Read Online Her Wyoming Man by Cheryl St.john - Free Book Online Page A

then opened it. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s printed in French.”
    She nodded. “Yes, Samuel de Champlain was a Frenchman.”
    “Yes, I know he was a Frenchman. My surprise was in the fact that you’re reading the book in French.”
    She shrugged. “Many of my books are in French.”
    “You became fluent in French at Miss Haversham’s?”
    She took the book from him and settled on a nearby divan.
    “That’s a Roman divan,” he told her, getting up and moving to show her how to lift the upholstered arm. “Raise either arm until the ratchet disconnects and then you can lower it to a position so you can recline.”
    “How ingenious,” she replied.
    He left the arm lowered.
    “You could sit beside me,” she suggested.
    Nathan studied her uplifted face, the delicate curve of her cheek and the question in her eyes. Looking at her increased his pulse rate and created havoc with his common sense. That afternoon had proven his supreme lack of resistance where she was concerned. He’d given his word and resolved to give their developing relation ship six months.
    Now, thinking about the unbearable length of time he’d carved made the wait seem like an eternity. But he couldn’t sit across the room avoiding her for the next six months. Part of developing a relationship was earning her trust.
    He eased onto the divan only inches from her. “Would you like to bring down your books and keep them on a shelf in here? That way they’d be nearby in the evening.”
    “I’d like that. And you are welcome to read any that catch your eye.”
    “I don’t read French.”
    “They’re not all in French.”
    “You’re welcome to mine, as well.”
    Her gaze lifted and she scanned the spines on the wall of bookcases. “Any?”
    “Of course.”
    She got up and crossed to scan titles, pausing with her finger on one. “Ravenshoe.” Sliding out the volume, she opened it to the first page.
    “It’s a character’s name,” he supplied.
    She replaced it. “Lady Audley’s Secret,” she read from another.
    “It’s a sensation novel. I’m afraid my reading tastes aren’t as refined as yours,” he apologized. “There are classics if you look.”
    “What is a sensation novel?”
    “Plots with subjects shocking to some. If you choose to read it, don’t let on to the good ladies of Sweetwater.”
    “What are the shocking subjects?”
    “I don’t care to spoil the story for you.”
    “You are more likely to entice me.”
    He’d married a champagne drinker who didn’t faint at the thought of impropriety. “No French explorers in the lot. A seemingly perfect domestic lady attempts to commit murder. The character has also committed bigamy and abandoned her child.”
    “I believe I’ll read this one first then,” she said with a grin.
    He tilted his head. “I warned you.”
    She sat down beside him, the book unopened. “Warning taken.”
    “Tell me about your family,” he suggested. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”
    “There’s not much to say about them.” She adjusted her skirts.
    “What did your father do?”
    Celeste had been right about this. During their journey to Wyoming, Celeste had brought up the subject of planning what to tell the people they met. “People don’t just fall out of the sky,” she’d said. “We have to have background stories ready.”
    And so whenever they’d had time alone, the women had compared their ideas for what they would say when questions were asked.
    What did fathers do? “He was a banker. A stock holder, actually. He belonged to a gentleman’s club and attended St. Mark’s Episcopal Church.”
    “And your mother?”
    More lies. Would it always be lies she was telling to this man? “I didn’t know my mother well.” And that was as close to the truth as possible. But he waited for more. “She died when I was very young. That’s why I went to Miss Haversham’s.”
    “Any brothers or sisters?”
    That would depend on who her father had been,