Page 75 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses
Kate seized the tuft of auburn curls trailing across her cheek and tried unsuccessfully to contain them behind her ear. “Mr. Barkley, you have never been anything but a thorn, worse than a thorn, a ragged piece of glass, yes, glass, cutting into my side. Lucky I only have a singed item of clothing to show for the debacle this time.” Dipping her chin, she fingered the black-edged hole in her shawl.
Tanner frowned, wondering if he should offer her his coat. He glanced down: frayed seams, a peculiar odor. Then again, maybe not. “Jesus, I’ll buy you a new one.”
Her gaze traveled from his head to his feet. He realized rumpled, ill-fitting clothing lay in between. “I wouldn’t go that far, Mr. Barkley. Paisley is quite...expensive. Above and beyond a newspaperman’s wage, I imagine. Although, you never looked this frightful. If this ensemble is all you’re able to afford” —she wagged her pinkie in his direction— “I must surmise you’ve taken a headlong leap into indigence. Not getting enough stories thrown your way?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice one step below a snarl. “You never did. You could have let me talk to you. Explain the situation. And I tried, dammit. Supplicated—”
“Please, no need to use such grand words with me.” She raised an arched brow in her arrogant way, which only served to bump his fury two notches higher. “And about this threadbare topic.” Her amber eyes held his; eyes brimming so sharply with intelligence that they almost diminished the beauty of her face.
He took a fast step forward and slapped his hands on either side of the coach, hemming her in. Though he’d planned to get the hell off the stagecoach and leave her standing in the swirl of dust generated from his rapid departure, he found it difficult to follow through with that gloating smirk twisting her features. God, he absolutely hated when she used the brow arch and the bored tone together.
“Kat, you’re better off without Abel Asher.”
She sputtered, her cheeks flaming.
Ah, ha! Got you.
“Better? Is it better to open the door one morning to find your fiancée, whom you have known since childhood, standing on your front step, shouting about ruining his business? Ruining his life? Shouting loud enough to draw a crowd?” She struck Tanner’s chest with a closed fist. “Is it better for your engagement ring to be ripped from your finger?” Pound. “Better for your name to be publicly muddied by your involvement with an overzealous newspaperman?” Pound. “And all for a newspaper article. An article about misappropriation of funds everyone in Richmond knew about.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him. “Everyone knowing didn’t make the situation right, Kat. Asher deserved what he got. I told you, you were not a part of my research. Were never a part of the story at all.”
She tipped her head and laughed. “Never part of the story? I was Abel’s bookkeeper. What do you think he thought?”
“Are you pining over him, Kat? Is that it? Did you love him so much?”
“Love? I wrote him a letter the night before, you idiot, breaking the engagement. Abel and I were never in love. A convenient arrangement between families, nothing more. You understood the arrangement; we discussed it many times. Do you think I would have...would have...with you? If I was in love with him?” She gave a forceful shove and brushed past him. “But, in your notably gauche fashion, you corrected the situation before I could, didn’t you?”
“Princess, I never meant—”
Kate whipped around so quickly, Tanner felt a rush of air slap his face. Her skin dulled, pale as parchment. “Don’t you dare call me Princess.” Her hands tangled in her shawl, twisting.
Her breath, warm and sweet, crept close. Her lips flattened, the bottom one sliding between her teeth. A stab of yearning, absent for so long he almost didn’t recognize the emotion, rocked him in his size-too-big, secondhand boots.
“Kat,” he said in a strained voice, reaching out, his fingers fisted to hide the tremors shaking them. He had no idea what he appealed for.
A heavy step sounded behind them; a hand clasped Tanner’s shoulder. “You were lucky, Tan, the stage being only two hours late.”
Tanner turned and forced a smile, relieved and flustered. “Adam.” He nodded to the sling looped around his neck. “I would shake, but as you can see....”
Adam’s eyes widened as he examined his friend. He seemed to remember himself and returned the smile, though it was forced. “Where is your trunk?”
Tanner shrugged, the movement sending a slicing twinge up his arm. “No trunk. Traveling light these days.”
“Let me guess. You raced out of Richmond with a band of ruffians on your heels,” Kate said as she passed them, heading for the rear of the coach.
Tanner jerked his head, the ends of his sling smacking his neck. “No, a jealous husband this time. After all, sweetheart, you claim to know me so well.”
She stopped, her chin tilting just enough. Atop a rosy flush, she maintained a tranquil expression. “My, what a surprise.”
Tanner bowed as low as he could without sending another spear of hell up his arm. “Yes, isn’t it?”
She blinked, screwed her beautiful face tight, and glanced away.
The same intractable, exquisite woman.
Damn her.
Tanner turned to find Adam Chase studying them. His best friend in the world, perhaps his only friend, nodded, seeming to make up his mind. “Tanner, the Four Leaf Clover is a block down. On the left. Only saloon in town, can’t miss it. I’ll meet you in ten minutes.” A firm shove accompanied the dictate.