Rocky Mountain Man (Historical) Read Free

need special services, like a repaired button?”
    He’d seemed to rear up even taller at her perfectly necessary question, although he hadn’t actually moved a muscle. His face, his eyes and his entire mood had turned as dark as a moonless night when a storm was building.
    â€œJust repair the damn thing and leave a note in the bag when you return the clean clothes. I’ll pay you next time around. Never—” he’d lifted his upper lip like a bear ready to attack “—never get anywhere near me, you hear?”
    What a perfectly disagreeable man—no, beast. That’s what he was. Really. As if she would want to get anywhere near him! “There’s no need to shout. There is nothing wrong with my hearing,” she’d told him as sweetly as she could manage. “I’ll do as you ask, of course.”
    She needed his business.
    â€œSee that you do!” His dark eyes had narrowed with a fierce threat before he’d turned and slammed the door to his log cabin shut with the force of thunder.
    It was his mood that was tainting the forest, she was sure of it. Every time she drove the rutted and barely visible road, for it was always in danger of growing over, she was probably the only vehicle that used it, she could feel the hate like a dark cloud that emanated from him. It was a far-reaching cloud.
    It was not only her imagination, for Morris, her faithful chestnut gelding was uneasy in his traces. He swiveled his ears and lifted his nose, scenting the wind. Alert for danger—alert for any sign of him. Morris didn’t like Mr. Hennessey, either. It was hard to imagine that anyone—or anything—could.
    Oh, Lord, she’d reached the end of the road. The trees broke apart to make a sudden clearing. There was the small yard, the stable and paddock, and beyond that the little log cabin on a rise. Halfway between the stable and the house there was a bright honey pile of logs. And a man with an ax.
    It was him. He had his back to her as he worked. Sunlight streamed from a hazy sky to shine on the finest pair of men’s shoulders she’d ever seen. Muscles bunched and played in smooth motion beneath skin as stunning as polished bronze. Mr. Curmudgeon himself, shirtless, his dark hair tamed at his nape with a leather thong, was splitting wood like an ordinary man, but there was nothing ordinary about her least favorite customer.
    As sunlight worshiped his magnificent shape, he drew back the ax and sent it hurling toward the split log. A great rending sound echoed through the clearing as the blade of steel cracked the wood and two pieces tumbled apart.
    The hairs stood up on Betsy’s nape as he set down his ax. He hadn’t looked around, but he’d sensed her presence, for he became larger and taller, if that were possible, so that he looked more than his impressive six-plus feet. His shoulders braced, his arms bowed, his big hands curled into fists. Even from her buggy seat, she saw his jaw clamp tightly and the tendons in his neck bunch.
    She was early, she knew it. Judging from the grimace on Mr. Curmudgeon’s face, he was not only surprised, but also angry to see her. Well, that was too bad. He didn’t have to talk to her. She didn’t plan on saying a single word. She had his bag of clean and ironed laundry to deliver, neatly folded as always. He could be as unpleasant as he wished, it was his right and this was his property, after all.
    But she didn’t have to let it bother her.
    It was difficult, but she managed to nod politely asshe drove past where he stood, unabashedly scowling at her unexpected arrival. She’d prepared for him not to be happy, but honestly, she’d never seen such an offensive sneer. His powerful dislike rolled over her like wind off a glacier and it seemed to dim the brightness and warmth of the sun.
    Okay, he wasn’t just unhappy. He was furious. She shivered in the suddenly cool air. Where was