Jodi Thomas - Rustler's Moon

She loved it all. This was where she belonged. She’d grown up with her father and uncle always talking antiques. Every family member’s house had tables no one touched and chairs no one sat in. Yet, all these treasures of this Western past came alive as the descendants told stories of how life had been here on this very land a hundred and fifty years ago.

When the last guest finally left, and the three volunteers vanished into a small kitchen in the back to clean up the refreshments, Angela almost danced up the stairs. She wanted to pull the pins from her tight bun and run like a carefree child through her new life.

But of course she wouldn’t. She giggled. She’d do what was expected, at least until everyone was gone. Being here was both terrifying and Christmas morning at the same time.

After stopping at her office to pick up a pencil and pad, she began at the top of the stairs jotting things down that needed to be done and ideas for new displays. It would take weeks to examine all the artifacts, but what fun she would have.

She was so lost in her ideas, she didn’t notice a man moving up behind her until she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

“I have a question.”

She jumped, almost tumbling into the diorama of the canyon. Her notepad and pencil flew into the air. The pad slapped against the floor, but the pencil jabbed her attacker’s forehead drawing a drop of blood.

His right hand shot out, catching her shoulder as his tall frame leaned forward. His grip was strong, digging into her arm as he fought to pull her toward him and away from the display glass.

Opening her mouth to scream, she whirled. Her elbow plowed into his ribs as she found her footing. He folded over and his jaw slammed against her forehead, sending his hat flying into the display.

Both let out a cry. Hers sounded more like a squeal, and his seemed more like swearing, but when they met one another’s eyes, both were in pain.

She recovered first. “Mr. Wagner!” At over six-four, he was hard to forget. Especially when he’d added boots and a hat to his height. He had towered above her when he shook her hand at the reception, and he towered over her now.

“Mrs. Jones.” He gasped as he straightened, rubbing his ribs.

She had no idea what kind of man he was, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “My colleagues are in the back. If you are thinking of assaulting me, all I have to do is scream, and they’ll come running.”

Wagner made an effort to smile. “I doubt your three volunteers have run in thirty years. A cattle prod wouldn’t budge them into more than a stroll. As for assaulting you, I’m the one with a hole in my chest from your elbow and several teeth loose from the blow to my jaw.” He brushed two fingers across his forehead. “It appears I’m also bleeding. All I planned to do was ask you a question, lady.”

She saw his point. Surprisingly enough, she seemed to have won the short battle. “Well, Mr. Wagner, if you’re thinking of asking me to marry you, you can forget it. I’m wise to your tricks. I was warned by the sheriff.”

The tall cowboy gave up looking injured and stared at her as if she’d gone crazy. Anger flared. “Look, much as I’m turned on by your plain, gray suit and those practical shoes, I’m not in the habit of proposing to complete strangers on first contact.”

“I’ve heard different, Vern Wagner.”

Now he looked shocked. Then, to her surprise, he smiled and winked at her. “You do fit the list, Mrs. Jones, except I’m thinking you’re too smart. Dumb was a definite on the criteria. That suit looks like it’s homemade, and I’m betting you cook. Now that I think about it, we might as well get married, assuming your bank account is hefty and your husband is missing.”

She could only stare at the insane man. Maybe there was too much inbreeding in this county. He looked all right, close to perfect, actually. Tall, handsome with his sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. From boots to Stetson he was dressed as if he’d walked off the cover of a romance novel. Too bad he was brain-dead.

“Maybe we should get on with the mating. After all, your being pregnant at the wedding would be a plus.” He leaned down to her level as he moved closer.

Angela froze in total shock as his lips touched hers. The few times in her life she’d been kissed, really kissed, were nothing like this. His lips were soft against hers, but he seemed to know what he was doing.

Her entire body warmed. This man was a lightning strike on a clear day.

He hesitated as though just as surprised as she was, then leaned closer letting his body brush against her. One hand moved along her waist. She wasn’t sure if he was steadying her, or himself, as the kiss deepened.

She accepted his gift, hungry for a passion she’d never tasted. She had no idea how to kiss him back like this, but for one wild moment in her life, she wanted to learn.

Just as she wondered if crazy was contagious, someone hollered, “Wilkes!” so loud it echoed through the walls.

Wagner straightened and pulled his hat down over his still-bleeding forehead. He was pulling away, straightening to the stranger he’d been moments before, but for one second, she felt his fingers press into her side as if letting go didn’t come easy.

She stumbled as she stepped around him and felt his hand rest against her back once more, steadying her after his gentle assault.

An old man limped into the room. “How long do you expect me to wait for you, boy? I got things to do back at the ranch.”

She glanced at the man beside her. He definitely wasn’t a boy and hadn’t been for years, but he didn’t seem offended by the old man’s tone.

“Angie Jones,” Wagner said as if, now that they’d kissed, they were old friends, “I’d like you to meet my uncle, Vern Wagner.”

The older man took off his hat and smoothed his palm over the few hairs left on his head. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

The man beside her leaned close to her ear. “I’m Wilkes Wagner, Angie. My uncle has been proposing to women for years and none have taken him up on it yet. I’m not sure, but I think he made up the part about leaving a few brides at the altar that everyone believes.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry for frightening you. I thought you were in on a joke my uncle was playing on me.”

She thought over the odd encounter. She might not know how to fight off a man who wanted to kiss her, but she knew how to be professional. “And what was your question, Mr. Wagner?”

Wilkes glanced at his uncle. “I’ll have to come back another time. I’d like you to help me with some research on an old house.”

“I will be happy to,” she managed. “Only, please call before you come. I’m going to be very busy learning the museum.”

“I’ll try.” He smiled, and she knew he was laughing at her. “Good day, Angie.”

She straightened, trying to hold her ground. “My name’s not Angie, Mr. Wagner.” Only her father called her Angie.

To her surprise Wilkes Wagner grinned. “It’s not Jones, either, Miss Harold, and there’s no ring on your finger. If you didn’t keep the man, don’t keep his name.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Angela

Ransom Canyon Museum

ANGELA PLOPPED DOWN in her office chair and swiveled around to face her huge window. The beautiful canyon welcomed her, calmed her. She felt the freedom of this place pounding through her blood.

She’d been at work less than three hours and already she’d survived a party in her honor, injured a man she thought was attacking her and had a marriage proposal. Well, the proposal part was a joke, but still he had asked. Maybe living in this little town wasn’t going to be as boring as she’d hoped. Maybe she’d be different here. Braver.