Nora Roberts - Lawless

He lifted his head from the bowl, and water dripped down from his face. Her cheeks were flushed from cooking, and her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, revealing slender, milk-white arms. Comfort was the last thing on his mind. Without speaking, he took his seat.

Sarah wasn’t sure when he made her more nervous, when he spoke to her or when he lapsed into those long silences and just looked. Gamely she tried again.

“Mrs. Cobb gave me the recipe for these biscuits yesterday.

I hope they’re as good as she claimed.”

Jake broke one, and the steam and fragrance poured out. Watching her, he bit into it. “They’re fine.” “Please, Mr. Redman, all this flattery will turn my head.” She scooped up a forkful of eggs. “I was introduced to several ladies yesterday while I was buying supplies. They seem very hospitable.”

“I don’t know much about the ladies in town.” At least not the kind Sarah was speaking of.

“I see.” She took a bite of biscuit herself. It was more than fine, she thought with a pout. It was delicious. “Liza Cody-her family runs the dry goods store. I found her very amiable. She was kind enough to let me have one of their puppies.”

Jake looked down at the dog, who was sniffing at his boot and thumping his tail. “That where you got this thing?”

“Yes. I wanted the company.”

Jake broke off a bite of biscuit and dropped it to the dog, ignoring Sarah’s muttered admonition about feeding animals from the table. “Scrawny now, but he’s going to be a big one.”

“Really?” Intrigued, she leaned over to look.

“How can you tell?”

“His paws. He’s clumsy now because they’re too big for him. He’ll grow into them.”

“I fancy it’s to my advantage to own a large dog.” “Didn’t do you much good last night,” he pointed out, but pleased both the pup and Sarah by scratching between the dog’s floppy ears. “You give him a name yet?”

“Lafitte.”

Jake paused with his fork halfway to his lips.

“What the hell kind of name is that for a dog?” “After the pirate. He had that black marking around his eye, like a patch.”

“Pretty fancy name for a mutt,” Jake said over a mouthful of eggs. “Bandit’s better.”

Sarah lifted a brow. “I’d certainly never give him a name like that.”

“A pirate’s a bandit, isn’t he?” Jake dived into another biscuit.

“Be that as it may, the name stands.”

Chewing, Jake looked down at the puppy, who was groveling a bit, obviously hoping for another handout. “Bet it makes you feel pretty stupid, doesn’t it, fella?”

“Would you care for more coffee, Mr. Redman?”

Frustrated, Sarah rose and, wrapping a cloth around the handle, took the pot from the stove. Without waiting for an answer, she stood beside Jake and poured. She smelled good, he thought. Soft. Kind of subtle, like a field of wildflowers in early spring. At the ends of her stiff white sleeves, her hands were delicate. He remembered the feel of them on his cheek.

“They taught you good,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” She looked down at him.

There was something in his eyes, a hint of what she’d seen in them the night before. It didn’t make her nervous, as she’d been certain it would. It made her yearn.

“The cooking.” Jake put a hand over hers to straighten the pot and-keep the coffee from overflowing the cup. Then he kept it there, feeling the smooth texture of her skin and the surprisingly rapid beating of her pulse. She didn’t back away, or blush, or snatch her hand from his. Instead, she simply looked back at him. The question in her eyes was one he wanted badly to answer.

She moistened her lips but kept her eyes steady.

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You take too many chances, Sarah.” Slowly, when he was certain she understood his meaning, he removed his hand.

With her chin up, she returned the pot to the stove. How dare he make her feel like that, then toss it back in her face? “You don’t frighten me, Mr. Redman. If you were going to hurt me, you would have done so by now.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Your kind wears a man down.”

“My kind?” She turned, the light of challenge in her eyes. “Just what kind would that be?”

“The soft kind. The soft, stubborn kind who’s right on the edge of stepping into a man’s arms.”

“You couldn’t be more mistaken.” Her voice was icy now in defense against the blood that had heated at his words. “I haven’t any interest in being in your arms, or any man’s. My only interest at the moment is protecting my property.”

“Could be I’m wrong.” He rocked back in his chair. She was a puzzle, all right, and he’d never known how pleasurable it could be to get a woman’s dander up. “We’ll born find out sooner or later. Meanwhile, just how do you plan to go about protecting this place?”

Not much caring whether he was finished or not she began to stack the plates. “I’m going to alert the sheriff, of course.”

“That’s not going to hurt, but it’s not going to help much, either, if you get more trouble out here. The sheriffs ten miles away.”

“Just what do you suggest?”

He’d already given it some thought, and he had an answer. “If I were you, I’d hire somebody to help out around here. Somebody who can give you a hand with the place, and who knows how to use a gun.”

A thrill sprinted through her. She managed, just barely, to keep her voice disinterested. “Yourself, I suppose.”

He grinned at her. “No, Duchess, I ain’t looking for that kind of job. I was thinking of Lucius.”

Frowning, she began to scrub out the frying pan.

“He drinks.”

“Who doesn’t? Give him a couple of meals and a place to bunk down and he’ll do all right for you. A woman staying out here all alone’s just asking for trouble. Those men who burned your shed last night might’ve done more to you than give you a headache.” His meaning was clear enough, clearer still because she’d thought of that possibility herself. She’d prefer him-though only because she knew he was capable, she assured herself. But she did need someone. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“No perhaps about it. Someone as green as you doesn’t have the sense to do more than die out here.” “I don’t see why you have to insult me.”

“The plain truth’s the plain truth, Duchess.”

Teeth clenched, she banged dishes. “I told you not to-” “I got a question for you,” he said, interrupting her easily. “What would you have done this morning if it hadn’t been me bringing back the horses?”

“I would have defended myself.”

“You ever shot a Henry before?”

She gave him a scandalized look. “Why in the world would I have shot anyone named Henry?”

With a long sigh, he rose. “A Henry rifle, Duchess. That’s what you were pointing at my belt buckle before you fixed my eggs.”

Sarah wiped the pan clean, then set it aside. “No, I haven’t actually fired one, but I can’t imagine it’s that complicated. In any case, I never intended to shoot it.”

“What did you have in mind? Dancing with it?”

She snatched up a plate. “Mr. Redman, I’m growing weary of being an amusement to you. I realize that someone like you thinks nothing of shooting a man dead and walking away. I, however, have been taught-rightfully-that killing is a sin.”

“You’re wrong.” Something in his voice had her turning toward him again. “ Surviving’s never a sin.

It’s all there is.”

“If you believe that, I’m sorry for you.”

He didn’t want her pity. But he did want her to stay alive. Moving over, he took the plates out of her hands. “If you see a snake, are you going to kill it or stand there and let it bite you?”