Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
There to the right, just above his waistband and firm cheek, peeked the tip of a thin scar. How far down did it travel? And how had he come by it? She bristled over her improper thoughts. What difference did it make where the scar traveled, or that his looks could melt a woman's heart and his body could—good gracious! Whatever was she thinking? She didn't actually find this man attractive, did she?
And if so, what would it matter? She wasn't his type. He wouldn't give her a second glance. Her shape was too full. The silly description brought a hint of a smile to her lips.
Full. Plain. Nice. She had heard those words many times over the years. Never beautiful, stunning, gorgeous. Those words just didn't fit her. But it would have been pleasing to hear them, if only once.
"Are you all right, Pru?"
Was that genuine concern she heard in his voice? She smiled, a tired smile, when she raised her face to look at him.
"You're exhausted," he said, noting the heavy droop of her eyelids, the way her shoulders sagged, and the weariness of her expression. "Let me take those things from you. Go wash up some. Then it's off to bed with you."
He took her duster and hat from her and hung them on the hook by the door. He was right. She was exhausted, partially from her journey and partially from the problems she faced. It was all too much for her right now. It had seemed so simple when she had planned it. She had unrealistically assumed she would find her mother in a matter of days. Her practical side had tried to warn her, to make her aware of the insurmountable odds of locating a woman who had disappeared years ago. It would take more than the few weeks she had been traveling, much more. And for the first time since her journey started, Prudence doubted the wisdom of the venture. She was about to slip off her gloves, lost in her musings, when she remembered Zac was in the room.
Her movement was slow as she turned and looked at him. "May I have some privacy?"
She had never requested permission from him for anything and her doing so now startled him. Even her eyes appeared different. Their color was a softer green, giving her the appearance of being drugged with a lazy sensuality, as though if he reached out and touched her, she would melt in response.
"I have no desire to see you naked," he snapped. A downright blatant lie. "I'll sit here on the bed with my back to you."
Prudence was stunned and hurt by his forceful words. After all, like every woman, she wanted to feel desirable, actually needed to feel desirable. It was part of being a woman. Her response was an obligatory, "Thank you."
She stripped off her gloves and top, standing there in her chemise and skirt and all the undergarments she wished she could shed. But that wasn't possible. She couldn't sleep in her nightgown in the same room as Mr. Stewart. She shouldn't even be sleeping in the same room with him at all.
He had replaced his water with fresh, and she hastily washed up. She was grateful to get what traveling dust she could off herself. She removed a clean white blouse from her satchel and slipped into it.
"I'm finished," she said as she unpinned her hair.
Zac turned and watched from the bed, having removed his boots and stretched out.
Prudence brushed her waist-length reddish brown hair until it sparkled to a coppery shine. She then plaited it and allowed it to rest over her shoulder. Finished, she hid her two useless fingers in the folds of her skirt and walked toward Zac. "It isn't proper for us to share this bed."
"Are you always proper, Prudence?" His question was posed in a strange tone.
"Always," she emphasized.
His voice was smooth and rich like the thickness of sweet honey that promised a rewarding taste and didn't fail to deliver. "Wouldn't you like to be improper just once?"
She couldn't find her voice. It was there somewhere caught in her throat. He was contemptible, teasing her as such. A gentleman would never express such a crude thought. But then Zac Stewart was no gentleman. He was a gunslinger. He was accustomed to willing women, whiskey . . . and killing.
"Since you haven't answered immediately, I can only assume you are giving my idea thought," Zac said, adding a slow smile.
Prudence ignored the erratic beat of her heart and his suggestive smile. "You are contemptible!"
Zac patted the spot on the bed beside him. "Despicable. Contemptible. Those words excite the devil in me, Miss Winthrop. Do join me."
"Mr.—"
"Careful, Prudence, or you'll get more than you bargained for," he said with no trace of a smile, only sheer determination.