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Authors: Geralyn Dawson
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started walking, her thoughts in a whirl as she tried to figure an advantage to this development. So she was supposed to kiss him, was she? She’d best not allow it to happen.
She liked the idea entirely too much.
Then the answer came to her. “If I do the kissing, then I get to choose the time and place.” She smiled smugly. “Fifty years from today sounds good to me.”
Branch just looked at her and grinned. She felt his gaze on her backside as he followed her, whistling, until they reached the remains of the old stone fence that stood a short distance from the tavern. That’s when he grabbed her.
“Now,” he demanded, backing her against the wall. He rested an arm on either side of her and stared at her lips.
“Now what?” she asked, but she knew. “Y— you said I was to do it. I get to say when.” Her tongue nervously circled her lips.
“Do it now.” His whisper soaked through her skin. She felt him everywhere, but he never touched her.
“No. I don’t want to. I don’t have to. It’s the rules. You said so yourself.”
He shifted to the right, still not touching, and blew a gentle stream of breath into her ear. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” he said.
Heat seared her body, and Katie surrendered. After all, she’d been dreaming of this for six weeks. “Shakespeare from a Texian drifter?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Taming of the Shrew.” His gaze melted her mind.
She pressed herself against him, shaking her head. “Hamlet.”
“Oh,” he said, and his lips captured hers.
Liquid heat coursed through her veins. Her arms snaked around him, and the hard cords of his muscles flexed beneath her fingertips.
Then Branch pulled back. He turned his head and listened, a wild thing sensing danger. Katie gawked at him until the crackle and scent of burning pine broke horrifically through her senses.
Crack … crack . Gunshots drilled the air.
“Da! Daniel!” she cried, pushing at Branch’s chest. He held her like an afterthought, his brow wrinkled, his eyes topaz hard, as the whoops of destructive, victorious men reached their ears. “Let me go,” Katie cried.
“I’m goin’. You stay here.” He grabbed her chin and glared into her eyes. “You move so much as a jackrabbit’s whisker, and I’ll tan your hide.” He gave her a shake. “Do you hear me, Kate?”
She nodded.
The moment he let her loose, she darted off. Da always said she moved quick for a gal with such short legs, but Kincaid reached her in three strides.
She lost her wind when he tackled her. “Blast it, woman, I can throw you farther than I can trust you,” Branch said. He pulled her to her feet as she struggled for breath and dragged her back to the horses. Katie twisted and kicked, fighting him desperately. “Let me go!” she screamed. “I have to help my family!” She viciously bit the hand that clenched her arm.
“Damn it, Kate. Settle down. This tantrum’s wasting time. I’m gonna take care of your people; you’d just be in the way.” He lifted a rope from his saddle and proceeded to tie her to the nearest sturdy tree.
“Please, Branch,” Katie begged. “Don’t do this. They’re in trouble and I’ve got to help.” Tears of fright and frustration streaked her face.
Ignoring her pleas, he grabbed the weapons he always carried on Striker, making sure to snatch up extra ammunition and loading equipment. Branch never went anywhere without his bowie knife, Texas Patersons, and plains rifle.
When her little brother’s agonized scream filled the air, Katie whimpered. Only the rope held her upright as she gazed helplessly at Branch. He looked cold as a January norther.
“I can’t lose them, too,” she whispered.
“You won’t.” Branch kissed her forehead and ran toward the shroud of smoke.
CHAPTER 5
TONGUES OF ORANGE FLAME licked the sky. The inn, the barn, the storage shed, even the vegetable garden—all were in the throes of
She liked the idea entirely too much.
Then the answer came to her. “If I do the kissing, then I get to choose the time and place.” She smiled smugly. “Fifty years from today sounds good to me.”
Branch just looked at her and grinned. She felt his gaze on her backside as he followed her, whistling, until they reached the remains of the old stone fence that stood a short distance from the tavern. That’s when he grabbed her.
“Now,” he demanded, backing her against the wall. He rested an arm on either side of her and stared at her lips.
“Now what?” she asked, but she knew. “Y— you said I was to do it. I get to say when.” Her tongue nervously circled her lips.
“Do it now.” His whisper soaked through her skin. She felt him everywhere, but he never touched her.
“No. I don’t want to. I don’t have to. It’s the rules. You said so yourself.”
He shifted to the right, still not touching, and blew a gentle stream of breath into her ear. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” he said.
Heat seared her body, and Katie surrendered. After all, she’d been dreaming of this for six weeks. “Shakespeare from a Texian drifter?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Taming of the Shrew.” His gaze melted her mind.
She pressed herself against him, shaking her head. “Hamlet.”
“Oh,” he said, and his lips captured hers.
Liquid heat coursed through her veins. Her arms snaked around him, and the hard cords of his muscles flexed beneath her fingertips.
Then Branch pulled back. He turned his head and listened, a wild thing sensing danger. Katie gawked at him until the crackle and scent of burning pine broke horrifically through her senses.
Crack … crack . Gunshots drilled the air.
“Da! Daniel!” she cried, pushing at Branch’s chest. He held her like an afterthought, his brow wrinkled, his eyes topaz hard, as the whoops of destructive, victorious men reached their ears. “Let me go,” Katie cried.
“I’m goin’. You stay here.” He grabbed her chin and glared into her eyes. “You move so much as a jackrabbit’s whisker, and I’ll tan your hide.” He gave her a shake. “Do you hear me, Kate?”
She nodded.
The moment he let her loose, she darted off. Da always said she moved quick for a gal with such short legs, but Kincaid reached her in three strides.
She lost her wind when he tackled her. “Blast it, woman, I can throw you farther than I can trust you,” Branch said. He pulled her to her feet as she struggled for breath and dragged her back to the horses. Katie twisted and kicked, fighting him desperately. “Let me go!” she screamed. “I have to help my family!” She viciously bit the hand that clenched her arm.
“Damn it, Kate. Settle down. This tantrum’s wasting time. I’m gonna take care of your people; you’d just be in the way.” He lifted a rope from his saddle and proceeded to tie her to the nearest sturdy tree.
“Please, Branch,” Katie begged. “Don’t do this. They’re in trouble and I’ve got to help.” Tears of fright and frustration streaked her face.
Ignoring her pleas, he grabbed the weapons he always carried on Striker, making sure to snatch up extra ammunition and loading equipment. Branch never went anywhere without his bowie knife, Texas Patersons, and plains rifle.
When her little brother’s agonized scream filled the air, Katie whimpered. Only the rope held her upright as she gazed helplessly at Branch. He looked cold as a January norther.
“I can’t lose them, too,” she whispered.
“You won’t.” Branch kissed her forehead and ran toward the shroud of smoke.
CHAPTER 5
TONGUES OF ORANGE FLAME licked the sky. The inn, the barn, the storage shed, even the vegetable garden—all were in the throes of
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