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Authors: Joan Johnston
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too delicious to resist.”
Creed bent his head until his lips closed over her mouth. As he deepened the pressure she closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of his lips moving ever so softly against hers.
Suddenly, Creed’s weight was yanked away and a thunderous voice bellowed, “What the hell’s going on here?”
Chapter 4
I WANT AN EXPLANATION, AND I WANT IT NOW.”
Creed wasn’t sure from the look on Rip’s face whether he was about to be ushered to the altar or hanged after all, and cursed the day he’d ever set eyes on Creighton Stewart. “I know this looks bad, but—”
“This is none of your business,” Rip interrupted. “Well, Cricket?”
Cricket could feel the blood rushing to her face. She ground her teeth in chagrin. It was clear from the fact that her hands were tied that Creed had caught her unprepared and bested her. The worst of it was she’d neither achieved her revenge nor assuaged her curiosity. There was no way she could make this look any better to Rip than it did, but she certainly wasn’t going to apologize for what had happened. “I thought his hands were tied. They weren’t.”
Rip looked with new respect at Creed. “How’d you get free?”
“I carry a knife hidden in my moccasin.”
Rip spun back to his daughter. “Didn’t you check his clothes for weapons?”
Cricket frowned in recollection. “Yes, I did. Or rather, Bay did.”
Rip raised a bushy brow as though that explained everything.
Creed was confused. He didn’t understand the purpose of Rip’s cross-examination of Cricket. The sharp-tongued man ought to have been flaying Creed’s hide for throwing the girl to the ground. Instead, he was harassing his daughter for being bested by a man.
“Are you ready for some breakfast, young man?”
Creed shook his head as though to clear it. He must have missed something. Was that all Rip was going to say about the way he’d found the two of them? What kind of father was he? Where was the outrage for what Creed had done to Cricket? Where was the concern for his daughter’s honor? “I can explain—”
“There’s nothing more to explain,” Rip replied. “Cricket wasn’t paying attention, and you caught her unawares. She usually learns from her mistakes. I don’t expect it to happen again. Now, I’m ready for some breakfast. Coming?”
Creed watched dumbfounded as Rip stalked—he seemed to stalk a lot—from the barn.
“Are you going to cut me loose, or stand there with your mouth gaping open?” Cricket snapped.
“From the way your father talked, I’d have thought you could manage to free yourself.”
Cricket was in no mood for Creed’s wry humor. “Just cut the ropes.” She held her bound hands out to Creed, who pulled the concealed knife from his moccasin and cut her loose. While she rubbed her wrists where the hemp had scraped her skin, he reached down into the straw and located his two Patersons. Cricket winced when she touched a particularly sore spot.
“You all right?” Creed asked as he tucked the guns into the belt at the waist of his buckskin trousers.
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“So I noticed.”
Cricket’s fists clenched at his pointed response. “You caught me off guard this time. It won’t happen again.”
“This time? You mean there’s going to be a next time?”
Cricket snorted. “Not if I can help it. Frankly, I don’t see why men make such a fuss over kissing.”
“Have you been kissed often, Brava?”
“You’re the first who has—and the last who will. If you hadn’t gotten lucky, you wouldn’t have kissed me, either.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Creed replied. “I’m simply a better wrestler than you are.”
Cricket opened her mouth to argue the point but was interrupted when Creed continued placatingly, “Which is only to be expected. You’re a woman. I’m a man. Men are stronger than women.”
Cricket’s second attempt at a response was also cut off as
Creed bent his head until his lips closed over her mouth. As he deepened the pressure she closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of his lips moving ever so softly against hers.
Suddenly, Creed’s weight was yanked away and a thunderous voice bellowed, “What the hell’s going on here?”
Chapter 4
I WANT AN EXPLANATION, AND I WANT IT NOW.”
Creed wasn’t sure from the look on Rip’s face whether he was about to be ushered to the altar or hanged after all, and cursed the day he’d ever set eyes on Creighton Stewart. “I know this looks bad, but—”
“This is none of your business,” Rip interrupted. “Well, Cricket?”
Cricket could feel the blood rushing to her face. She ground her teeth in chagrin. It was clear from the fact that her hands were tied that Creed had caught her unprepared and bested her. The worst of it was she’d neither achieved her revenge nor assuaged her curiosity. There was no way she could make this look any better to Rip than it did, but she certainly wasn’t going to apologize for what had happened. “I thought his hands were tied. They weren’t.”
Rip looked with new respect at Creed. “How’d you get free?”
“I carry a knife hidden in my moccasin.”
Rip spun back to his daughter. “Didn’t you check his clothes for weapons?”
Cricket frowned in recollection. “Yes, I did. Or rather, Bay did.”
Rip raised a bushy brow as though that explained everything.
Creed was confused. He didn’t understand the purpose of Rip’s cross-examination of Cricket. The sharp-tongued man ought to have been flaying Creed’s hide for throwing the girl to the ground. Instead, he was harassing his daughter for being bested by a man.
“Are you ready for some breakfast, young man?”
Creed shook his head as though to clear it. He must have missed something. Was that all Rip was going to say about the way he’d found the two of them? What kind of father was he? Where was the outrage for what Creed had done to Cricket? Where was the concern for his daughter’s honor? “I can explain—”
“There’s nothing more to explain,” Rip replied. “Cricket wasn’t paying attention, and you caught her unawares. She usually learns from her mistakes. I don’t expect it to happen again. Now, I’m ready for some breakfast. Coming?”
Creed watched dumbfounded as Rip stalked—he seemed to stalk a lot—from the barn.
“Are you going to cut me loose, or stand there with your mouth gaping open?” Cricket snapped.
“From the way your father talked, I’d have thought you could manage to free yourself.”
Cricket was in no mood for Creed’s wry humor. “Just cut the ropes.” She held her bound hands out to Creed, who pulled the concealed knife from his moccasin and cut her loose. While she rubbed her wrists where the hemp had scraped her skin, he reached down into the straw and located his two Patersons. Cricket winced when she touched a particularly sore spot.
“You all right?” Creed asked as he tucked the guns into the belt at the waist of his buckskin trousers.
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“So I noticed.”
Cricket’s fists clenched at his pointed response. “You caught me off guard this time. It won’t happen again.”
“This time? You mean there’s going to be a next time?”
Cricket snorted. “Not if I can help it. Frankly, I don’t see why men make such a fuss over kissing.”
“Have you been kissed often, Brava?”
“You’re the first who has—and the last who will. If you hadn’t gotten lucky, you wouldn’t have kissed me, either.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Creed replied. “I’m simply a better wrestler than you are.”
Cricket opened her mouth to argue the point but was interrupted when Creed continued placatingly, “Which is only to be expected. You’re a woman. I’m a man. Men are stronger than women.”
Cricket’s second attempt at a response was also cut off as
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