Jillian Hart by Maclain's Wife

going to break one of Pauline's promises to Emily.
    He stepped forward, ready to protect his daughter from yet another woman's rejection. "I'll–"
    "I'd love to read to you," Polly interrupted, and that whiskey smooth voice of hers had his skin tingling. "I truly would. But you know what? I would rather tell you my favorite story. One my own mother used to tell me when I was your age. Would that be all right?"
    He waited, the fight draining out of him.
    Emily hopped onto her bed, laid back and pulled up the flowered sheet to her waist. Expectation sparkled in her eyes, and she looked so happy. He'd never seen her so happy.
    "Once upon a time in a land far away. . . "
    Polly's voice turned dreamy and mesmerizing, but it wasn't the story Ben listened to. It was Polly–the woman, who'd surprised him more in one day than anyone had in a long time.
    He'd expected the worst from her. He'd learned to expect that from people. But she'd proven she was as good as her word. So he listened to the rise and fall of her voice. She could change a simple fairytale he'd told Emily a thousand times into something magical. He saw the goodness inside her.
    It was a goodness of heart that no bounty hunter could keep for long.
    Ben had to wonder now if he'd proposed to Polly for Emily or for himself–for the young man he used to be before a hard world stripped his heart bare.
    He was glad that hadn't yet happened to Polly Brown.

Chapter Seven

        Polly gazed down from her window. Night enveloped the town. Every evening for a week Ben had his deputy drive her to the hotel. Every evening for a week she'd told stories to Emily, dodging the written tales the girl wanted her to read instead.
    Every day neither Ben nor Emily had let her cook anything. Martha was very happy her business hadn't fallen off because of Ben's new bride.
    But every night Ben or his deputy kept watch on her hotel, keeping her a prisoner without bars.
    She headed down to the hotel's lobby, where the owner looked up from his paperwork and greeted her with a welcoming hello.
    "Nice night out. The kitchen's still open if you need a cup of tea, Miss Curtis."
    "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Mitchell." Polly laid her hand over her pocket, the ever-present gun tucked away there. She kept it unloaded when she was around Emily, but here, at night, she wanted the safety of her old friend.
    "My missus wanted me to ask you when the wedding is."
    "The wedding?" Then she blushed. "We haven't set a date yet."
    "See that you do. Ben's a good man. He's kept this town free of outlaws and troublemakers, and in this part of the Territory that's a tough feat."
    The kindly old man gave her a wink, then returned to his work. He had no notion that a notorious outlaw's daughter was standing right in front of him.
    She adjusted the brim of her bonnet and headed out into the night. Cool air met her, not cold yet, but the first real hint that autumn was on its way. The night felt solemn; the streets were nearly empty. Polly crossed through the dust and strolled along the vacant boardwalk. Her shoes tapped pleasantly in the darkness. The faint sound of piano music rose on the night breeze, bringing with it the soothing scent of cheap draft.
    "Howdy, Ben." She strolled past him, knowing she'd surprised the heck out of him.
    The shadows moved. '"How did you know I was here?"
    "You aren't as stealthy as you think." Polly kept walking. Sure enough, he caught up with her, his boots falling into a deeper rhythm alongside hers. It was strange to be alone with him, without Emily nearby. "Where's your daughter?"
    "My deputy's wife sleeps over when I need to work nights."
    "Too bad for your deputy."
    "He's working, too."
    The snappy refrain of a familiar barroom ditty rang in the air. She elbowed open one batwing door. "You might as well come in and have a drink with me, since