Read Online Lips That Touch Mine by Wendy Lindstrom - Free Book Online

responsibility of having
a family ever weigh them down?
    A noise across the street snapped his
attention to Claire's house. To his surprise, Claire stood on her
porch with the door open, angling a paper toward the light from her
foyer.
    Recognizing a perfect opportunity to speak
with her, Boyd descended his steps with a jaunty gait. With any
luck she'd taunt him with the success of getting Harrison to sign
their pledge. That would be better than having her close her door
in his face. It would give him time to talk his way inside.
    The snow muffled his footsteps as he crossed
the street to her house. She was so absorbed in whatever she was
reading that he climbed the steps to her porch without disturbing
her.
    "That must be some interesting letter," he
said.
    She cried out and clasped the letter to her
chest. Fear filled her eyes, and she panted as if she'd just run up
West Hill.
    "Are you all right?" he asked, shocked by her
reaction.
    "Go away." She inched her way inside.
    "Wait a minute." He thrust out his hand to
stop the door from closing. "What's wrong?"
    "Go away or I'll...I'll get my gun."
    "What?" He shook his head. "What's going on
here?"
    "You should know." She pushed on the door,
but he braced his foot to keep it from closing. Her jaw clenched,
and she glared at him. "Will you kindly remove yourself from my
property?"
    "Not until you tell me what's going on. I
just scared the stuffing out of you, and for some reason you're
treating me like a criminal." "You sell liquor. You drink alcohol.
You carouse in that rum hole all hours of the night without a
thought or care for your neighbors' comfort. That, Mr. Grayson, is
criminal. Now leave or I'll get Sheriff—I'll...I'll get my
gun."
    "Just because the sheriff is my brother
doesn't mean I get special privileges, Claire. If you ask him to
remove me from your property, he'll do it."
    Her hands trembled, and she leaned her
forehead against the edge of the oak door. She lifted her lashes to
reveal dark, fear-filled eyes. "If you have a shred of decency,
you'll leave as I've requested."
    Sensing she was on the verge of tears, he
stepped back. "The sheriff is across the street. I'll send him
over."
    "No." She dragged in a shaky breath. "I'll
stop by his office tomorrow."
    "For God's sake, Claire. What's going
on?"
    She glanced at the letter in her hand, then
lifted her chin and silently glared at him. "I don't know, but I
intend to find out." She slammed the door in his face.
    He heard her twist the key in the lock, and
he turned away thoroughly confused.
What the hell just happened
here?
She was scared to death. Of him!
     
     

Chapter Six
    From his apartment
above the saloon, Boyd watched Claire's house. Why were her lamps
burning at two o'clock in the morning? No shadows or movement
shifted across her windows, so she must be sleeping. But why with
the lantern burning?
    He and Duke had searched her yard, but hadn't
found anything to warrant her fear. Duke had knocked and announced
himself, but Claire wouldn't answer the door or even bother to look
out the window.
    So what the hell was it that had spooked
her?
    Boyd paced his apartment, glancing at her
windows. Was she awake? Was she watching him, too? Or was she
cowering in her house, afraid and alone?
    The thought had him heading for the door, but
he stopped in his kitchen and blew out a breath of frustration.
Even if he went to check on her, she wouldn't answer the door.
Worse, if he knocked on her door, it would just make her more
scared, which was the last thing he wanted to do.
    He would just have to wait until
tomorrow.
    With a sigh of fatigue, he headed to a small
room off the parlor where he dabbled with his carvings. He'd
boarded up the window that Claire's wild gunshot had shattered the
previous weekend, but the room still felt chilly.
    Sailor padded in behind him, sniffing and
circling the life-size, partially carved statue that forever
intrigued the dog.
    "It makes me nervous too," Boyd said,
scratching the