Give Me A Texan

The telegraph chatter ceased.

“Mark my word, we’ll get two editions out a week, just like those Yankee squatters want. We’ll make this work, and get the money to buy a herd of longhorns. I’ll set the rules and he’ll abide by them or he can traipse his high- falutin’ butt back to Boston.”

“Hey, boss. Uh, I think you’d, uh, better, uh-”

“Spit it out, Monk.” Quin jerked off his visor, wiped his brow, and reset the hat. “You don’t agree?”

“Uh, Quinten, I think you’d better hold up a bit.”

“I’ve already said we’re on a tight deadline-”

“I, uh, think your new, uh, apprentice is here.”

“Renaulde, you’ll just have to wait, I don’t have time to waste…” Quin pulled to his full height, and turned toward the door, prepared to size up the Yankee wonder.

Quin sized up the new guy okay…all one hundred and twelve pounds of ivory skin, onyx tresses piled high on her head, and a scowl that could halt a gunslinger in mid-draw.

When the woman finally broke the silence, she had a voice like a butterfly’s kiss, astoundingly light and soft, yet as clear as a mountain stream. “Please go on, Mr. Corbett. I’m eager to hear your rules before I assure you that I do not plan to take neither my snotty nose nor my high-falutin’ butt back to Boston. So, please set me straight.”

Words escaped him, something that rarely happened. Shaking off the element of surprise, Quin recovered sufficiently to take note that the traveling suit she wore no doubt came straight from the fashion plates of Godey’s Lady’s Book. He’d know the look anywhere after being forced to review the magazine during his apprenticeship.

Dang, the black linen bolero hugged her every curve, emphasizing an exquisite figure. An ivory chemisette edged with tatted lace tucked into the low-necked bodice disguised a nice set of…attributes.

“I believe you are expecting me, Kaira Clarice Renaulde, and I’ll be glad to relay to my Aunt Pee- bid-ee that our ancestors have pronounced their name wrong for centuries.”

“I, uh.” As though seeking help finding an explanation, Quin turned to Monk, who had sidled up beside Miss Renaulde. “Uh, I’d like to introduce you to my assistant, James Humphrey.”

“Much obliged to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” The old gentleman tipped his visor, seemingly not unaware of her attributes. “Call me Monk.”

“Thank you, Mr. Monk. You’re clearly a gentleman.” She smiled sweetly, while casting a suspicious gaze at Quin as though to say, “And, I’ll reserve judgment on you, buster!”

“Uh, Miss. Uh, ma’am.” Blasted! Why was Quin stammering like a young buck signing his first dance card? He’d seen many a beautiful woman. Even courted his share, but never had he known one who just about had sugar and spice oozing from her mouth, while searing him with lavender eyes.

“Mr. Humphrey, don’t you have chores to tend to?” Quin snapped.

“Nope. None that I can think of.” Monk tore his attention away from the black-headed apprentice long enough to catch Quin’s glare. “Yep, for sure, got a bucket of typeface waitin’ on me in the back room.” He detached himself from the lady and meandered toward the storeroom, mumbling, “All this walkin’ sure can make a man poorly.” Over his shoulder, he stole another glimpse of their new associate before closing the door behind him.

“Miss Renaulde. I’m…” Quin stumbled over the words.

“Sorry, maybe? Wish to apologize?” She pulled one then another glove off. “Take your choice.” Slipping out a pin from the headpiece that sported a gigantic feather from some unfortunate bird, she removed her hat and placed it on the counter. Dusting a nearby stool with her hanky, she settled in, making herself comfortable and peering up at Quin.

“Apology?” He groaned, trying hard not to roll his eyes. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. Miss-”

“Kaira Clarice, but K.C. will do fine.” In one wide sweep she seemed to survey every crook and cranny of the tiny room.

“I think Miss Renaulde will be more appropriate.” His voice was harsher than he had intended. Regrouping, he scuffed the toe of his boot along the planked floor.

“Damnation, lady…” He flinched as his curse word caused her to knit her delicate eyebrows together in a shocked expression. “I mean, dern it, ma’am-if we’re going to work together, we need to start over again.” He studied her, waiting for a response.

Slowly, a lethal calmness overtook her features, and she leveled violet eyes at him. The corners of her mouth relaxed in a teasing smile. “Damn glad to meet you, uh, Quinten.”

Chapter 2

Sunset cast a shower of golden dust across Quinten’s bronzed face, as he stood only inches away from Kaira. So close that she could almost feel his breath against her cheeks.

Deep brown eyes, like chocolate left out on a hot, smoldering day, glared at her. Dark lashes beckoned to explore what lay behind them. A scowl tried unsuccessfully to cloak a tad of a smile.

Quinten rolled his broad shoulders, as though tired of carrying the woes of the world on them. Taking a deep breath, his chest expanded, pressing the buttons on the starched white shirt against the black apron.

Kaira tried to pry her gaze away, but his stance emphasized the force of his tough, lean build. Her pulse quickened, and she fought fireflies that suddenly swarmed in her stomach. She tried to swallow.

Never had she met a man who caught her so off guard and created thoughts that no well-bred Bostonian lady of the Pee-bid-ee sort would acknowledge. A man with the heart-throbbing ruggedness of a bronc-buster. A cross between the legendary gentleman-gunslinger, Bat Masterson, and a paramour that Emma Bovary would have taken as a lover, if she existed in the flesh, not in fiction.

And to think mere hours before, her only focus was on teaching her grandfather a lesson for forcing her to come to Texas. Just because she came from a third-generation publishing family didn’t mean that printer’s ink ran in her veins.

Now that she’d seen the hot, dry, unwelcome land of the dreamers and schemers for herself, she found it less alluring than on paper. Kaira wanted nothing of it. She needed to return to Boston and embark upon her dreams… none of which involved the newspaper business.

Kaira peered back at Quinten.

Although she had set out believing she wouldn’t enjoy her assignment, it might be more intriguing than she first thought. She did love a worthy opponent. And Mr. Corbett certainly appeared more than worthy.

What are you thinking, Miss Kaira Clarice Renaulde?

Weariness, exacerbated by the long hours on the train, had to be the blame for her turncoat thoughts. Whiling away the day reading dime novels and daydreaming about the shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later cowboys of Texas probably hadn’t helped either.

Her mind felt as fuzzy as a sun-dried dandelion. She tried to pull herself together but faltered. Why did thoughts not fit for a properly reared lady make her feel so warm inside?

Only one problem…He still wore that God-awful scowl.

“I must apologize, Mr. Corbett. My cursing was most intolerable and rude.”

“I was the one who behaved badly. Maybe we should start over.” A gentleman, he waited for her to make the first move.

“Most assuredly.” Without considering the unladylike impulse, she offered her naked hand. “Yes, it does call for a new start.”

Quinten’s fingers touched her with such fire that she inhaled deeply.

“I agree,” he said. As if realizing he was a little too accommodating, Quinten stiffened and stepped back. “It’s late. I’ve got a newspaper to put to press, so I’d suggest that you get a good night’s sleep and report back to me after breakfast in the morning.”

Lost for words, Kaira looked intently at him. Was he not going to at least show her the way to her living quarters? A knot clinched her stomach tightly. He seemed unprepared for her arrival.

Disconcerted, she pointedly looked out the window.