twitchy fingers on his laptop wasn’t enough motivation to wake up the sleeping old dragon.
But maybe he didn’t have to wake up Miss Gertie. Maybe he could slip in the French doors of the garden room and retrieve his laptop without anyone knowing. When he’d stayed in the room, he’d noticed one side of the French doors didn’t latch properly. With a little jiggling, he might be able to get into the room. He just hoped Reba hadn’t rented it out already. He doubted she had since the boardinghouse didn’t seem to be busy. There had only been a few guests while he’d been there and none in the last week.
But just in case, he tapped on the glass and waited a moment before he tried finagling the door open. It didn’t take long. Once he had it opened, he hurried to the nightstand. He breathed a sigh of relief when he opened it and saw his laptop. He had just reached in to get it when he heard a sound behind him. As an expert on the different weapons his characters used to kill their unsuspecting victims, he knew the metallic click of a gun being cocked.
What he had not experienced was the heart-stopping effect the sound had on the person the gun was pointed at. He froze and all the air seemed to leave his lungs . . . until a husky, feminine voice spoke.
“Put your hands up where I can see them and slowly turn around. Just so you know, I won first place in the Annie Oakley Shooting Contest at the county fair when I was only thirteen.”
Val’s shoulders relaxed. But only a little. He and the woman holding the gun weren’t exactly on the best of terms and he wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t shoot him when she found out who he was. He held up his hands and slowly turned.
Reba stood in the open door that led to the garden. Her face was in shadow, but the moonlight highlighted the wild mass of curls that fell around her shoulders and streamed through her flimsy white nightgown, outlining every voluptuous swell and curve. Desire replaced any residual fear. Which probably wasn’t the best thing when she seemed to be pointing an old Colt revolver straight at his heart.
“Good evening, Ms. Dixon,” he said.
The gun in her hand didn’t waver. “Why, Mr. Sterling, what a surprise.” She didn’t sound surprised at all. It made him wonder if she had known it was him all along.
“I forgot my laptop.”
“So you just thought you’d break in and get it?”
“The latch is broken. You probably should get that fixed.”
“I’ll certainly add that to my to-do list.”
He glanced at the gun. “Do you think you could lower that? Or are you going to shoot me for my past indiscretions?”
“You do deserve it after the hell you put me through this last month. And it’s not like I’d go to jail for shooting a thief who broke into my place of business. In Texas, we have pretty strict rules about entering someone’s house uninvited.”
“Ahh, the perfect murder. Just not the perfect revenge. Revenge should always include torture and pain.”
“I could shoot you in the leg . . . or somewhere else.” Her gaze lowered and he knew exactly where she looked. He could only hope it was too dark to see the evidence of his arousal. His body had a weird sexual reaction to Reba threatening him. One he tried to ignore.
“Now that would be a perfect revenge. So how did you know I was here?”
She lifted her gaze. “My aunt saw someone lurking around in the garden and called me at the caretaker’s cottage.”
“The caretaker’s cottage? Is that the little house on the edge of the garden? You live there? I thought you lived in the boardinghouse like your aunt.”
“I spend most of my time at the boardinghouse, but I sleep in the cottage. That frees up more rooms for paying customers.”
“Well, you have another free room now, Ms. Dixon. I’m sorry for interrupting your night. If you’ll lower that gun, I’ll be on my way.”
She didn’t lower the gun. Nor did she move. She just stood there looking like a wild haired, voluptuous, gun-toting goddess with the moonlight outlining her body and gilding her hair to a flaming gold.
He had never wanted a woman more.
Chapter Five
Reba had known it was Valentine as soon as she came upon him breaking into the garden room. He had a way of moving