Leather and Lace - By DiAnn Mills Page 0,58

her cheek, and his eyes softened. “You’re beautiful and wise—a rarity and a treasure. You deserve a good man who’ll treasure you with affection and tenderness.” He turned and ambled toward the creek, the brush crackling beneath his boots.

Whirling back around, he captured her gaze. “A few moments ago, I saw the passion in your eyes, but then it changed to fear. I realize you’re afraid to trust, and I’m afraid to love. We’re a peculiar pair.” He picked up a stone, then skipped it across the water. “I can’t explain why I trailed Jenkins, and I can’t ask you to wait until I’m able to tell it all. The hatred for him was with me for so long that sometimes I wonder if I’m no better than he.” Taking a labored breath, he continued. “But with God’s help I’ll see this through.” The circles spread across the creek, ever circling, ever widening.

“I’m to blame for my own actions, Morgan. That much I know. Maybe we’re not such a peculiar pair after all.”

“The wounds are deep, and the years haven’t healed them. They are a part of me, ugly and cruel. Ask my family. They’ve seen my worst.”

“But I’ve seen your best.”

Casey studied the creek, quiet and peaceful, all the while remembering the time in the shelter of the overhanging rock along the Green River. She and Morgan were still running.

He slammed his fist into his palm. “You’ll always be looking over your shoulder for Jenkins or the law.” He seized her shoulders and forced her to look straight into his eyes. “No woman should live this way.” Instantly he lifted his hands from her. “I’m sorry. I had no right to grab you.”

Casey massaged her shoulders. “I don’t want to read your epitaph on the side of a tombstone. If you help me, then you’re in as much trouble as I am.” She bent and picked up a yellow-petaled wildflower. She had enough experience in veering the thoughts of men, except this time it was to help Morgan, not herself. Talk of something else. Leave the past behind. “I’m still hungry.”

“And the lady shall eat.” He walked past her and on to the wagon, where he lifted out the basket. “There’s a spot over there.” He pointed to a huge oak with branches low enough for them to sit and enjoy the afternoon.

“Good choice.” She smiled.

The hours passed quickly and without further incident. Neither spoke of what brought them together or the future. Croaking frogs, noisy blue jays, and a picnic lunch spread out on a red-checkered tablecloth absorbed all of their attention.

Late in the afternoon, Casey reluctantly gathered up the remains of their picnic. The sun dipped low in the horizon, painting the sky in yellow and pinkish orange as if holding on to the last bit of day. They’d laughed and teased, yet she knew nothing more about Morgan, except that he was clinging to God for help.

Task completed, she grasped the basket’s handle as Morgan’s hand slipped over hers. Their fingers touched, then slowly entwined, and she felt the fervor between them again burst into flame.

“You are a precious angel,” he said. “Too bad you were thrown into a den of lions.”

Not quite sure if she wanted to lose herself in the depths of his eyes, she watched a fat squirrel scamper up a tree. “I learned how to live with those lions,” she said, “and I survived. Those days taught me how to read a man by his actions rather than his words.”

“Is that why we get along so well?”

“No. It’s why we don’t. We’re both trying to outthink the other.”

“I believe you’re wrong, Miss Casey Shawne. What are my actions telling you now?” He inched closer, and his dimple deepened.

She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure.”

He chuckled. “I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t need another kiss.”

“Keep trying, and you’ll believe it.” But inside she began to waver.

“I’m losing.” He gathered her up in his arms, and she suddenly knew what it was like to be a snowflake and melt with the first hint of spring.

“You’re a better man not to give in to temptation,” she said.

“Give me one good reason why I can’t have one kiss?” He bent closer.

“Because one won’t be enough.”

“Exactly.” As his lips tasted hers, her arm slipped around his neck, and she wove her fingers through his thick hair. He pulled her closer, tighter. They both abandoned the grip on the basket and let it fall to

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