with a woman didn’t always mean the man liked her, but Maggie figured it wasn’t a far stretch. After all, there was a quick jump from love to hate. Why shouldn’t it be as quick from lust to liking?
Even Maggie found herself looking just a touch more fondly on Collier’s sleeping form. Not enough to forget that he was a stone-cold bastard, but enough to make her watch him with curiosity. He was coiled tight, even in repose, with one hand only inches from the pistol butt sticking out from under his saddle. She wondered what it would take for him to rest peacefully.
The kiss he’d forced on her had nearly vibrated with furious passion. She’d been taught to be a straight shooter with herself and she couldn’t deny it had affected her in curious ways. Her skin had near itched with the craving for more. She’d been kissed a couple times, usually behind the barn after a town dance, and none of those men had roused such vibrant feelings. Such a pity that the one man who seemed capable of such was the one man she hated with such force.
A robin swooped down to perch on a nearby stump. It cocked its head at her, as if wondering what she were doing lying out on the ground, when she could have a nice and tidy nest.
“Trust me, Mr. Robin,” she said. “I’d rather be home as well.”
The bird puffed up its chest and warbled at her.
“I know. It’s downright silly, ain’t it? Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your woods soon.”
“Who are you talking to?” His voice was rough with sleep and a thick strain of irritation.
The bird flew away in a flurry of wings. One feather drifted down from his flight. She sat up and picked it up. “No one.”
“A bird?” The shift and rustle behind her said he’d sat up as well. “You were talking to a bird?”
She ran the feather between her fingers. A rich, shimmering red, it was obviously from the bird’s chest. “You didn’t seem to be up to conversation.”
“With you? Not likely.” The rope fell slack between them and he surged to his feet. “I don’t much feel like starting my day with a headache.”
“Your ability to amuse is astounding.” She tapped the feather against her chin and pretended to think. “Or perhaps I should say inability.”
“I quail and quiver under your approbation,” he responded, but he didn’t seem particularly chastised. He folded his hands behind his head and stretched side to side. First snapping his braces back into place over his shoulders, he then picked up his black vest and slipped it on. The pistol was already in its home on his belt and had been before he’d even stood. She wondered if that gun was the first thing he reached for in the morning, before his eyes were even fully open.
“Collier, I thought you should know.”
“What’s that?” He started gathering the supplies for their breakfast.
She spun the feather. “I’ve decided not to fight you any longer.”
“Is that right?” He looped a tin cup over one finger and pulled a small bag from her saddlebag. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you straight away.”
“Hey there, that’s my coffee.”
“And bless you for having it. I’d run out about a day before catching up with you. Don’t worry, I’ll give you some.”
“Give me some of my own coffee.” What a bastard. She folded her legs under herself Indian style. “And catching up? You wouldn’t perchance mean before abducting me, now would you?”
He glanced at her as he filled a small pot with water. “I thought you weren’t going to be fighting me.”
She tucked the feather in her hair, above her ear. “Maybe I should rephrase that to express myself more clearly. I won’t be trying to escape anymore. I shouldn’t wish to overly tax that remarkably small brain of yours.”
Her words rolled over him like water over a duck’s back as he set the water and ground coffee on the still hot embers of the previous night’s fire. “My remarkably small brain has served me well
Even Maggie found herself looking just a touch more fondly on Collier’s sleeping form. Not enough to forget that he was a stone-cold bastard, but enough to make her watch him with curiosity. He was coiled tight, even in repose, with one hand only inches from the pistol butt sticking out from under his saddle. She wondered what it would take for him to rest peacefully.
The kiss he’d forced on her had nearly vibrated with furious passion. She’d been taught to be a straight shooter with herself and she couldn’t deny it had affected her in curious ways. Her skin had near itched with the craving for more. She’d been kissed a couple times, usually behind the barn after a town dance, and none of those men had roused such vibrant feelings. Such a pity that the one man who seemed capable of such was the one man she hated with such force.
A robin swooped down to perch on a nearby stump. It cocked its head at her, as if wondering what she were doing lying out on the ground, when she could have a nice and tidy nest.
“Trust me, Mr. Robin,” she said. “I’d rather be home as well.”
The bird puffed up its chest and warbled at her.
“I know. It’s downright silly, ain’t it? Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your woods soon.”
“Who are you talking to?” His voice was rough with sleep and a thick strain of irritation.
The bird flew away in a flurry of wings. One feather drifted down from his flight. She sat up and picked it up. “No one.”
“A bird?” The shift and rustle behind her said he’d sat up as well. “You were talking to a bird?”
She ran the feather between her fingers. A rich, shimmering red, it was obviously from the bird’s chest. “You didn’t seem to be up to conversation.”
“With you? Not likely.” The rope fell slack between them and he surged to his feet. “I don’t much feel like starting my day with a headache.”
“Your ability to amuse is astounding.” She tapped the feather against her chin and pretended to think. “Or perhaps I should say inability.”
“I quail and quiver under your approbation,” he responded, but he didn’t seem particularly chastised. He folded his hands behind his head and stretched side to side. First snapping his braces back into place over his shoulders, he then picked up his black vest and slipped it on. The pistol was already in its home on his belt and had been before he’d even stood. She wondered if that gun was the first thing he reached for in the morning, before his eyes were even fully open.
“Collier, I thought you should know.”
“What’s that?” He started gathering the supplies for their breakfast.
She spun the feather. “I’ve decided not to fight you any longer.”
“Is that right?” He looped a tin cup over one finger and pulled a small bag from her saddlebag. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you straight away.”
“Hey there, that’s my coffee.”
“And bless you for having it. I’d run out about a day before catching up with you. Don’t worry, I’ll give you some.”
“Give me some of my own coffee.” What a bastard. She folded her legs under herself Indian style. “And catching up? You wouldn’t perchance mean before abducting me, now would you?”
He glanced at her as he filled a small pot with water. “I thought you weren’t going to be fighting me.”
She tucked the feather in her hair, above her ear. “Maybe I should rephrase that to express myself more clearly. I won’t be trying to escape anymore. I shouldn’t wish to overly tax that remarkably small brain of yours.”
Her words rolled over him like water over a duck’s back as he set the water and ground coffee on the still hot embers of the previous night’s fire. “My remarkably small brain has served me well
Similar Books
