Page 78 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

“Listen,” Tanner said, setting a scowl on his face he hoped would convey his exhaustion with the subject. “I’m past wanting Kat Peters to be a part of my life. She’s nothing now except a faded memory.”

“Faded memories make you act like you did by the stagecoach?”

Tanner grunted. “She made me a little angry, is all.” He closed his eyes, the meager amount of whiskey he’d consumed clouding his mind. Maybe food would help. When had he eaten last? Two days, three?

“Tanner?” Adam’s voice called to him from the end of a long tunnel. “Tanner, are you all right?”

Tanner blinked, Adam’s face swimming into view. “Just tired, hungry. The last few weeks have been rough...working on a story. Hiding out. The beard, the clothes, simply part of the ruse. A few days ago, I got caught in some trouble.” He paused and wiped his hand across his mouth. His fingers quivered against his lips. “I—I had to leave town.”

Adam rocked back in his chair. “Are the police looking for you?”

“No. God, no.” He shook his head. “Nothing like that. I didn’t do anything illegal. I picked the wrong place at the wrong time. Trust me, a very wrong time.”

“Your editor?”

“Suggested I lie low for a week or two. Take a rest, so here I am.”

Adam sighed. “Well, you’re safe here. This is as close to the end of the world as she gets.”

For the first time in nearly a week, the flare of panic in Tanner’s chest dimmed. He realized he could place some of his burden on his friend’s capable shoulders. “I want to sleep. Forget about writing for a few nights. Forget what a newspaper looks like.”

Forget he’d ever known Kat Peters.

“How about we stop by the barber, then get you home? Tan, I think you need a few years sleep, never mind a few nights. We can work the rest out tomorrow.”

Tanner released a weak smile. “A trollop, a barber and a bed? This place might be too much for me.”

“Barber first. Bath a close second. No wonder Katherine Peters was in such a rage. Locked in a stagecoach with you smelling this...terrible.”

Kat. Just a few doors down. Long limbs tangled in silk sheets, her glorious hair flowing down her back. God, she was so close he could almost feel her, simmering deep in his bones.

I don’t care about her anymore, Tanner assured himself.

What the hell difference would one more lie make?

* * *

Kate closed the bedroom door and turned, slumping against it. Her legs didn’t want to support her, her feet didn’t want to move, but she forced them to, her knees finally cracking the wooden bedstead. Flopping to her stomach, she buried her face in the coverlet.

Dear God.

Tanner Barkley.

As lewd images raced into her mind, she sat up with a whispered oath.

Tanner Barkley.

She yanked her boot off and flung it against the wall. She had avoided him for a year and a half. Except for four inadvertent meetings. Outside Palmer’s Antiques: willowy redhead. On the lawn of Capital Square: petite brunette. Chisom Taylor’s ball: voluptuous blond. Spring races. Hmm...she squinted and wound a strand of hair about her finger.

Ah. Another blond.

With a yank, Kate hurled the other boot against the wall.

All at once, she felt like crying. Or leaping from the upper porch she had glimpsed from the walkway below.

What was she going to do? What in the world was she going to do?

Buck up, Kate. You shared a stagecoach with him. For over three hours.