Page 14 of The Gunslinger’s Bride (Montana Mavericks: Historicals #1)

She folded her hands in her lap and they glanced at one another and away. Abby had tried unsuccessfully to imagine him living here with her. He had a room at Mrs. Harroun’s boardinghouse, so they’d decided that he would move here until the time came that they were ready for their own house.

This had been Jed’s home and these were his furnishings, and she’d added her own touches over the years. Jed had been satisfied living over his business, and Abby had acclimated herself to his life and his home. They’d been comfortable together, and Jonathon had filled out their family.

Everett’s company wasn’t comfortable. Prolonged silences screamed for someone to speak. She was always relieved for him to ramble on about local happenings and news he’d passed along the telegraph wires, for it took away the pressure for her to come up with small talk.

He chatted a bit, discussing a reported railroad heist to the west and the latest on Amos Carlton’s sickly wife.

“Sheriff Kincaid is keeping an eye on the man calling himself Linc Manley. He hasn’t actually denied being Jack Spade, and that’s keeping suspicion high.

He seems to have no purpose in Whitehorn except to gamble nightly. ”

Sheriff Kincaid was James Kincaid, Brock’s cousin. “Why doesn’t the sheriff just ask him to leave before there’s trouble?”

“The law can’t just run off every stranger without sure cause. The man seems harmless enough.”

“But what type of unsavory people is he likely to draw? I don’t think we can be careful enough in protecting our town from his kind.”

“He is good for commerce. The saloons have been full every night since he’s been here.”

“Commerce!” she scoffed. “Drinking and gambling aren’t respectable businesses.

Sounds like trouble waiting to happen, if you ask me.

” As soon as she said the words she remembered Brock’s asking if she was hateful to all the men in her life, and she could have bitten her tongue. But facts were facts.

Everett changed the subject, and after a few more minutes, he stood and excused himself. Grateful, Abby hurried ahead of him to get his coat and hold it open. He turned his back to her and accepted her assistance. “Thank you. Have a pleasant evening.”

“I shall do that.” She closed the door behind him and wilted against the wood in relief. The last thing she needed was for him to see Brock here and get suspicious. Lord, what if someone saw Brock arrive or leave, and told Everett? Where was Brock’s horse? she wondered belatedly.

“Jonathon’s hungry,” Brock said from the kitchen doorway.

Abby spun to face him. “Where is your horse?”

“At the livery. I walked.” He rested a palm against the door frame. “I held Jonathon off until your guest left.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not the ogre you think I am.”

She yanked her apron from over his guns. “I’ll heat some soup. Ask him if he’d like bread and cheese.”

Brock left and returned a moment later. “He said yes, please.”

Stirring soup in a pan on the stove, Abby nodded that she’d heard him.

“He’s not your type.”

She turned her head. “Excuse me?”

“Matthews. He doesn’t seem like your type.”

“And how would you know what my type is?”

“I don’t know. Just seems to me that since you didn’t have a choice with your last husband, you’d be particular with the next one.”

“I am particular. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s a perfect gentleman.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

His tone was mocking, and she didn’t care for it. “And he doesn’t have to wear guns to prove anything to anyone.”

Brock crossed the kitchen and stepped close beside her. “What do you think I’m proving by wearing guns, Abby?”

His voice from so close unnerved her.

“You start these arguments, you know,” he said.

“But you continue them without any effort whatsoever on my part.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what you see in him.”

“I’m sure that escapes you.”

“Does your pulse beat faster when he stands this near?”

Abby’s heart hammered against her rib cage. “That’s none of your business.”

“Does the smell of your hair make him want to lean close and fill his lungs with you?”

She dropped the wooden spoon into the pan and fished for the handle. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

“He’s never said so?”

“Certainly not.”

“Of course not. Does your breath come hard and fast when he touches you?” Brock touched her neck with a featherlight caress, and she couldn’t draw a breath.

“Do his kisses start a fire in your veins that spreads through your whole body?” His warm breath against her neck made gooseflesh rise along her shoulders.

She closed her eyes and felt her nipples harden into tight buds.

The pleasurable sensation washed over her, gripping her in its bone-deep intensity.

Part of her realized how much she’d missed these feelings, but another part was shocked at her wanton response to Brock’s aggressive behavior.

Fighting the mortifying hunger he aroused so easily, she gathered her composure and inched away, wrapping a towel around the handle and removing the broth from the stove. She carried the pan to the mug on the table with trembling hands.

“Here.” He took the pan from her, brushing her fingers with his strong, callused ones in the process.

Abby watched him perform the task with steady hands, feeling the heat from his body, recognizing the heady smell of his shaving soap and the fainter scent of horse and leather.

He poured the savory-smelling beef broth into the mug without spilling a drop.

Her heart pounded so hard she could sense it thrumming in her ears, her fingertips, the very core of her woman’s body.

She couldn’t look away from him now, her greedy gaze climbing from his strong hand, up the length of his cotton-clad arm to his broad chest…

to his eyes, a sultry, hungry blue she remembered well…

his mouth…and she could barely breathe at the remembered delights of those lips… .