Lone Wolf's Lady. Judy Duarte

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      When Sarah Jane nodded, the woman smiled and applied a bit behind the girl’s ears, too, her movements slow and gentle.

      It was nice to see a softer side to her. Apparently there was more to her than met the eye, although what met his eye was rather appealing. In fact, the sight was almost mesmerizing.

      But Tom couldn’t very well continue to gaze at her like an awestruck kid with a crush on the schoolmarm. What if she caught him doing it?

      The last thing in the world he needed to do was to let down his guard with a woman as outspoken as Katie O’Malley, no matter how pretty she was, no matter how softhearted she might appear to be.

      He’d seen the feisty side of her. And right now, he had enough trouble on his hands.

      For a moment, his resolve waffled. If circumstances were different, if he were just passing through, he might have said or done something stupid. But he had a job to do, a child to protect. And there was another issue he couldn’t ignore.

      Katie O’Malley was also white.

      And Tom McCain wasn’t.

      That might not make a difference to people like Hannah and Trapper Jack, but there were others who’d object. Others who’d made it more than clear that Tom wasn’t to step foot on their ranch.

      Tom had been about nine years old when he’d gone to the Lazy G to deliver a pair of moccasins his mother had made for Caroline. The girl hadn’t been home because she’d gone into town with the housekeeper, but Randolph Haney, Harrison’s friend and solicitor, had been there.

      He’d responded to Tom’s request to speak to Caroline with a shove that had knocked him to the ground.

      “She doesn’t need anything from the filthy likes of you. Get out of here. And don’t ever come back.” Then, for good measure, Haney had kicked him while he was down, splitting his head open with the toe of his boot.

      Tom still bore a scar from the attack, a reminder to keep his distance from the Lazy G, which he’d made a point of doing. But nearly a year later, at the urging of his mother, he’d gone back with her one cold, rainy afternoon.

      Haney had answered the door that day, too. His mother had begged him to let her talk to Harrison. Haney had left them outside and gone into the house. A few minutes later, when he returned, he’d pulled his gun and ordered her off the property.

      And take your whelp with you.

      It had been a hard lesson, a painful one—because Tom’s mother had died several days later.

      That was why Trapper had objected to Tom taking the job to find Caroline in the first place. But there were some things a boy didn’t forget, some promises meant to be kept.

      So after taking Sarah Jane back to the Lazy G, assuming Tom was convinced that she’d be treated as a rightful heir, he’d leave Stillwater for good. He had no need for Randolph Haney or Harrison Graves.

      He didn’t need Miss O’Malley, either—except for the next few days. After that, when he got to Hannah’s place, he’d ask Trapper to escort the troublesome redhead back to Pleasant Valley. Then he’d be done with her for once and for all.

      Yet he continued to watch her until she glanced up and spotted him. As their eyes met, their gazes locked.

      He knew how she felt about women’s equality. But how did she feel about equality for all people, even those with darker skin?

      He supposed it really didn’t matter.

      Either way, he couldn’t let her think that he was fawning over her. So he’d better put some distance between them. They might have to share a seat on the same wagon, but there were other ways to create distance. One way would be to let her know who was boss.

      “It’s time to eat,” he said. “There are some supplies in the wooden box under the seat of the wagon, but Rose packed a basket of food for us to eat this evening. That’s probably going to be the easiest and best-tasting meal we’ll have for the next few days. So when you’re finished with whatever you’re doing here, you can start setting it out.”

      Miss O’Malley pondered his request for a moment, then she straightened, crossed her arms and tossed him a pretty smile. “I’ll be a while yet. So if you’re hungry, then maybe you ought to do it yourself.”

      It’s not as if Tom had never set up camp before or fixed supper for himself and Trapper. But he wasn’t about to let the schoolmarm order him around as though he were one of her students, and she may as well get that straight.

      Of course, he wasn’t about to have a showdown in front of the child.

      “Sarah Jane,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket and withdrawing a small paper bag. “Go see about Erin and, if she’s awake, offer her one of these. You can have some, too.”

      Without the least bit of reluctance, Sarah Jane pulled free of the woman’s grip on her shoulders and approached Tom with an outstretched hand.

      When she reached him, he handed her the bag. She peeked inside before heading back to the campsite.

      “What did you give her?” the schoolmarm asked.

      “Lemon drops.”

      When Sarah Jane was out of earshot, Tom crossed his own arms. “It seems that neither of us likes taking orders, but let’s get one thing straight. I’ll be making all the decisions on this trip. You’ll do what I say—and when I say it.”

      “I don’t mind yielding to you because of your experience and know-how, but I’m not going to take orders blindly, just because you’re a man and I’m a woman.”

      “Like I said, you’ll do as I say. And you won’t question my reasons or motives. That means you’ll handle the meals.”

      “Apparently you didn’t hear me.” The petite redhead stood firm. “I’ll return to camp when I’m good and ready. And if you have a job for me to do, you’ll ask me to do it, rather than tell me. You’ll also use words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”

      “Listen here, Miss O’Malley. You’re not in charge. I am. And you’re lucky I don’t throw you on the back of that nag you call a horse, turn it around and slap its rump to send you back to town in a dead run.”

      “Are you trying to intimidate me?” she asked, her voice coming out a bit wobbly.

      “Do you scare easily?” he asked.

      “No, I don’t.”

      He flashed a taunting smile. “I suppose you’re too smart to be afraid.”

      “I’m bright,” she admitted, “and better educated than most—male or female.”

      “That might be true, but driving a wagon and crossing rugged territory takes more knowledge than you can find in a book. It takes common sense, instinct and courage—things you can’t learn in school.”

      “What СКАЧАТЬ