Rocky Mountain Man (Historical) Read Free Page B

his land. He lived far away from civilization for a reason, so he could do what he wanted. There was nothing this woman, or any woman like her, had that he needed.
    He didn’t care if he offended her, and if he did, then all the better. Maybe she’d leave faster.
    But no, she was taking her time. Carefully positioning the laundry in the back of the buggy—apparently there was a complicated system. She seemed intent, half bent over the small boot of the vehicle, and he could only see the bottom half of her skirt. Good. That was an improvement. Maybe all of her would be gone and he would be alone and safe.
    He learned long ago what a woman could do to a man. They were the fairer sex, or so he’d been told, but he knew better. A pretty face could hide a deceitful and ruthless heart more easily than an ugly one. He had to admit that Betsy Hunter was one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen.
    Not beautiful, she wasn’t exactly that. He’d seen enough women in his time to know that beauty had its own aloofness. Betsy Hunter was not a cool vision. No, she was something far more appealing. She was like the sun. She shone from the inside out. Her lovely brown hair always seemed to be tumbling down from its pins to blow in the wind and tangle around her face. She was as slender as a young willow and she moved like a wild mustang, all power and grace and fire.
    She straightened from her task and he could see more than just the swirling hem of her skirt. That was not an improvement. He was a man, and a man with needs long unfulfilled, and his eyes were hungry, he could not deny that. He watched her soft round bosom shiver as she hurried to her horse’s side. Her lush bow-shaped mouth had to taste like sugar, he decided, when she leaned close to speak to her gelding.
    No wonder the animal preened and leaned into her touch. Duncan envied the gelding for the way it enjoyed the light strokes of her gentle fingers.
    Desire pulsed in his blood, growing stronger with each beat. He watched her spin on her dainty black shoes. Her ruffled hem swirled, offering a brief look at her slim, leather-encased ankles. Which made him think of her legs. Walking as she was, with the wind against her, her petticoats were no protection. Thecotton fabric molded to her form and his gaze traced the curve of her hips and the length of her fine thighs—
    â€œI’ll see you next week, Mr. Hennessey!” she called cheerfully, waggling her fingertips to wave goodbye.
    It was such an endearing movement, and it shocked him that he noticed. That longing roared up within him for what he could never have, for what he could never let himself want. What was wrong with him? He forced the heat from his veins. He turned into cold steel.
    One pretty woman had cost him everything. He would never be fooled again, not by Miss Hunter or by anyone like her. It was fitting that she climbed into her fancy little buggy and hurried her horse down the road. Good riddance. He didn’t like how her gentle smile twinkled in her sky-blue eyes. He really disliked the lark-song music of her voice.
    In fact, he hoped to never see her again. Next Friday at one in the afternoon he would make sure he was long gone. Out hunting or just out for a twenty-mile walk. Gunmen could attack, a wolf could stalk her, or she could break an axle on that expensive buggy of hers, and he wouldn’t care. He’d keep away from her.
    No woman was his lookout. No, not ever again.
    He gave thanks when the fir and pines guarding his land closed her from his sight. All he heard was the faint squeak-squee-eak of a buggy wheel and then nothing but silence.
    Just the way he liked it.
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    Well, that hadn’t gone too badly, considering. Betsy waited until she was certain Mr. Hennessey was wellout of sight before she retrieved her lunch pail from beneath the seat.
    As she unwrapped her tomato, lettuce and salt pork sandwich, she felt sorry for her least-favorite