Innocent Fire by Brenda Joyce

even angry.
    Tomorrow they would reach Nacogdoches, the last town before San Antonio on the Camino Real. They had left Natchitoches two days ago, and Miranda had been studiously avoiding him. Although he caught her looking at him with frightened fascination whenever he was not riding ahead, when they were in camp she seemed to go out of her way to keep a great distance between them. If he spoke to her casually, and was not asking her a direct question, she made no response. When he looked at her, she blushed. Sometimes he would look at her and find her staring back, and he could see the pulse beating wildly in her slim, white throat. When she unconsciously wet her lips with her pink tongue, he wanted to grab her and devour her mouth.
    He wanted to talk to her. He was angry because she was avoiding him, making talk impossible. It didn’t help that she seemed haughty, too, as if he repulsed her. Or maybe it was just a mask for fear. Whatever it was, they had a long trip ahead, and this kind of infantile behavior didn’t suit him.
    However, her aunt was watching him like a hawk, and was quick to ward off his attempts to approach Miranda.
    He knew she was an innocent. But how could she be that embarrassed by what she had seen? Or did she thinkhim a crude lout? Hadn’t she already called him an uncivilized barbarian? Was she afraid of him? Sometimes she looked at him like she was afraid, with a kind of mesmerized fear. How in hell could he get that aunt out of the way?
    The problem solved itself. They had made an early camp, because they were less than seven hours from Nacogdoches. Miranda and her aunt had disappeared into their tent. Bragg had already supplied game, which was roasting on a spit. Welsh was smoking tobacco on his bedroll. Miranda appeared at the flap to the women’s tent, looking at him.
    Bragg straightened from where he was lounging against a boulder. Miranda stepped out, and he saw that she was carrying a towel, soap, and some clothes. He smiled as she approached. Her eyes were wide, and her voice tremulous. “Captain Bragg?”
    His gaze searched hers. Once again, he was struck by her beauty—it seemed that she was more beautiful every time he saw her. “Yes?”
    “I would like to perform my ablutions,” she said in a strained voice.
    “Where’s your aunt?” Bragg asked casually, standing close to her. For some odd reason, his heart was hammering as if he’d run a long distance.
    “She’s sleeping.” Her violet gaze locked with his. “This trip is hard on her. I’m worried.”
    Bragg nodded, now sober and understanding. “Unfortunately, it will only get tougher. Follow me,” he said.
    He heard her stumbling behind him as he walked down the embankment, and he automatically turned to her, taking her arm. She sucked in her breath and pulled away as if he were a leper. Bragg let her go, his face darkening. Miranda swallowed, dropping a frightened gaze, and said, “How much farther to the ranch, Captain Bragg?”
    He continued down the path, past some cottonwoods and palo verde. The little chit was frightened of him! It aggravated him no end. Did she think he’d rape her? “Almost three hundred miles,” he said, stopping.
    “Oh! A pond!” Miranda was delighted.
    Bragg smiled despite himself. “Miranda? I would like to talk to you.”
    She looked slowly at him. “About what?” Her words were so soft they were barely audible.
    “About what you saw in Natchitoches.” He watched her face. The revealing pink tide flooded her features and she averted her face.
    “No,” he said softly, “don’t look away.” His fingers gentle, he tilted her chin to meet his gaze. She seemed to be holding her breath. He had a nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss her.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t spying. I was looking for you.”
    “You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”
    Miranda tried to look away, but he wouldn’t release her chin. “What were you doing with that woman?” she asked