Triumph by Heather Graham Page A

able to forget!” he said, still smiling, and she didn’t know if he was in the least serious, or if he simply enjoyed his game of taunting her.
    He indicated the log. “Sit, Godiva.”
    She stared at him uneasily. She should say good night—then run to the shelter of the cabin and the security of her boys.
    He knew her hesitation, and smiled.
    “Be reckless! Brave, bold, confident! Take the risk. Courage, Godiva! Indeed, I think you’re going to need it.”
    “There is no risk in sitting with you!” she countered, but it was a lie, for suddenly ...
    She felt as if she were indeed in the greatest danger she had yet encountered.

Chapter 4
    “C OFFEE WITH A SHOT of whiskey?” the Yank suggested. “I did make the offer earlier, though you refused me.”
    “Why, naturally, sir,” she said, “I am quite careful with a stranger, when that stranger is an enemy.”
    “Ah, so speaks the Southern Belle!” he taunted.
    “So speaks a war-weary, wary young woman, sir. Do you think you can make me drunk?”
    “Drunk? You? From a single shot of whiskey?” She wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended by the amusement in his eyes. “Not at all. I have a feeling that proper lady though you may be, you’re quite familiar with whiskey and other spirits.”
    She ignored his tone then. “Fine. I’ll have coffee with a good strong shot of whiskey. You’re right—I am familiar with spirits.”
    He poured her coffee and added a generous dose of the whiskey. She accepted it, watching him.
    “So ... you’re staying through the night?” she asked him.
    “I am.”
    “What if you fall asleep, and we cut your throat?”
    “You won’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because if I hear one of you near me—which I will—I’ll put a bullet through flesh so fast there won’t be time to scream.”
    She shivered at his tone, then huddled into herself, sipping her coffee, hoping that he hadn’t seen her reaction.
    But he was suddenly closer to her, hunkered down in front of her, his eyes searchingly on her own. “Did you intend to slit my throat, Godiva?” he inquired.
    “No,” she murmured uncomfortably.
    She swallowed a huge sip of coffee, burned her mouth, and almost choked. She stared at him again, then shook her head. It was odd to have him so close again, and alarming to feel that she was coming to know him in some small way. Odd, the things she noticed, like the size of his hand, the rough texture of his palms, the length of his fingers, the neat, clean cut of his nails. She swallowed hard, wishing she did not feel so unnerved, and that she could find him to be a far more repulsive person. “Why are you staying here? Why haven’t you moved on?”
    He shrugged, still too close. “I have my reasons.”
    “We’re just what I said we were, a small party of children. Injured children at that, as you can see. And very, very tired,” she added, sighing.
    “Then relax,” he suggested. “Put your head back. Sit upon the ground there. Let the fire warm you. It is, in truth, a spectacular night. The air is cool, but the fire is warm. The stars remain beautiful in a clear, ebony sky. Rest.”
    “Rest?” she inquired. “With you? Lie down beside a rattler?”
    He laughed easily. “Oh, Godiva! I think your fangs are probably far more dangerous than my own.”
    “But—”
    “Had I meant to hurt you or molest you in any way, lady, I have certainly had my opportunities, don’t you think?”
    She lowered her lashes, flushing.
    “Lie back on the saddle and blanket there.” He rose, indicating the spot with a sweep of his arm. “The pines are soft beneath the blanket; the canopy of the sky is certainly a lovely one tonight.”
    Near the log, before the fire, he had laid out his saddle, saddle blanket, and army-issue bedroll. She was amazed to realize just how welcoming and comfortable it all looked.
    But then, it had been a long day.
    “You had intended that as your own bed,” she said politely.
    “Lady Godiva, it is