Authors: Johanna Lindsey
D
amian gave up trying to get any sleep that night. He found some sticks to feed to the dying fire, then sat there waiting for the sun to rise—and watched Casey. It wasn’t an unpleasant task. There was a softness about her that wasn’t there when she was awake, a softness that made her sex more obvious.
He hadn’t seen her sleeping before, which was perhaps fortunate. Thinking she was too pretty for a boy was one thing when he thought she was a boy. But had he seen this softness, which made her look downright sensual, he would have been appalled to find himself attracted to her…him…he groaned inwardly.
He still couldn’t get over it. He
should
have realized for himself, without being told. He had always been intrigued by something about her. But he had let her skills and accomplishments count for too much. No female could do what Casey did, after all—and yet Casey had blown that reasoning all to hell last night.
A woman—no, a girl. He tried to keep that in
mind, but he couldn’t quite manage to. Most likely because she didn’t look like a girl lying there; she looked like a mature young woman, one who was certainly old enough to be approached in an intimate manner.
He hadn’t realized just how flawlessly smooth her skin was, how lush that bottom lip was that he had the strongest urge to suck on. He’d seen her hair clean, knew that it could float softly about her shoulders, rather than be the scraggly mess she cultivated. But tossed back as it was now, it didn’t detract from the delicate lines of her face that made her so lovely—and desirable.
As a boy, Casey had been interesting. As a girl, she was fascinating. Damian had a hundred questions he’d like to put to her, but knew she wouldn’t answer a single one. She was adept at keeping her secrets,
and
her emotions, to herself, and just because she had revealed the biggest secret didn’t mean any more would be forthcoming.
Even after she’d shocked the hell out of him, she’d still used that damn inscrutable expression of hers on him that gave away nothing. It was recalling how often that particular habit of hers had made him nervous that had caused most of his anger. A
woman
had made him nervous.
He had calmed down enough to get over that, since it was probably something she didn’t actually do on purpose, or at least didn’t do to deliberately make anyone nervous. But he couldn’t get over the fact that he was so strongly attracted to her.
Plain and simply, he didn’t know how he was going to continue to travel with her and keep
his hands off her. For that matter, he wasn’t sure why he should even try, when she certainly didn’t adhere to the traditional proprieties that kept men from behaving like utter barbarians in the presence of women. By being here alone with him, she broke all the known rules that he had been raised by, so which rules was he supposed to conform to?
But there was his reason for being here in the first place. And by the time Casey began to stir with the nearby greetings of all the birds in the area as dawn approached, the justice that he owed to his father won out over his newfound lust. So he decided it wouldn’t be wise to complicate matters with Casey, that the best way to proceed was to keep his distance from her. She would just do the job he’d hired her for.
It was a decision he
hoped
he could stick to. And to that end, he needed to put Casey’s mind at ease with a lie or two of his own so she could go back to ignoring him—for the most part—and make it easier for him to ignore her. He began as soon as she sat up.
“I’d like to apologize.”
It was a moment or two before she glanced his way, and even then she yawned and blinked several times before saying in a sleep-husky voice, “My eyes are barely open, Damian. Before you go saying something I’d probably like to remember, let me have my coffee first.”
He smiled at her. She didn’t notice, poking at the fire, fetching what she needed for the coffee, stretching—damn, he wished she wouldn’t do that—and then heading off into the bushes. That was something else he hadn’t noticed previously
that she had the habit of doing. And since he didn’t have a similar habit…his blush was almost gone by the time she returned. Fortunately, it was still dark enough for her not to notice his embarrassment.
She didn’t look at him directly again until she had finished her morning routine and squatted down across the fire from him with her steaming cup of coffee in hand. And then he got her typical composed look. Now why didn’t that surprise him?
“Now, then, you were saying something about apologizing, weren’t you?”
Damian couldn’t help noticing the way her knees spread wide when she squatted like that. Even though her poncho fell between them, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her long legs so he could answer her.
He cleared his throat to begin. “I said a few things last night in anger that weren’t really true.”
“Such as?”
“Such as implying that I was interested in you in a—well, in a personal sort of way.”
She seemed to stiffen, but he wasn’t sure. “So you really aren’t?”
“No, of course not,” he lied with a perfectly straight face. “I was just so—disturbed at the time, I was saying anything that might give you the same sort of shock you’d dealt me. Very despicable on my part, for which I find myself extremely sorry this morning.”
She nodded slowly and looked away, staring off at the sunrise that was now in full color. The golden glow from the sky made her face mes
merizing, and it was very difficult for Damian to concentrate on her reply.
“I’ve been known to say things I don’t mean either when my temper acts up,” she admitted with a frown, as if she were remembering a time in particular. “Guess I should do some apologizing as well.”
“That isn’t necessary—”
“But needful anyway, as long as we’re clearing the air, so let me say it. I did some conclusion-jumping myself last night by suggesting you might be worried about forced weddings. Pretty foolish on my part, when, for all I know, you could be married already.”
Married already? Damian frowned, because he couldn’t help remembering his last meeting with Winnifred’s father, who had approached him at the funeral. “I know this is a bad time to mention it,” he’d said, “but this isn’t going to hold up the wedding, is it?”
A bad time? Damian had been incredulous at the man’s insensitivity, and he knew that what grew from the stem usually bore the same fruit. Which was why he hadn’t seen father or daughter since, and had no further desire to.
“There’s no wife,” he said flatly.
“I wasn’t asking, I was just apologizing for assuming when I shouldn’t have. Don’t make me no nevermind if you’re married or not.”
Damian found it amusing, the way she stressed that, as if she were worried that he might think
she
was interested in him in a marriage sort of way. Obviously not. She even appeared a bit embarrassed over it.
So he was quick to assure her, “No, I didn’t think it would.”
She gave him a curt nod, apparently wanting to be done with the subject, and as a dismissal, she remarked, “Amazing how a good night’s sleep always puts a different perspective on things.”
Damian wouldn’t know. He didn’t yet feel the effects of getting no sleep last night, but he didn’t doubt he would before the day was over. In fact, by the time they rode into the next town toward evening, he was so tired and grouchy he told Casey that if she didn’t see him the next day, she shouldn’t come looking for him, that he was going to sleep the clock around. And he did just that.
C
asey had thought Damian was joking about sleeping all day. She was annoyed to find out he wasn’t. She went by his room about six times that day, but the Do Not Disturb card was still hanging on the outside of his door, and no sounds of movement could be detected within.
Late that afternoon, she finally did some door-pounding. If they were going to continue on their journey in the morning, he had a saddle to buy before the town closed up for the night. She would have bought it for him, except this town was large enough to offer a selection, and a saddle was a matter of personal preference. Not that Damian likely had any, new to riding as he was, but the choice ought to be his.
He left his bed with much grumbling, which was when it finally occurred to Casey that he must not have gotten much sleep, if any, the night of her confession. And she wasn’t sure if she ought to worry that he had apparently had much more trouble than she’d first thought, accepting her true identity.
When he had implied he was interested in her, it had affected her, discomfited her. She hadn’t been expecting that. Contrarily, she’d felt much worse when he’d fessed up to that being a lie. What should have been reassuring at that point was damned deflating instead.
But he was making every effort to continue as they had been, ignoring her gender. So the least she could do was the same.
Having finally gotten Damian out of the hotel and into one of the two saddle shops the town offered after a quick trip to the bank, Casey wasn’t surprised when he bought the most fancy and expensive saddle to be had, along with some shining silver tack to go with it. That ornery pinto was going to be seen a mile away, all aglitter in the sunlight.
She refrained from making any disparaging comments about the saddle. It was a waste of good money, but still serviceable. However, she did mention, once again, that he ought to get some decent riding clothes.
She wasn’t sure if he was being contrary by then, because he
knew
she was right, but he still maintained that his own clothes would do him just fine. And he also pointed out that they should be joining up with the train again by the next town, so he wouldn’t need them after that. Whether they joined up with the train or not, it didn’t keep him from appearing an obvious tenderfoot everywhere they went, and she was beginning to wish she’d left his carpetbag behind after all.
She also wished her point wasn’t proved quite so soon, and so dramatically, but such was the
case. On their way to drop off the saddle at the stable where the horses had been lodged, they had to pass a saloon that, from the sounds of it, was quite busy.
Damian was lagging behind, hoisting the heavy saddle on his shoulder, while Casey’s long strides had her paced far ahead of him. So although it wasn’t intentional on her part, they didn’t appear to be together. In fact, Damian was the only one noticed when the four drunk locals stumbled out of the saloon and right into him.
Casey wasn’t even aware that he’d been detained until she heard the shots being fired and turned around to see four guns aimed at Damian’s feet. She’d seen this sort of thing happen in other towns. There was just something about a new tenderfoot in town that could turn otherwise model citizens into downright bullies.
It was an attempt at power, she supposed, the assumption being that a tenderfoot who didn’t carry a weapon could be easily intimidated by men who otherwise couldn’t intimidate anyone. And if those involved had been drinking, adding false courage and recklessness to the situation, that only made it worse. She’d seen one Easterner actually shot in the foot when he refused to dance to his tormentor’s gunplay. Damian didn’t strike her as a man who would play along just to defuse the situation.
He wouldn’t. He had dropped the saddle and was simply standing there, letting those bullets get closer and closer to his feet, while his antagonists grew more and more annoyed. He wasn’t entertaining them. He might be exceptionally
good with a rifle, but it wasn’t something you carried around with you at all times, and going shopping was one of those times you’d figure it wouldn’t be needed. And without a weapon, there wasn’t much he could do.
He must not have figured it that way, though, because after asking them to desist got him no positive response, he stepped toward one of the men to put an end to the shooting in a more physical way—and got the man’s gun aimed at his chest instead of his feet. That was when Casey drew and fired a warning shot, because she was afraid Damian was going to ignore what was a real threat now and throttle the man anyway—and get himself killed for the effort.
She shattered a bootheel from one of them, shot the hat off another. It was enough to draw their attention away from Damian. She would have done more, but didn’t need to. Damian, in the midst of them, went right to work, slamming two of the men together. Their heads butting knocked both out. The third man he hit so hard, he went sailing out into the street. The fourth was doubled over from a gut punch, probably wondering if he’d ever breathe again.
Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred, Damian dusted his hands, straightened his jacket, picked up the saddle, and continued on his way. Casey kept her eyes on the last conscious one of the four, just to make sure he wasn’t stupid enough to try anything else. He wasn’t. Still gasping for breath, he stumbled back into the saloon.
Casey put her gun away and gave her attention to Damian as he reached her. “You okay?”
“Nice, friendly town this is” was his mumbled response.
“It probably is,” Casey said, contradicting his obvious sarcasm. “And I hate to mention this, I really do,” she added with a grin. “But that wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t look like you just stepped off the train from back East. You look like a tourist, Damian, and folks will pull pranks on, try to shock, and otherwise amuse themselves with tourists, who they know don’t know any better.”
“Then teach me.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Teach me how to survive out here.”
She tried to digest the implications of that, but couldn’t without giving it more thought, so she said, “Well, for starters, let’s head back to the general store before it closes. It’s time you looked like you belonged here rather than like you’re just passing through.”
His jaw clenched. She sighed inwardly, expecting his refusal—once again. And she had to wonder what it was about his fancy duds that made him so reluctant to give them up. Did he simply not want to appear common? Was it only that?
But then he surprised her with a nod and an abrupt “Lead the way.”
She did, although afterward wished she’d never brought it up. Damian in a fancy suit was handsome enough, but in tight jeans, a blue cambric shirt with a black bandana and vest, and a wide-brimmed hat, he looked too rugged by half—he looked like he belonged. And that gave her a whole different perspective on him. It made him…available.