Pat Tracy - Cade's Justice

Since he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to like what she had to say on the matter, he silenced her by sweeping her into his arms.

“Oh!”

The startled gasp had to be less of a protest than the one she’d been about to utter. He noticed again how light she was. A robust breeze could have blown her into Kansas.

She attempted to squirm free. “Now just a minute…” “She hurt her foot earlier this evening,” he informed the clearly shocked group. “She’ll be able to recover more quickly at my place.”

It didn’t matter that his explanation made no sense. People rarely challenged his decisions.

Proving there was an exception to every rule, Thornton spoke. “I don’t think Miss Step appreciates being manhandled. As. for her foot—”

‘Terrible accident,” Gideon interjected. “The pain makes it difficult for her to speak.”

“I can talk perfectly—”

Gideon patted the back of her head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Mmmph…”

With her cheek pressed against his chest, her objection emerged as a muffled squeak.

Suspicion clouded Thornton’s hostile expression. “If she injured her foot, a doctor should examine it.”

“Good idea,” Gideon responded. “If it isn’t better by morning, we’ll send for one.”

Miss Step ceased her efforts to free herself. He waited a half second for her to launch a verbal battle, demanding he release her. None was forthcoming. “Well, it’s getting late. We’d best be on our way.”

Gideon strode toward his carriage. Hennesy hadn’t returned. He’d probably joined the bucket brigade dousing the last of the smoldering wreckage that had been the academy. Smoke, and the promise of more rain, ripened the morning air. The driver’s help wouldn’t be needed much longer.

Gideon jerked open the carriage door. Emma Step remained a stiff and unyielding package. Even though she wasn’t struggling to free herself, she still refused to put her arms around his neck. If that was all the form her rebellion took, he counted himself lucky. He wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her yell for help, rather than allow him to carry her anywhere. Maybe the puny blow she’d delivered to his jaw had siphoned some of her spunkiness.

Taking care not to jostle her foot, he deposited her inside the carriage. Her lips were compressed into a tight line. There was a defiant gleam in her eyes as she glared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him or his considerate gesture. Damned female was too stubborn for her own good, that much was obvious. It irritated him that she didn’t seem to realize how fortunate she was that he’d taken her under his wing.

If the gray gown she wore was any indication of the quality of her clothing that had been burned, Gideon was ready to declare the fire a community service. He remembered the surge of anger he’d experienced when he removed the miserably constructed walking slipper from her injured foot. In the split second when he first saw the newspaper she’d used to add a layer of protection to the worn sole, he’d tried to dull his sense of outrage with a quip about her putting the negative editorials printed about him to good use.

Then he’d noticed the proud tilt of her chin so at odds with the look of hot embarrassment flashing in her eyes. At that point, he’d wanted to pitch both her shoes in the hearth. It hadn’t mattered that she was a stranger to him. He’d been struck by the bizarre urge to buy her several pairs of shoes, and some new stockings—ones with pretty bits of lace instead of neatly darned patches. While he was at it, he’d make sure she had a pair of pantalets that didn’t look as if they’d been fashioned when Martha Washington was First Lady.

He ducked his head inside the carriage. “The last two times I’ve asked you to wait for me, you’ve struck out on your own.”

He wanted her to know he’d kept count of her mutinies.

She stared straight ahead. He discovered he didn’t like being treated as if he were invisible. “I’m getting Hennesy. You will be here when I return.”

She maintained her silence.

“I’m not leaving until you promise to do as I say.”

More silence.

“Stop frowning. You’ve got enough wrinkles as it is.”

As he figured, that had her head pivoting toward him.

“You are the rudest, the nastiest, the most vile man whom it has ever been my misfortune to meet”

“I just said that so you would pay attention. You don’t have any wrinkles.” If she owned a mirror, she would know that.

“Well, you’ve succeeded. You definitely have my attention.”

Probably the same kind of dangerous attention Delilah had directed to Samson before she sheared him like a sheep. “Look, we both know I could stand here for hours telling you how lovely you are.”

Her eyes narrowed. He wondered why he should be surprised. Whereas most women turned to warm honey when they received a compliment, Emma January Step imitated a blast of arctic air.

“Do I appear to be an imbecile?”

There was only one safe answer. “No.”

“Then, once and for all, cease your remarks about my appearance!”

Obviously the night’s events had caught up with her. Rational thought was beyond her. He decided to employ a different tactic.

“Be reasonable. You’ve been up all night, and a hell of a night it’s been—what with Courtney running away, you hurting your foot and the academy burning down. Why don’t we call a truce? After you’ve had some rest and taken stock of your situation, I’ll deliver you wherever you want to go.”

From the slight thawing of her formerly frigid gaze, he sensed he was making headway.

It occurred to him that life would be a lot easier if he and Emma were from an earlier period of time. Maybe the Dark Ages. Back then, if a man chanced upon a woman as damnably intriguing as she was, he could carry her off to his castle, declare her his possession and then go about the business of organizing his next battle.

There was a lot to be said for simpler times. But then, the chances were that a woman as sharp-tongued as Emma would have been burned at the stake before she reached her eighteenth birthday. Back then, people hadn’t taken kindly to witches, even if they shared an uncanny resemblance to more angelic beings. He let go of the image of her in a tower bedchamber reluctantly.

“When Courtney wakes, up, she’ll be devastated about the school being destroyed,” he continued. “I know she loved it there.”

He took shameless advantage of the tender sensibilities Emma had evidenced when she believed Courtney was wandering Denver’s streets.

“The fire will come as a shock.” A pensive expression claimed Emma’s features. “I do care about your niece, Mr. Cade.”

“Gideon,” he corrected, suspecting it would be a while before she felt comfortable calling him by his given name—more than the couple of days she probably envisioned staying in his home. “Courtney kept most of her belongings in her room at the academy, Emma.”

He remembered the wagonload of girlish clothes and assorted possessions Hennesy had transported from Courtney’s upstairs bedchamber to the school. Gideon’s conscience stirred. His niece really would be devastated that her things had been destroyed. He recalled one photograph, in particular, that of her parents holding her when she was a baby. Locked in his memory was the image of Courtney carrying the framed picture when her former governess had accompanied her to the academy. Where before his motives for having Emma stay with him had been vague, Gideon acknowledged she would be better suited than he to console his niece.

“Ask me.”

He looked into Miss Step’s otherworldly eyes and decided clarity was needed. “What?”