Free Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) by Shirl Henke

scarred oak washstand and chest. Dust stood thick on everything. Mrs. Thorndyke never wasted her energy here, he mused, wryly. Not that she'd have dared to enter his domain anyway. They had hated one another ever since Noah hired her sixteen years ago. So far she'd outlasted two Sinclair wives. Unlikely she'd outlast this young one.
           Hawk pulled back the musty covers and stretched his long-legged frame across the familiar contours of the bed. He considered his father's new wife. His first impression in the parlor earlier that afternoon had been that Carrie was a bigoted, money-grubbing tart who had latched onto a rich old man. After watching her at dinner, however, he was not so sure. Of course, a beautiful woman that young married a man of fifty-five only for his wealth, but she wasn't nearly as hard or clever as he'd first given her credit for being. The way she stared at him with a mixture of fascination and revulsion angered him, but also indicated that she was not very skilled at concealing her emotions. The blushes and quick anger also betrayed her youthful inexperience. He got her to rise to his baiting with ease.
           Hawk also observed how cowed she seemed around Noah. It isn't the coy act of a scheming woman trying to butter up an old fool, he mused to himself. No. She's got herself in deep water with Noah Sinclair. It'll be interesting to see how well she can swim. He chuckled.
           That thought led him to picture her drenched in the creek with that yellow silk dress clinging to every curve of her body, that tall, willowy body with its high, pointed breasts and slender, flared hips. He swore and pounded the pillow in self-disgust, only to be greeted with a huge puff of two-year-old house dust.
           Give that randy old stud six months and she'll be fat as a buffalo, ready to drop a calf. However, the image of Carrie pregnant with Noah's child did not appeal to him for a variety of reasons, only one of which he wanted to acknowledge. He finally drifted into a fitful sleep, promising himself a visit to the best cathouse in Miles City tomorrow night.
     
     

 
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
           Carrie awoke suddenly from a disquieting dream. It was the nightmare that had first occurred when she was only seven years old. It had recurred at infrequent intervals over the years, but since her marriage, it was fast becoming a regular thing, one she dreaded. Dazed, she sat up in bed and looked through the big French doors of her room to see a breathtaking sunrise. How eerie! The last scene of the nightmare was always dominated by a blazing sky, either sunrise or sunset, she could never tell which.
           “Well, I can't just lie abed and be morbid,” she whispered to herself in grim resolution as she flung off the covers and rose. At least Noah had left her alone last night to sleep in peace. Today she vowed she would get acquainted with all the domestic staff. If she was going to be mistress of this vast household, she had a great deal to learn.
           After meeting with Mrs. Thorndyke, Carrie began to realize just how formidable her task might be. The older woman stopped marginally short of being rude. Carrie collided with her in the front hall when she descended the stairs to go to breakfast.
           “Good morning, Mrs. Thorndyke.” She offered her most winning smile, wanting to thaw the cold reserve that inexplicably seemed to be a part of the woman's attitude toward her.
           “It's scarcely morning anymore, Mrs. Sinclair. On a working ranch, people are up before the sun. The bunk-
    house cook rousts the hands at four-thirty. In the big house we have breakfast at six, midday meal at noon, and dinner at seven.” With that terse and inflexible bit of information imparted to the dumbstruck young woman, Mathilda Thorndyke turned on her heel and swished away, pausing only long enough to call over her shoulder, “If you need breakfast, go ask