Page 36 of Montana Groom of Convenience (Montana Cowboys #5)

Acrid smoke blew toward him. Flames danced and cavorted, orange and yellow bits of insanity.

Sawyer shuddered and turned to watch Carly, smiling at the way she moved so gracefully along the road, pausing here to kick at a rock, there to smile at a flower, chasing after the fires that caught in areas they weren’t planning to burn.

He was grateful for the enjoyment she provided. It helped him ignore the fear that coiled around his heart every time he saw flames racing in a line. Such a sight always brought the memory of flames licking up the wall of their house, the sound of his pa’s cries echoing in his ears.

The wind jerked at his hat, and he pulled it tighter to his head.

He turned his attention back to the fire crackling at his side.

He knew this had to be done but wished it could be otherwise.

An ember caught in the wind and flew toward the barn.

He chased it and stomped it out, making sure there were no other areas catching fire before he left.

Carly’s skirts billowed out and fanned toward the fire, the hem of her garment waving over the orange flames. His lungs spasmed. It was only an illusion that made him think the skirts engulfed the fire.

The wind shifted. Her dress fell around her legs. The orange still clung to the hem. He shook his head. Blinked his eyes. Willed away the sight.

But it would not be dismissed. It wasn’t his imagination. She was on fire.

He couldn’t move. It was just like the day his ma and Johnny died, and he stood rooted to the spot. Doing nothing.

The flames spread up the fabric. She strode forward, oblivious to her danger.

He would not lose her. He would not stand by and do nothing. His legs felt like thick posts, but he forced them to move. He broke into a run. Don’t call her name. Don’t make her turn. The movement would swirl her skirts around her, spreading the flames.

He jumped over the charred grass and caught her around the middle, slapping the damp gunnysack against her skirts.

“Sawyer, what are you doing?” She tried to squirm around.

“Don’t move. Your skirt is on fire.” The orange turned to black. Still, he beat at her skirt. Spent at last, he sank to the ground, pulling her down with him, holding her on his lap, his arms around her, his face pressed to the side of her head.

She touched his cheek. “Thank you. I didn’t notice.”

He leaned back and stared at her. “Why are you wearing a dress?” She always wore trousers when she was outdoors. But not today. Why not today? “Trousers wouldn’t have blown into the flames.” Why? Why?

She ducked her head so he couldn’t see her face. “I thought if I prettied up, you might notice me.”

Notice her? If she only knew. But why did she seek his attention? He caught her chin and tipped her head toward him so he could see her expression.

She kept her eyelids lowered, hiding her eyes.

“Why would you think such a thing?”

Her eyes came to his. Wide, full of uncertainty. “Father says I should dress like a woman.” She made a dismissive sound. “Yet he wants me to work like a son.”

“There’s more to it than that.” She’d dealt with her father’s demands for years.

“Well, if you must know, Bart said I should pretty up.”

Her old beau who only wanted the ranch? Why would Bart’s opinion matter so much? “I think we both know he isn’t worth your consideration.”

She nodded and studied the front of his shirt.

“Wait. You did this so I would notice you?”

She nodded again.

He tipped her head up and peered at her as if he’d misheard her. “You think I would see you differently if you wore a dress?”

“I hoped so.”

He considered her words as their gazes connected and found it hard to think clearly with her intently watching. He knew she wanted him to understand something of enough importance to her that she exchanged trousers for a dress. Poor choice, considering it almost cost her?—

He shuddered and pulled her tightly to him. “You could have burned to death.”

“I didn’t.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

“I suggest you go back to wearing trousers.”

She pulled away and turned her face toward the trail so he couldn’t see her eyes .

He knew his comment had upset her. Why? He wasn’t good at dealing with feelings, but he had to figure this out.

Only one conclusion made sense to him. “You wanted me to notice you as a woman?” He spoke cautiously, fearing he might offend her, send her running, and disappoint her by going beyond their agreement.

She nodded. Faced him. “As a wife.”

Her words hung between them, sweet and inviting. At the same time, fearful.

Did she really mean she wished to change their agreement? His heart tugged at its moorings, seeking release.

He dared not jump to conclusions. Yet, her gaze held his, steady and challenging. And hopeful? Or was it only his own desires that provided the evidence of hope?

“You want—” His throat closed off, and he couldn’t finish. Couldn’t even allow himself to complete the question inside his head. He must be dreaming. Perhaps his brain imagined things because of the shock of seeing her dress on fire.

“I want—” She blinked. Lowered her gaze.

He stared. His mind full of possibilities. And warnings. But had she not issued an invitation? And he meant to accept it. “Carly, are you saying?—?”

“Company coming,” Father Morrison yelled.

He turned and saw Carly and Sawyer together on the ground.

“Aye, and is this the way you watch the fire?” He tsked.

“Get up now. Make sure the fire is out while I see who has come to visit.” He tented a hand over his eyes and squinted toward the approaching buggy. “Dinnae think I know them. ”

Carly and Sawyer struggled to their feet.

His thoughts were too tangled to make sense.

He’d been about to ask her the most important question he could think of.

Did she have a fondness for him? Was she wanting to change the agreement between them?

Now, his questions would have to wait until the company had been dealt with.

He helped Carly dust herself off.

“How bad is it?” She peered around, trying to see how much damage had been done to her dress.

“Just the hem. Thank the good Lord above.” He barely managed to stifle a shudder. “If I hadn’t been watching....”

She touched his cheek. “But you were, and you saved me. Thank you.”

“You recognize them?” her father asked.

Carly and Sawyer both watched the approaching conveyance. A man with a woman beside him. She had an infant in her arms. A small boy peeked out between the adults.

“I don’t know them.” Carly gripped Sawyer’s hand and murmured. “I wonder what they want.” Her voice seemed strained, causing tension to knot in his neck.

Why should the approach of strangers fill him with foreboding?