chosen her farmhand well.
    He scooped up a handful of blackberries and tossed one into his mouth, taking full advantage of her distraction to regard her through hooded eyes. She looked like something sent from heaven, or in his case, hell—all golden and soft and too damned innocent, with her unbound hair and that oversize dress that suddenly seemed to beg to be ripped off her. He forced the blackberries down a throat gone dry and reined in all these carnal thoughts. When the hell had he ever allowed them to get the better of him? His tone was purposely gruff. “Perhaps I could teach you to shoot.”
    “Good heavens, no. Why would I want you to do that?”
    “Because the next time a stranger walks onto your property, you might have good reason to kill him.”
    “You’re the first such fellow to do so in twenty-one years. Perhaps in the next twenty or so, until the next outlaw wanders through Twilight, I shall teach myself to shoot properly.”
    “In the meantime, you could aim and miss.”
    “I’ll have you know I’ve never aimed and missed—” She caught herself, her eyes