Read Online The Hired Hero by Andrea Pickens - Free Book Online Page B

corner. The earl could just make out the lad’s head bent low over Nero’s neck, still urging the big stallion to give his best effort. And no doubt Nero was in clover. There was nothing he liked better than to be allowed to race neck and leather through the countryside.
     Traitor, thought Davenport sourly as he readied his own horse to match strides with him.
    The thief had the benefit of speed and stamina while Davenport had the element of surprise. The earl liked his chances.
    As his stallion approached, Davenport charged from the cover of the trees. He drew alongside  and reached for the reins. Nero shied violently to the right. Knowing his stallion’s habits, Davenport was ready for it. The lad was not. As the earl’s hand instinctively followed the movement of the horse’s head, the sudden change of stride pitched the young rider forward. He lost his stirrups and slipped sideways from the saddle. Both of his hands clung to the edges of the leather while his feet hung precariously close to the flailing hooves. The earl managed to grab the reins and fought to bring the spooked stallion under control. Suddenly, with a sharp yelp of pain, the lad’s grip gave out with one of his hands. In another moment he would be trampled.
    Serves him right, thought Davenport to himself. His own neck was at risk too, trying to manage two wildly galloping animals. But with a silent curse he let go of Nero and reached down to grab the lad by the collar of his jacket.
     “Let go!” he shouted, as he reined in on his own mount.
     The youngster needed no encouragement. His strength was gone and the last of his fingers slipped from the saddle. Davenport’s mount was too winded to offer any resistance to the pressure on the reins. The animal slowed to a trot, then stopped dead in its tracks, sides heaving and sweat lathering its flanks. The earl held the young thief by the scruff of his jacket, as if he were disposing of a weasel from a dovecot. It took great restraint not to wring the lad’s neck as he would that of an offending predator. Instead he satisfied himself by dropping the lad none too gently onto the rutted ground.
    “You damn young fool,” cursed the earl as he dismounted. “I should take my crop to you. Don’t you know you could be trans—”
    It was then that he noticed that the lad’s hat had fallen off. There was a mass of hair, honey colored hair, spilling over the pale face. His eyes traveled lower, to where a pair of slender—and very shapely— thighs were revealed by a pair of tight buckskin breeches. With a start he realized they were his breeches, from when he was a boy.
    He closed his eyes and groaned.
    Caroline lay in the dirt, too stunned to move. The pain in her shoulder was so intense that she could taste bile in the back of her throat.
    “You!” roared Davenport. His face had lost the look of blank surprise and was now clouded with anger. “You nearly got both of us killed! What the bloody hell were you thinking, trying to ride a blooded stallion?”
    She struggled to a sitting position, clutching at her arm. The oversized jacket had slipped on her shoulder, making her look even smaller and more vulnerable. Her face was pinched and streaked with mud while her lips were pressed tightly together, trying to suppress the slight quiver at their corners. Yet when she looked up at him her eyes held only a spirited determination. “I ride as well as any man—it was you who caused the problem by charging out of the bushes like a...a highwayman.” she managed to retort.
    His jaw dropped in astonishment. “A bloody highwayman,” he sputtered. “You impudent chit. You were stealing my horse!”
     “I wasn’t exactly stealing him. I was going to give him back.” She brushed away the  loose curls that had fallen to obscure half of her face. It was obvious he was furious. She knew the prudent course of action was to remain silent, to allow his anger to simmer down from its initial boil. But for