McKenna's Bartered Bride. Sandra Steffen

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      The bell over the door jingled, and a broad-shouldered, muscularly built man paused just inside the door. Josie swallowed and quickly averted her gaze. She especially wouldn’t want to marry him.

      Jake McKenna. His name was as hard as the rest of him; his eyes were dark brown, his hair darker still. Although he wore it a little longer than the other men in the area, it did nothing to soften his angular face. It did nothing to alleviate the nerves that crawled up her spine every time she came face-to-face with him, either.

      “Afrernoon,” he said, tugging once on the brim of his black Stetson.

      “Hello. Can I—” She cleared her throat quietly. “That is, can I help you?” she asked, sliding her accounting underneath the counter.

      “As a matter of fact, I’m hoping you can.”

      She didn’t know what made her more nervous: his answer or the fact that he was staring at her in a very deliberate, very assessing sort of way.

      “What would you like?” she asked, striving for a cheery tone. “Something baked? A bouquet of flowers? Or something from the five-and-dime end of the store?”

      What did he want? Jake thought, glancing around. Now there was a question. Stalling, he peered at the glass-fronted cooler where a few scraggly bouquets of flowers sat in glass pitchers. Next he cast a glance at the bread in the window, and finally at a bin at the end of the counter containing kites and rubber balls.

      “Mr. McKenna?”

      He eased closer and was about to try on the smile he’d been practicing when a young voice called, “I’m all done with my painting, Mama, what can I...”

      A little scrap of a girl slipped around a curtain separating the back room from the rest of the store, her question trailing away the instant she noticed Jake. “Hello,” she said, smiling sweetly.

      The girl looked about five or six. She wasn’t pretty, exactly, but she was female all the way down to the holes in her shabby tennis shoes.

      “Mama,” she said without taking her eyes off Jake. “I have a joke.”

      “I have a customer, sweet pea.”

      The little girl all but batted her eyelashes. Jake knew women who could have taken lessons. One of them was in this very room.

      “Wanna hear my joke, mister?”

      Jake shrugged, and the little femme fatale sashayed closer. “What’s Irish and stays out all summer?”

      “Kelsey, honey,” Josie admonished gently. “I don’t think Mr. McKenna has time for jokes.”

      “Do you have time?” Kelsey asked.

      “How long is your joke?” he asked.

      “Not long.”

      “Okay. What’s Irish and stays out all summer?”

      “Patti O’Furniture.”

      Kelsey raised her eyebrows in silent expectation. Jake felt a strange compulsion to laugh. He would have, too, if a deep, sultry chuckle hadn’t drawn his attention. Josie was bent at the waist, her face angled down toward her daughter, a shock of unruly red hair skimming her cheek. He’d thought she was shy and plain. Her laughter was neither of those things. It was uninhibited, and it filled the quiet store like a song, undiluted, marvelous, catching. A woman who could laugh like that could probably curl a man’s toes in bed.

      He felt a tightening in his throat and a chugging in his chest Neither were particularly pleasurable sensations, but the strumming, thickening surge taking place slightly lower felt pretty damn good, so good in fact that he took a second look at Josephine Callahan. He still thought she was on the plain side, but now he wondered if it was the result of a lack of adornment. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, nothing that might call attention to the features of the woman inside the loose-fitting, faded dress. Her eyes were green and pretty enough, he decided, her hair a shade of red he’d never seen before. It was unusual, yes, but he’d be willing to stake his ranch that it was natural.

      The ranch. That was why he was here. That, and the harebrained idea Sky had come up with to keep all of it in one piece. Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a harebrained idea after all.

      Josie wasn’t sure why she was laughing. The joke had been silly, and yet it had struck her funny bone. Kelsey thought so, too, and was giggling for all she was worth. Her brown eyes were crinkled, her shoulders hunched forward, her head tipped back. Why, it was as if she believed the change in the atmosphere was all her doing.

      The change in atmosphere? Josie straightened. The atmosphere in the tiny store had changed. She raised her eyes to Jaloe’s and caught him looking. She averted her gaze hurriedly, but it seemed her traitorous eyes had minds of their own. She found herself staring up at him. She swallowed and had to force herself not to take a backward step. He was looking at her as only a man could look at a woman. And she was responding to that look.

      She wasn’t well.

      In an attempt to tear her gaze away, she gestured to the baked goods on display beneath the glass-topped counter. “Can I interest you in a homemade pie, Mr. McKenna?”

      He shifted closer. “Actually, I came in to talk to you about something.” His gaze settled to her mouth, to her neck, to her shoulders. “Something important.”

      Josie’s breath hitched. She definitely wasn’t well.

      “Well,” she said, clearing her throat of the bothersome little frog that seemed to have gotten stuck there. “I mean, what did you want to talk about?”

      “It’s a private matter.”

      She gestured to her empty store. “It doesn’t get much more private than this, Mr. McKenna.”

      His gaze swung to Kelsey, and Josie understood. Trying on a smile that felt a little stiff, she said, “I’m afraid I don’t get complete privacy until after Kelsey goes to bed at eight.”

      He gave her that assessing, calculated look again. And then he said, “I’ll come back later. After she’s in bed. You live in the apartment above the store, right?”

      “Er, I mean, yes. Yes, I do, but I don’t think—” For heaven’s sake, she was staring into his eyes again, wondering if he ever smiled. Her cheeks grew warm. If she wasn’t careful, a blush was going to rise to her face. It might help if he would look someplace else.

      As if in answer to her prayers, he reached into his back pocket and drew out his wallet. “I’ll take all four loaves.”

      “Pardon me?”

      “That homemade bread. It is for sale, isn’t it?”

      Jasie came to her senses with a start. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She scrried around the counter and took the bread from the window display. Pleased to have something constructive to do, she placed the loaves in a bag and pressed the appropriate keys on her old cash register.

      “That’ll be...”

      He СКАЧАТЬ