ragged sigh left her.
"Miss..."
"Kathleen.” She sounded as if she'd outrun a pack of wolves. Staring at the gleam in his eyes, she wondered if she had. No, I threw myself into the jaws of the biggest, most dangerous one.
He released her and took a step back, shaking himself. “I'm sorry for that—"
"It was me.” She discovered that bold trait that had put her in his arms.
"Well, yes, that's true, but I'm old enough to know better than to trifle—"
She prickled with irritation. She was no child. She knew what went on between men and women. “I'm old enough too.” Her words sounded childish, though.
"All right,” he said slowly, letting his gaze roam all over her as he had in the barn. Then, the touch had been almost a caress and had inspired such longing in her she'd acted the instant she got him alone.
Her father had always had called her impulsive, and this event seemed to prove it. She couldn't even remember what had brought them out here. At the moment, her heart was racing, drumming loudly within her head. Her blood was still singing, and her skin lifted in gooseflesh.
Graham Hollis was known to be a recluse in these parts. He stuck to the family ranch and rarely ventured off. After the war, word was he hadn't come home immediately but stayed away, roving the countryside. Many times Kathleen had puzzled over this. Why would a man have any desire to stay away after being on the march for so many years?
Staring at him, she saw evidence of the hard times he'd endured. Small creases fanned out from his glittering eyes and bracketed his mouth. He didn't wear a mustache as some men she knew, but it didn't look as if he'd shaved in many days either.
A shiver coursed down her spine at the thought of him bent over a washbasin, using a straightedge on his chiseled jaw.
He cleared his throat, bringing her back to the moment. A moment that was now pulsating with energy and attraction. She burned to move into his arms again.
"The, uh...spring?"
"Oh.” With some effort, she twisted away and headed down the rocky slope.
The water bubbled up out of the dark earth. He leaned over it and scooped up a handful. A chill ran through her just watching him, because she knew from years of experience that the temperature never warmed up, even in the dead of summer.
Graham splashed the water over his face, letting it run down his neck. She gaped at him, stunned that he hadn't even turned a hair at the cold. Then again, she might not either after the kiss they'd shared. Warmth still infused her.
He washed his hands to the elbows and then splashed his face again. Without turning, he said, “I can find my way back, Miss Allen."
Irritation sliced through the fog of sensual pleasure. She dug her toes into the dirt. “All right, then. I'll just be going.” With that, she turned and walked off.
Each footstep carrying her away made her ache to turn around and see if he was watching. He hadn't been immune to her—had kissed her with all the ferocity she'd heard the Hollis boys possessed.
Her nipples were two tight buds inside her blouse. She longed to strip down and sink into the hip bath, letting the water caress them. She continued on, walking back to the house slowly enough that he could catch up to her. Again, she wanted to look over her shoulder but dared not.
Passing the barn, she heard her father talking to the hired hand about the new calf. Worry infused her. In the past few months, her father's strength had begun to wane. He'd hired a young man to help him with the fields and cattle, but when her pa finally grew too old and worn, who would take over the ranch? Her brothers were all gone—two younger brothers to disease during their childhoods, and her older brother lost to the war. She was the last standing child of Silas and Emma Allen, and there was no way she could run this ranch.
Her father had broached the subject of her marrying soon. She was of age, after all. But she refused to bind herself to someone who
"Miss..."
"Kathleen.” She sounded as if she'd outrun a pack of wolves. Staring at the gleam in his eyes, she wondered if she had. No, I threw myself into the jaws of the biggest, most dangerous one.
He released her and took a step back, shaking himself. “I'm sorry for that—"
"It was me.” She discovered that bold trait that had put her in his arms.
"Well, yes, that's true, but I'm old enough to know better than to trifle—"
She prickled with irritation. She was no child. She knew what went on between men and women. “I'm old enough too.” Her words sounded childish, though.
"All right,” he said slowly, letting his gaze roam all over her as he had in the barn. Then, the touch had been almost a caress and had inspired such longing in her she'd acted the instant she got him alone.
Her father had always had called her impulsive, and this event seemed to prove it. She couldn't even remember what had brought them out here. At the moment, her heart was racing, drumming loudly within her head. Her blood was still singing, and her skin lifted in gooseflesh.
Graham Hollis was known to be a recluse in these parts. He stuck to the family ranch and rarely ventured off. After the war, word was he hadn't come home immediately but stayed away, roving the countryside. Many times Kathleen had puzzled over this. Why would a man have any desire to stay away after being on the march for so many years?
Staring at him, she saw evidence of the hard times he'd endured. Small creases fanned out from his glittering eyes and bracketed his mouth. He didn't wear a mustache as some men she knew, but it didn't look as if he'd shaved in many days either.
A shiver coursed down her spine at the thought of him bent over a washbasin, using a straightedge on his chiseled jaw.
He cleared his throat, bringing her back to the moment. A moment that was now pulsating with energy and attraction. She burned to move into his arms again.
"The, uh...spring?"
"Oh.” With some effort, she twisted away and headed down the rocky slope.
The water bubbled up out of the dark earth. He leaned over it and scooped up a handful. A chill ran through her just watching him, because she knew from years of experience that the temperature never warmed up, even in the dead of summer.
Graham splashed the water over his face, letting it run down his neck. She gaped at him, stunned that he hadn't even turned a hair at the cold. Then again, she might not either after the kiss they'd shared. Warmth still infused her.
He washed his hands to the elbows and then splashed his face again. Without turning, he said, “I can find my way back, Miss Allen."
Irritation sliced through the fog of sensual pleasure. She dug her toes into the dirt. “All right, then. I'll just be going.” With that, she turned and walked off.
Each footstep carrying her away made her ache to turn around and see if he was watching. He hadn't been immune to her—had kissed her with all the ferocity she'd heard the Hollis boys possessed.
Her nipples were two tight buds inside her blouse. She longed to strip down and sink into the hip bath, letting the water caress them. She continued on, walking back to the house slowly enough that he could catch up to her. Again, she wanted to look over her shoulder but dared not.
Passing the barn, she heard her father talking to the hired hand about the new calf. Worry infused her. In the past few months, her father's strength had begun to wane. He'd hired a young man to help him with the fields and cattle, but when her pa finally grew too old and worn, who would take over the ranch? Her brothers were all gone—two younger brothers to disease during their childhoods, and her older brother lost to the war. She was the last standing child of Silas and Emma Allen, and there was no way she could run this ranch.
Her father had broached the subject of her marrying soon. She was of age, after all. But she refused to bind herself to someone who