The Humbug Man Read Free

on.”
    She absolutely gasped. In all her life, she’d never run into anybody like him. He threw out orders like a drill sergeant. And it didn’t help that Blake was sitting there with a book on his lap, looking the picture of a studious, polite boy. She stuck out her tongue at him as she put on her leather jacket, and he grinned like a Cheshire cat.
    “I’ll get you for this,” she mouthed at him and left him giggling on the sofa.
    She followed the big man around the house, because he hadn’t even bothered to wait for her to trudge through the snow with him. He had the flashlight in one enormous gloved hand. He paused by the housing that protected the generator, then thrust the flashlight at her while he uncovered the apparatus and then studied it silently.
    “Hold the light on the damned thing, if you please,” he shot at Maggie. “I can’t see in the dark.”
    “My God.” She whistled. “And you’re actually admitting it?”
    He muttered something she was glad she couldn’t understand.
    She grinned as she leveled the flashlight. Odd how refreshing it was to have a man actively dislike her. Most men seemed to feel obliged to chase her. This one wouldn’t chase anybody, she mused. He wasn’t a marrying man or a particularly romantic one, and it was really fun to antagonize him. She’d never tried to deliberately upset a man before, but it was wildly exhilarating. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t for over ten years. Strange, really, since Hollister was the last man in the world she could feel an attraction for.
    Hollister paused and scowled down at the generator. “This damned thing came over with the Ark,” he muttered. “I don’t understand why your father-in-law didn’t replace it.”
    “He probably liked eating,” she remarked, pulling her stocking cap over her ears. Snow was falling again. “He wasn’t a wealthy man.”
    “Could have been,” he murmured as he stripped off his gloves to reveal huge but elegant hands, which were long-fingered and darkly tanned—capable hands, with callused ridges on the finger pads. “But he kept putting off things.”
    “Maybe he thought money would corrupt him,” she suggested.
    His big shoulders shrugged. “It can.” He caught her hand that was holding the light and positioned it where he wanted the beam with no regard for her posture. His hand was warm over her own, and curious little tingles went down her spine until he released his brief hold. “Keep it there,” he said absently, scowling under the brim of his hat. “Damn. I hope I can splice that wire….”
    He pulled out a pocketknife while Maggie watched with fascination. He was a fixer. Most men were, but this one did it with such style. She studied his profile in the faint radiance of the flashlight, fascinated with its hardness, the uncompromising nature it revealed.
    He seemed to feel her intent scrutiny because his head turned. His black eyes caught hers and held them, penetrating, questioning. “Well?” he asked curtly.
    “You have an interesting hairline,” she improvised. Her voice sounded odd. Probably because lightning was running down her spine from that intent black stare.
    He lifted a shaggy eyebrow as if he thought she might need immediate mental counseling. “That’s a new one.”
    “Thanks,” she said with a grin. “I thought it up all by myself, too.”
    He tilted his hat back as he worked with the generator. “What the hell are you and the boy doing up here by yourselves?” he asked suddenly.
    It was none of his business, and she almost said so. But she stopped herself in time—it wouldn’t do to antagonize a man when he was that close to fixing her generator.
    “It’s almost Christmas. Blake wanted to spend some time with me,” she said finally. “He doesn’t really like military school, and I think he’s out to convince me that I can run a ranch in the wilds of Montana while he sits on a fence and hero-worships you.”
    He looked at her with wide,