Jane Bonander Read Free Page B

nearly done him in.
    What he’d expected hadn’t been what he’d found. He’d been searching for her for a month, since his return from the Orient. His first discovery was the burned-out village where he’d left her and Grandmother. With mounting fear, he’d tracked her to a ranch, but learned she hadn’t been there for six years. His gut had clenched when he discovered the rancher had been using her as hired help. A mere child, for Christ’s sake! He’d expected to find the same thing here, but found instead a happy, beautiful child, well dressed and cared for by a woman she called Mama. What in the hell was going on?
    It was hard for him to keep from staring at her. She was a beauty. More than that, she appeared to be sweet-tempered and compassionate. He felt a rush of pride, followed by a surge of guilt that washed every other feeling away.
    Mumser raced past, breaking into his reverie, the cat not far behind. Mumser was trained to know the “come” and “heel” commands, but at this point, under these circumstances, Jackson wasn’t sure it made any difference. Still, he had to try. He whistled a command, then called his dog. Mumser ignored him, as Jackson knew he would.
    With his hat in his hand, he crossed to where the woman continued to fuss with the dirt around her posies.
    When she first stepped onto the porch, he’d noticed her fire. White women were always full of fire. Always had their backs up about one thing or another. They never left a man in peace. But if Jackson thought she showed her temper when the old coot spat tobacco on her flowers, wait until she discovered why he was there. Then he’d see a damned inferno, he had no doubt about that.
    He hadn’t been drawn to a white woman in over ten years, for all the reasons that had just run through his head. Give him a geisha any day. Or, he thought, remembering painful years passed yet not forgotten, an Indian maiden. There was something soothing about women who knew how to please a man, and to his mind, white women hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it.
    And he was tired. Damned tired of getting paid to fight someone else’s battles in dirty corners of the world. His years as a globe-trotting freelance mercenary had finally caught up with him. He was ready to retire and settle down. More than ready.
    “You should really have a fence of some kind around those flowers, ma’am.”
    The woman stood, her hands on her hips, and gave him an icy stare, although her eyes were dark and hot. “Until today I didn’t have need for one.”
    He cleared his throat. “The name’s Wolfe, ma’am. Jackson Wolfe.” He bit back another groan as the animals raced past.
    “Cyclops!” The young girl continued to chase them, her braid, as thick as his fist, swinging from side to side.
    “After all this,” Jackson began somewhat hesitantly, “I … er … don’t suppose you have a spare room, do you?”
    Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. “After all this,” she countered, throwing her arms wide with a flourish, “you actually think I’ll rent you … and your dog a room?”
    “Well, I … er … just came from the jail, and Vern said you might have a room available.”
    Her gaze was wary. “Vern Roberts?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I’m acting sheriff until Vern gets back on his feet, and I’ll need a room.” This was where he wanted to stay. No other place would do. He’d camp outside if he had to.
    She turned away, but not before he saw her jaw clench. “As Burl said, I don’t rent to people with pets.”
    “I noticed you have a shed out back. That’ll do.”
    She swung around to face him, her expression incredulous. “You want to sleep in my shed?”
    Nodding, he added, “I’ll pay you five dollars a week.”
    Her jaw dropped. “You’ll pay me five dollars a week to sleep in my shed? My regular rooms don’t even cost that much.”
    The young girl nearly skidded to a stop beside them. “Mama, we have two vacant rooms, and you said we