sight of her had brought back all the old bitterness. But it didn’t stop the surge of sexual awareness he’d been hit with. That scared the shit out of him, because he hadn’t been attracted to her kind in years.
“Just who are you, lady?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself right off. I’m Jocelyn Fleming,” she said, determining there wasn’t much point in using a false name this time with Longnose so close behind them.
He stared at the hand she held out to him, just stared, until she was forced to lower it.
“Maybe I should have asked, what are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You one of those rich miners’ wives from Tombstone?”
“No, not at all. I’ve been widowed now for several years. And we’ve just come up from Mexico, though our travels originated in England.”
“That mean you’re English?”
“Yes.” She smiled at the way he had of chopping up the mother tongue, though she could understand him perfectly, and rather liked the slow drawl to his words. “I assume you are an American?”
He knew the word, but he’d never heard anyone use it before. Folks usually associated themselves with the state or territory they were from, not the country. And now he recognized her accent too. Though he’d never heard a woman speak with those cultured tones before, he’d met several Englishmen touring the West. But her nationality explained why she hadn’t minded touching him. She hadn’t been in the West long enough to recognize what he was. So that wasn’t why she had stared at him for so long up on that coach, as he’d assumed. Again his body tightened with a familiar hardness.
For half a second he considered not telling her. He’d probably never see her again anyway, so why put the distance he was accustomed to between them? Because he needed that distance. She was off limits,and this hell-cursed attraction he felt for her was dangerous. But he wasn’t used to saying it. He dressed as he did so he wouldn’t have to, so there’d be no mistakes.
“I was born in this country, but folks got a different name for me, lady. I’m a half-breed.”
“How interesting,” she said, aware his tone had turned bitter again, but choosing to ignore it. “It sounds like something to do with stock and crossbreeding. What does it have to do with people?”
He stared at her for a moment as if she were crazy; then he swore under his breath before snarling, “What the hell do you think it has to do with people? It means I’m only half white.”
His tone gave her pause, but still she asked, “And the other half?”
Again he gave her a look that said she ought to be locked up for the safety of others. “Indian,” he bit out. “Cheyenne, in my case. And if that doesn’t set you back on your toes, it ought to.”
“Why?”
“Christ, woman, you ought to learn something about a country before you visit it!”
“But I always do,” she replied, only slightly wary that he had shouted at her. “I know a good deal about this one.”
“Then you must have missed the part about Indians and whites being sworn enemies,” he sneered. “Ask in the next town you come to. They’ll give you an earful about why you shouldn’t be standing here talking to me.”
“If you have something against the whites, as youcall them, it hasn’t anything to do with me, does it?” she replied, undaunted. “I’m not your enemy, sir. Good Lord, how could you even insinuate that I might be, when I feel nothing but gratitude for your timely assistance?”
He shook his head at her, and then he actually chuckled. “I give up, ma’am. You’ll learn better if you stay here long enough.”
“Does that mean we can be friends now?” At his grunt, she added, “You haven’t told me your name.”
“Colt Thunder.”
“Colt, as in the revolver? How unusual to be named after a gun.”
“Well, Jessie has an unusual sense of humor.”
“Is Jessie your father?”
“My father’s daughter,
“Just who are you, lady?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself right off. I’m Jocelyn Fleming,” she said, determining there wasn’t much point in using a false name this time with Longnose so close behind them.
He stared at the hand she held out to him, just stared, until she was forced to lower it.
“Maybe I should have asked, what are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You one of those rich miners’ wives from Tombstone?”
“No, not at all. I’ve been widowed now for several years. And we’ve just come up from Mexico, though our travels originated in England.”
“That mean you’re English?”
“Yes.” She smiled at the way he had of chopping up the mother tongue, though she could understand him perfectly, and rather liked the slow drawl to his words. “I assume you are an American?”
He knew the word, but he’d never heard anyone use it before. Folks usually associated themselves with the state or territory they were from, not the country. And now he recognized her accent too. Though he’d never heard a woman speak with those cultured tones before, he’d met several Englishmen touring the West. But her nationality explained why she hadn’t minded touching him. She hadn’t been in the West long enough to recognize what he was. So that wasn’t why she had stared at him for so long up on that coach, as he’d assumed. Again his body tightened with a familiar hardness.
For half a second he considered not telling her. He’d probably never see her again anyway, so why put the distance he was accustomed to between them? Because he needed that distance. She was off limits,and this hell-cursed attraction he felt for her was dangerous. But he wasn’t used to saying it. He dressed as he did so he wouldn’t have to, so there’d be no mistakes.
“I was born in this country, but folks got a different name for me, lady. I’m a half-breed.”
“How interesting,” she said, aware his tone had turned bitter again, but choosing to ignore it. “It sounds like something to do with stock and crossbreeding. What does it have to do with people?”
He stared at her for a moment as if she were crazy; then he swore under his breath before snarling, “What the hell do you think it has to do with people? It means I’m only half white.”
His tone gave her pause, but still she asked, “And the other half?”
Again he gave her a look that said she ought to be locked up for the safety of others. “Indian,” he bit out. “Cheyenne, in my case. And if that doesn’t set you back on your toes, it ought to.”
“Why?”
“Christ, woman, you ought to learn something about a country before you visit it!”
“But I always do,” she replied, only slightly wary that he had shouted at her. “I know a good deal about this one.”
“Then you must have missed the part about Indians and whites being sworn enemies,” he sneered. “Ask in the next town you come to. They’ll give you an earful about why you shouldn’t be standing here talking to me.”
“If you have something against the whites, as youcall them, it hasn’t anything to do with me, does it?” she replied, undaunted. “I’m not your enemy, sir. Good Lord, how could you even insinuate that I might be, when I feel nothing but gratitude for your timely assistance?”
He shook his head at her, and then he actually chuckled. “I give up, ma’am. You’ll learn better if you stay here long enough.”
“Does that mean we can be friends now?” At his grunt, she added, “You haven’t told me your name.”
“Colt Thunder.”
“Colt, as in the revolver? How unusual to be named after a gun.”
“Well, Jessie has an unusual sense of humor.”
“Is Jessie your father?”
“My father’s daughter,
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