stood rooted in place, unable to pry her stare off the man.
What she was doing was simply unacceptable, yet she couldn’t help herself. Unsuccessfully, she attempted to transfer her gaze to his feet, but that didn’t help once she got midway down his exquisite, scantly dressed body.
Hypnotized, she boldly held a fortuitous stare on Quinten, shocked to think that as a well-bred lady she had such an overwhelming desire to reach out and boldly touch him. To see if his skin was as warm and strong as his fingers, if his muscles would harden beneath her touch, if the heat that filled her body like a prairie fire would flame hotter yet.
“What in the hell are you staring at?” He furiously snatched his pants from a nail. “I can’t even have any privacy in my own place! Get the hell out of here.”
“Well, I’m not leaving, so go ahead and put on your trousers-”
“Jeans-” His angry retort hardened his features.
“Jeans, trousers…you still put the same, uh, necessaries in them as any man, don’t you?”
Not expecting a response, she inventoried the room as Quin turned his back, tucked in his shirt, and buttoned his fly.
A massive worktable anchored the room, allowing for little furniture. A stove, washstand, and cupboard in the corner made for a makeshift kitchen.
“You just don’t seem to be able to follow instructions. I said get out.” He ground the words between his teeth.
“Not until you terminate me or we get things straight between us.” She spoke boldly, matching his ire.
“Don’t tempt me. You have no idea, sweetheart, just how close you are to being thrown to the wolves…” Quin pushed past her and headed for his desk. “And they love fresh meat.
“You’re not cut out for this business. I’ll send a telegram to your grandfather advising him that you are on your way back to Boston. I don’t know why in the hell he sent you here in the first place, but I bet he had a reason.”
Uncomfortable with his accusations, Kaira flinched at the words spearing her heart. Grandfather did nothing without a reason. He told her he’d chosen Texas to send her to learn the business, but was that the only reason? She responded in a firm, decisive voice. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, we have a contract.”
“Yes, a contract that says you’ll work here as an apprentice for three months. In exchange for your help, I’m to teach you the rag business. Something you don’t seem to take seriously.”
“Why are you so angry?”
“Why not?” He shoved the trash can aside and jerked open a drawer. “You take over my bedroom. Interfere with my work. Refuse to do yours. And, in general, you are more trouble than any man deserves.”
“Are you irritated because I had items shipped from Boston and changed a few things in the bedroom?”
“A few things!”
“It’s the lace curtains, isn’t it?”
“No…Yes. It’s the, uh, everything. The frilly, girlie stuff everywhere I turn. That damnable ugly hat you wear. The prissy china basin and pitcher. Soft and velvety pillows and the bedcovers. What in the hell did you do with my quilt?” Not waiting for her answer, he vented on. “Why all that satin and lace on
“Your bed?” The cussed man made her madder than-than her grandfather. “I believe it’s mine. As I recall, my contract states that you will provide me with suitable accommodations, and to be comfortable-”
“Where did it say that you can wreak havoc on my life? And I want that quilt.”
“It’s in the Saratoga.” She stepped toward Quinten, almost afraid of his response. “Why is the quilt so important to you?”
“It’s personal.” His tone softened. “My mother made it.”
Although he lowered his voice to a midrange roar, the annoyance on his face didn’t slack, yet the underlying sensitivity of his words captivated her.
“Quinten-”
“Don’t call me that.”
“But you called me sweetheart.”
“I was thinking about Mother.” He stomped into one boot then the other and bolted upright. “Miss Renaulde, let’s get one thing straight. I am your boss and you are my student. Nothing more. Not now, not earlier, not ever. Do you understand?”
His stubbornness unleashed something within her. “Sit back down.” Triumph flooded through her when he winced at her words.
“I’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“Then I’ll tell everyone in town that you forgot your own godson’s christening.”
Shocked, he crossed his arms and planted his feet apart, which only served to call attention to his pigheadedness. “And how do you know that?”
“First off…” She eased onto Monk’s stool, feeling a bit like a fawn facing a Winchester. “Mrs. Diggs asked me if I’d remind you that the baby rattle you ordered had come in. You’d been by the mercantile several times of late, and hadn’t inquired about it, so she was worried.”
“Learning about the christening wasn’t hard. It’s no secret. What about the other two articles?” He snatched up his watch and looked at the face, as thought he was clocking her.
“The truth-”
“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“I wrote them. Every single, solitary word. Well, with the exception of-”
“How much is four bits?” he asked smugly. “And how did you know the man selling apples was from Wichita Falls?”
She shrugged off his first question, but became frazzled with the second. “I checked out each fact-”
“No, you didn’t.” He proceeded back to his desk, tore open a drawer, and tossed a newspaper at least two years old in her direction. “That story came straight from the
“Are you going to thank me?”
“For what? For intruding on my privacy, inserting yourself in my life without being asked, for nearly getting my chops busted by Masterson…for-”
“For saving your hide! If I hadn’t jogged your memory, you would have missed the christening.”
“Not on your life.”
“You never answered me. Why are you so angry?”
“Why are you so nosy?”
She frowned, not sure if his question was rhetorical or not. This was her opening. Maybe the last opportunity she would have to set the record straight.
“I think you’re angry because you’re scared.”
“I don’t recall asking your opinion. I asked why you’re nosy.”
Kaira didn’t hesitate and rushed past his comment. “Scared that a woman will be attracted to you, then repulsed by your scars. Scared you might show your tender side. Which, by the way, you did this evening when you rubbed my neck. First one finger, then three.”
“I knew you weren’t asleep!”
“No, you didn’t, or you would have never touched me. You are frightened of living, don’t think you deserve being happy, and so many things that I couldn’t even keep count. You make a job of making folks think you are insensitive and tough.” She needed to take a breath, but couldn’t stop long enough, afraid the words would stop flowing. “I came into town prepared for you to put me on the next coach back to Boston. I was afraid, too. Afraid of succeeding. You made me see that I don’t have to be afraid any longer. Ever since I can remember, I followed in the footsteps of one powerful man after another. My grandfather, his father before him, my dad, at least a half a dozen uncles and twice that many cousins. I had to go to the right school, use proper etiquette, speak and act a lady, everything I wasn’t. Everything I didn’t want to be. Everything…”
Somewhere between the second and third “everything,” or even as early as her reference to her grandfather,
