pulled at her clothes. She had talked to a stranger that afternoon, even flirted a little. The cowhand had laughed as she screamed, accusing her of playing with him before he smothered her mouth with his and ended her cries.
Now, the fear from that night choked Mary.
She couldnât remember how many times she had broken free and screamed. Once, twice. Miles hurried down the stairs to help. But at the bottom step, he hesitated. He froze, without reacting, allowing the strangerâs two friends to attack.
Mary glanced over at the counter, pushing the memories aside. Trying not to remember the way they had beat him without Miles ever landing a blow. Heâd just stood there, like a man made of straw, while theyâd took turns hitting him. If someone hadnât walked by the open door and shouted for help, Miles might have died and she didnât even want to think what might have happened to her.
Trying to remember to breathe, she fought the memory, forcing herself to look around the room, to see that there was no one in the shadows waiting.
Cooperâs spurs reflected in the dying light, pulling her back to the present. He had taken them off and placed them on the counter without thinking her silly or asking questions. Heâd done it simply because she had asked.
On impulse, she grabbed the spurs and ran out the door. She was halfway to the post office before she realized she wasnât running away from her fears this time, but to something. To him.
Cooper stood next to his horse, checking the saddleâs straps. He decided he might ride into town again in a week or so and see if sheâd go to dinner with him a second time. The food at the hotel wasnât nearly as fine as his sisters cooked but his ears sure enjoyed the rest.
The tapping sound of someone running across the boardwalk registered a moment before he glanced up. Mary ran off the end of the walk. Cooper raised his arms just in time to catch her in flight.
She held tightly as he swung her down beside him. He pulled her close, breathing in her nearness with deep hungry breaths.
The shadows of buildings hid them from prying eyes, but he wouldnât have cared if the entire town saw them. Cooper held her inside the circle of his arms, feeling her heart beat against his own, surprised at how glad he was to see her once more even though it had only been minutes since he had left her at her doorstep.
Slowly, she relaxed, but she didnât pull away.
âAre you all right?â he whispered into her hair, fearing that someone might have bothered her again.
âYes.â Her answer was muffled by a nervous laugh against his throat. âI just brought you the spurs you left. I was afraid . . .â She held tighter. âI was afraid Iâd missed you.â
Sliding his hand along her arm, he took them from her fingers. âItâs all right,â he said as he looped the spurs over the saddle horn. âI would have returned.â
Stepping a few inches away, she remained close. âWould you do me a favor as a friend?â
âOf course.â He patted her shoulder, liking that they were now good enough friends to touch. âName it. Iâm at your service.â
âWould you mind terribly kissing me good night?â
Cooper didnât answer. He couldnât answer. How could he tell her that he wasnât sure he felt about her that way? She was his friend. He admired her intelligence. He enjoyed her company. He looked forward to seeing her. He even liked the way she smelled, but he didnât feel about her the way a man should about a woman he kissed.
He leaned forward and lightly brushed her cheek with his lips.
Mary vanished into the darkness as quickly as sheâd appeared. Like a rush of wind, she was gone, leaving only the slight sound of an escaped sob behind.
It took Cooper a moment to realize what heâd done. Dear God, he hadnât meant to hurt her. Sheâd
Richard H. Pitcairn, Susan Hubble Pitcairn