Anything for You by Jo Ann Ferguson Page A

that and more.” With his finger, he tipped up her chin. “What’s got you as nervous as a cat in a kennel? If it’s not me, then what?”
    â€œI have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    â€œYou don’t lie very well.” Laughing, he sat back on the log again. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of tinny bells rang through the afternoon. “Don’t get all huffy, Gypsy. If you want to be treated like one of the jacks, then stop acting like the wounded heroine out of a dime novel.”
    She smiled. “And you should stop acting like a burlesque villain.”
    â€œI thought I was doing a good job as the hero.”
    â€œI don’t need a hero.”
    â€œYou do if you’re in trouble.”
    She started to speak, but said nothing as she walked closer to the river. Prying a small stone from the snow, she tossed it at the one he had thrown onto the ice. It hit the first stone easily, sending them both toward the far shore. She faced him and said, “I can do things for myself. I don’t need a—”
    Adam leaped from where he was sitting as the sound of bells exploded through the clearing. Hoofbeats and a man’s shout rang in his ears.
    He wrapped his arms around Gypsy’s waist and propelled them both onto the frozen river. Her startled cry drowned out another feminine screech.
    As they hit the ice, her breath burst from her in a painful gasp.
    He sat before they had stopped sliding and gathered her up in his arms. “Gypsy, are you all right?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” She blinked as if she could not bring his face into focus. Suddenly her lips became a straight line. “You’re crazy! Why did you knock me off my feet?”
    He was tempted to tell her she would not let him sweep her off her feet, but he looked over his shoulder. “No matter what you say, honey, you do need a hero once in a while.”
    Gypsy clenched the front of Adam’s coat as she followed his gaze to where a sled was stopping farther along the riverbank. The tracks of the runners ran over where she had been standing. If he had not pushed her aside, she might have been hit.
    â€œWho’s driving like a madman?” she gasped, scrambling to her feet. The jacks knew the rules. No racing near the camp. Farley would send this fool down the hay trail for being so witless. If—
    She groaned when she heard a familiar voice call, “Gypsy? Are you there?”
    â€œFarley!” Adam muttered as he tried to stand. He fell back to the ice, his cast clunking hollowly on it.
    Crossing the ice and jumping up onto the bank, Gypsy demanded, “What in hell did you think you were doing driving like that?”
    Farley looked back at the sled. “Gypsy, watch your language.”
    She wanted to groan again. His warning meant only one thing, the very thing she should have guessed. Rose Quinlan must be in the sled, and Farley must have been showing off for his mistress.
    Picking up the crutch, she tossed it to Adam. “Are you out of your mind, Farley?”
    He held out a hand to assist Adam back up onto the bank.
    Adam disdained it and clambered up to stand beside Gypsy. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he asked, “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
    â€œI’m fine. You?”
    Instead of answering her, he turned to Farley. The camp manager almost cowered when Adam demanded, “What would you have done if you had run her down, Farley? How would you have explained to Glenmark that you’d killed his kingbee cook?”
    â€œKill?” she gasped. She looked from Adam’s anger to Farley’s dismay. Had this been more than just an accident? The threatening letter had said death would overtake her and someone she loved by an icy river. Hadn’t it? She could not remember the exact words. No! She would not be terrified by someone’s idea of a bad joke.
    â€œLook, Lassiter, you keep your nose out of