Running Wild by Denise Eagan Page A

aristocrat.
’Specially not for the daughter of a friend.
    A friend that reminded him of his father.
    For a second, disgust at his sick cravings displaced the
lust. Then he remembered that Ward Montgomery wasn’t his father. Ward’d never
even met Pa.
    “Anyhow,” he said standing, while wrangling with the urge to
cross the clearing, drag her into his arms and kiss her again until they were
both breathless. “I don’t reckon you can get rabies from a dead animal, but
I’ll leave the pelt all the same. Not worth the chance.” He glanced down at the
animal, shaking his head. “Tho’ it’s a shame. Would’ve made a nice little coat
for Sam.”
    “Your niece? Yes, I imagine it would,” Star said with a
hiccup of a laugh, “but I appreciate you not making the attempt.”
    When he focused on her again, she wore a grimace of
revulsion, mocking the merriment sparkling in her eyes. He grinned. “I bet with
what was left, Melinda could sew you a nice hand muff to bring back to Boston.
Show off to all your highfalutin’ friends.”
    She chuckled, a warm, gentle tickle to his ears. “Thank you,
Nicholas, but I much rather not bring that back to my friends—although I’m
certain they would be very impressed—if it means watching you skin that
unfortunate beast.”
    He pushed back his hat and squinted at her in mock
concentration. “You sure?”
    “I’m positive.”
    He chuckled and righted his hat again. “O.K., then I’ll get
that java going. It’s long past lunch time and I’m starved,” he said moving
toward his horse. “Mack packed the beans in your bag. If you get that, I’ll
fetch the sandwiches and cookies Melinda made.”
    Her eyes flickered over the cat. She bit her lip. “He’s
staring at me.”
    Amusement tickled his chest. “She—it’s a female. Want me to
throw a tarp over it?”
    She arched one silky eyebrow and his heart skipped a beat.
Sonuvabitch, what was it about that movement that stole his attention every
time?
    “Do you have one? It would help.”
    “Sure. Never travel without something to keep the weather
off, not in these parts, anyhow.”
    A short while later they were eating in comfortable silence,
a fire crackling between them. Nick’d dragged more wood from the pile and
periodically fed it to the fire. The heat turned Miz Montgomery’s face a pretty
shade of red, reminding him of the color it’d been right before she’d kissed
him.
    No. No, no, no, he was not riding down that road.
Never mind that her wildcat eyes kept straying to his mouth as if she wanted
another taste. Forget that they were alone in the woods, and nobody would ever
know if he kissed her again and built a big enough fire so that when he pulled
up those skirts—
    No. He formed one hand into a fist. He’d keep the fire between them and anything else he could think of, too, to keep his distance and maybe
smother the hunger down below. A good man didn’t fool with his friend’s
daughter, no matter that her family let her run wild. He was a crude Western
rancher. She was the daughter of a Boston aristocrat. Nothing good could come
from this.
    “You sure recovered from your fear fast,” he said to keep
his mind off what neither one of them was going to do.
    She shrugged as she washed down a bite of sandwich with
coffee. Black as sin and thick as mud, cowboy coffee. She’d made a face after
the first sip, but had valiantly drunk it without complaint. For all her blue
blood, she had a deal of spunk. And spunk in bed—
    “Why, Nicholas,” she answered him, thankfully cutting off
that thought, “I no longer have any reason to be afraid. You’ve proven very
capable of protecting me.” Her eyes sparkling, she fluttered her lashes like
she was a lost, helpless young girl, entirely dependent on him and his big,
strong arms. But the woman was just a few inches shy of his six feet, and she
didn’t have a helpless muscle in that tall, lush body. The expression oughta
have looked ridiculous on her. It