A Wanted Man by Susan Kay Law Page A

fully than it did in hers, and therefore affected their actions more strongly, no matter how much she tried to convince them that those days were long behind her.
    “I’ll try and remember,” she promised.
    “Now, then.” Mrs. Bossidy whirled to face a less immediate but more potent danger. “You are…” She bared her teeth, an approximation of a smile welcoming as a badger’s snarl.
    “Leaving,” Sam said mildly, though inside he felt like doing anything but. Damn . Getting around the harridan-companion was going to be the trickiest part. He wondered if it was all men, or merely Sam, that she didn’t like in range of Laura.
    He had yet to discover what promised to be the most effective approach, though he’d been making excellent progress. He shouldn’t be so annoyed at the interruption; usually he took minor setbacks in stride. And if he’d enjoyed the time with her, was it such a terrible thing?
    No, it wasn’t. It was only if he ever hoped for more than a pleasant but ultimately unimportant interlude that it became a terrible thing.
    But her companion, who clearly had more of a guard’s disposition than her official ones, was glowering at him as if she were ready to attack at any moment. He had time to wait and watch; at the rate she was working, they wouldn’t be getting to the Silver Spur anytime soon.
    He tipped his hat to Laura and sauntered off.
    Laura watched her mysterious man walk away. He appeared in no hurry to get away, but she could detect no reluctance, either. He didn’t have the long canvas coat today, and his clothing fit him well: old, much-washed, comfortable. He seemed easy in his skin, nothing stiff or awkward in his movements.
    She figured she had more appreciation of a male form than most inexperienced women. She had studied art, both paint and sculpture. Her mother had objected briefly but she’d refused Laura so many things that she hadn’t been able to deny her daughter this. And nothing she had studied, none of those famous works that depicted the perfection of man, had anything on this one. Except that they’d often worn far fewer clothes, a situation Laura couldn’t help but regret.
    “Ahem.” Mrs. Bossidy placed herself squarely in front of Laura, blocking her view. Unashamedly, Laura lifted herself to tiptoes, craning her neck to see over her companion. Unfortunately, Mrs. Bossidy was taller, had no reluctance about raising to her own toes, and the view through the tufts of ostrich feathers on top of her hat was less than satisfying.
    “Spoilsport.”
    “Leaving aside the appropriateness of ogling a man in a town square, Laura, you could certainly pick a better candidate than that one.”
    Laura gaped at her. “And who on earth would that be? I know my experience is limited, but my goodness…are you telling me he’s typical ?”
    Mrs. Bossidy struggled to maintain her sober nun’s face, but her eyes danced. “All right, so maybe there are few of them that are as, um, interesting to watch walk across a square,” she allowed, then frowned. “Thatdoes not make it appropriate. Nor advisable.”
    “Professional interest,” Laura said. He’d finally disappeared around the corner of a building, and Laura dropped back to flat feet with a disappointed sigh.
    “Umm-hmm. And since you almost never paint figures in your landscape, and when you do they’re small and distant and purely for scale, as you’ve often told me, does this signal a change in your career?”
    “No,” Laura said. Though if she’d ever been tempted…
    “He’s not for the likes of you,” Mrs. Bossidy said, not without sympathy. “You know that your father—”
    “I know.” Oh, did she know. And even understood.
    “What did he want?”
    “I—” I don’t know, she almost said. What had he wanted? Surely not just to stand around on a pleasant afternoon and listen to Laura babble. Yet that was exactly what he’d done. “He was interested.” Mrs. Bossidy’s mouth soured. “In the