Free Linda Castle by Temple's Prize

his dark brown eyes against the bright sunlight.
    “What do you mean, ‘which side?” He crossed his arms at his chest. Sinewy bands of muscle bunched beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his pale shirt.
    He looked strong, virile and too handsome. It just wasn’t fair that he could be so good-looking and yet be so maddening. Constance shook her head to banish the image of him as man. She had to focus on him as ruthless competitor.
    “Under the circumstances we cannot pitch our tents cheek-to-jowl. We need space between us.” She swept her hand forward to indicate the wide rift of earth. “We have to be organized in such a way that there can be no question, no dispute, over which of us is the clear winner of Mr. Montague’s endowment.” She shoved her spectacles up on the bridge of her nose. “Surely you agree.”
    After a moment of contemplative silence, he cleared his throat and one brow lifted. He dragged the hat off his head and raked his hand through thick hair that glistened in the sunlight.
    “All right, I see your point. How do you propose we split up the supplies Mr. Montague sent?”
    She was not having much success ignoring the way the afternoon rays made his eyes gleam like polished agates.
    “In half would be the most logical method,” she managed to say.
    Temple swallowed hard. He tried to banish the image of danger that Connie might encounter if she were alone. “Where do you intend to camp?” he asked, while he cursed himself for breaking his vow to stop feeling responsible.
    “You pick which side of the gorge you prefer, then I will be free to choose what is left.” Constance offered reasonably.
    Anger flashed through Temple. He had the overpowering urge to shake some sense into her silly little head. She had no idea how rough this dig could become. This was the West, not some well-clipped and tended park. How could C.H. let his only child put herself in this kind of danger? The more he thought about it, the more anger and frustration boiled up inside him.
    “Fine—I’ll take this side. This side looks just dandy. Is that all right with you?” Temple slapped his hat against his thigh. Dust rose from his pants in a little puff. Then he muttered a curse and stalked away.
    “There is no need to become peevish, Temple. The opposite side will do fine.” Constance turned to see Mr. Hughes watching her. He was wearing a tightlipped expression, so unlike his usual habit of being on the verge of laughter. Men were so difficult to understand.
    “Mr. Hughes, if you would be so kind as to deliver the remainder of the supplies and my three trunks to the other side, of the canyon after Mr. Parish has removed his half.”
    “Yes, miss, I would be happy to do that, miss.” Peter hopped into the wagon seat and picked up the reins. Temple was already hefting crates and boxes from the back of the wagon. Each time he droppedone onto the earth, he muttered a different expletive. He paused once to glare at Constance. For a moment she thought he was going to say something to her, but he shook his head and went back to unloading the wagon.
    “Mr. Hughes, I need to stretch my legs after that long ride.” Constance allowed her eyes to scan the ravine once again. “I will take my sketching box, for I might see something of interest along the way. I will meet you on the other side—and erect my own tent later.” The last, few words were more for Temple’s benefit than for Mr. Hughes’s. She expected to hear a disparaging remark from her rival but he kept his lips clamped tight and ignored her.
    Peter grinned and nodded his graying head. “Yes, miss, that sounds like a fine idea. I will have to take the team back the way we came and come around the end of the canyon. The sides slope down kind of gentle here, so just watch your step. It shouldn’t take me more than a couple of hours to reach the other side. Will you be needing anything else to take with you?”
    Temple snapped his head up and stared at Peter.