Keely said blatantly.
Winnie pursed her lips. “I do wonder what’s going on between you and my big brother. But I won’t ask. Yet.”
She rushed out the back door and closed it behind her. Keely felt less secure.
She finished the pasta salad and put it into the refrigerator. She heard the front door open and close and felt a pang of relief. Winnie was back.
But the footsteps coming down the hall weren’t soft and muffled. They were heavy and hard. Apprehensive, she turned.
And there was Boone, wearing stained jeans and boots, a shirt wet with sweat, his Stetson dangling from one hand. His eyes, as they met hers, were blazing with anger.
“Come into the office, Keely,” he said tautly. “I’ve got something to show you.” He turned and walked away, leaving her to follow.
She paused at the open door of the office, tugging at the buttons on her long-sleeved white shirt she was wearing over tan twill slacks. He was holding the envelope that Winnie said had come by express service this morning. He took out a photograph and held it out to her.
“Have a look,” he said in a tone so threatening that it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “And then tell me you don’t have anything going with Clark!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KEELY MOVED SLOWLY into the room and took the photograph Boone held out to her. She almost choked when she saw it. The picture showed two people in bed, in an intimate embrace. The man was Clark. The woman had Keely’s face. But it certainly wasn’t Keely’s body. She almost laughed with relief at the very obvious attempt to frame her by putting her face on another woman’s body.
She looked up with the amusement in her eyes, but Boone wasn’t laughing. He was positively enraged, and he obviously believed the photograph was proof of her lies.
“This isn’t me,” she began.
“Like hell it isn’t!” he raged. He tore the photograph from her fingers and ripped it to shreds, tossing it onto the carpet. “If you’d just told me the truth, I could have accepted it, Keely. You didn’t have to lie!”
“But I didn’t,” she protested. “And I can prove it!”
Her hands went, reluctantly, to the buttons of her shirt. She didn’t want to have to go to this extreme, but he wasn’t going to be convinced easily.
He misunderstood the intent at once. “Spare yourself the embarrassment,” he said curtly. “I don’t care what you look like under that shirt. It was just a game on my part, Keely,” he added with a cold smile. “A little flirting, a little teasing, a few kisses. I’m sure you didn’t take it seriously. I only wanted to see how far you’d go. If you hadn’t made it clear before, you certainly made it clear just now. Either of the Sinclair brothers will do, as long as you get enough to make it worth your while, is that right? And I thought you were so honest and upright and hardworking! It was just a sham. Like all the others, you’re only after money!”
“That is not true!” she said defensively.
His eyes glittered again. “I don’t want you here anymore. Ever. You get out of my house, Keely, and go home. And don’t you come back again. I don’t give a damn if Clark or Winnie invites you, don’t come! Make an excuse, do whatever it takes. But don’t come here again.”
“You don’t understand!” she began helplessly.
“I said, get out! Now! If you don’t, so help me God I’ll call one of Hayes’s deputies and have you taken out in handcuffs!”
He was too angry to listen to reason, and he meant what he said. Keely couldn’t bear the thought of being hauled off to jail for trespassing. It would be all over Comanche Wells and Jacobsville in no time, and she’d never live it down.
She sighed, feeling as if she’d been crushed. She loved him, and he could treat her so badly.
“I’m going,” she said. “You don’t have to make threats to get me to leave. Please tell Winnie something came up.”
He didn’t answer her. He swept back down the hall, out the door and into what sounded like a pickup truck. It roared away as Keely started down the long driveway. Boone didn’t know that Winnie had driven her here. She didn’t have a way home. But she was too wary of Boone to go down to the bunkhouse and ask for a ride. It would do no good, anyway—all