are ours?”
“Ah, sim. The two bay geldings on this end.” Rising, he gestured with the chisel. “They are mine. I hate to see them go.”
“With two hundred pounds,” Nick commented dryly, “you’ll be able to buy yourself a whole herd.”
“True. True, I will,” the smithy conceded with a broad grin.
“How much for saddles and tack?” Nick asked in that same cynical tone.
“Ami, you mentioned some extra when the job was done, no?” Ramon held out his palm. “I would say... another hundred will cover the rest. I have no saddles, but their cabedals, their halters are there.” He indicated some leather harnesses draped over the traces at the front of the wagon.
Nick opened his coin purse again. Sam didn’t waste another minute watching the transaction. She walked over to pick up a bridle—and almost stumbled. Moving freely felt so odd, unfamiliar.
She hadn’t realized how much she had gotten used to the heavy restriction of the shackles, to matching her stride to Nick’s. Without the cuff, her ankle felt strangely light, her steps almost weightless. Unnerved by the awkward sensation, she tried to ignore it, grabbing a bridle and heading for the horses.
“Wait.”
She heard Nick’s imperious command behind her and ignored it as well. She didn’t have to take his orders. Not anymore.
Reaching the bays, she chose the smaller of the two. They were draft horses, meant for pulling wagons, not carrying ladies. It took her a few minutes to figure out which part of the halter was meant for the animal’s mouth. She had often gone riding as a girl, but there had always been a groom to handle this sort of thing.
“You’re doing that wrong,” Nick said.
She glanced over her shoulder to see him walking toward her.
It struck her as utterly strange to view him from a distance. She had never seen him any way but up close before. He strode across the grass, all muscle and overpowering confidence, his broad shoulders straining against his shirt, the sunlight accenting the angles and planes of his body.
She ignored the little flip her heart made and turned back to her task. “I know what I’m doing,” she lied.
“You’re going to end up on your arse in the dirt before you get ten yards.” Reaching her side, he took the halter from her hands.
“I do not need your help,” she protested, piqued at the way he just took over. “You have no right to... to...”
He ignored her ire, deftly bridling the horse for her. “Were you planning to just ride off, your ladyship? No goodbyes?”
“How about good riddance?” She congratulated herself on how cold that sounded—because her pulse was fluttering wildly. She reached for the leather reins, but he held them back.
An odd expression played around his chiseled mouth. “I’m going to miss you, angel.”
He sounded like he meant it. Which only confused and infuriated her further. “You’ll get over it, I’m sure.” Every fiber of her being urged her to leave. Now. She moved to the side of the horse, intending to mount.
Nick remained in place, leaning against the animal’s flank, blocking her way, his gaze on the ground.
She clenched her fists, glanced uneasily toward Ramon. The smithy wasn’t paying them the least attention. He was sitting on the steps of his wagon, counting his earnings. “Mr. James,” she said under her breath, “you’ve got that pressing business appointment to keep in York, remember?”
Nick still didn’t budge.
She stared at his chest. “Goodbye, all right? Are you satisfied?” Her throat seemed to close off and suddenly she knew why she wanted—needed—to get out of there and fast.
Not because she was angry with him but because she was dangerously close to revealing her real feelings for him. Her voice had already turned quivery with emotion, with words that threatened to spill out.
Words she refused to speak.
She lifted her gaze, trying desperately to pierce him with a cold, uncaring look. “Goodbye. Is that what—”
He pulled her close with one arm, drawing her in tight against him as his lips covered hers in a kiss that was hot, deep, possessive. The feel of his mouth on hers sent cascades of fire through her, but this time she resisted. She pressed her fists against his chest.
But an instant later, she didn’t want to break free. The sound of protest in her throat became a sound of longing. She didn’t want her freedom. Didn’t want to say goodbye. Didn’t want to leave him.
Her resolve, her anger, her pretense of cool control melted in the heat of his