out.
Matt strode into the evening, his open coat flapping about his legs. The wind coaxed a few flakes out of the dark sky to settle on the earth. He spied the first starof the night and without pause made a wish, then grimaced at his own folly. Twinkling stars and wishes-come-true were for children, not men who no longer believed in miracles.
He rounded a corner and collided with a soft body. Instinctively, Matt grabbed the cloaked figure and steadied her. Wide eyes stared back at him, and he was reminded of a deer poised for flight. He immediately removed his hands from Libby’s arms. “Pardon me, Miss O’Hanlon, but ain’t it kind of late for you to be out?”
Libby straightened so quickly her hood slipped from her head. Her cheeks flushed. “Ah, well, Sheriff, I couldn’t sleep and decided a walk might help.”
“This probably ain’t the best place for you to be walking.”
Matt’s height shadowed Libby, and she found her gaze captured by his broad shoulders. Her perusal moved lower to the patch of skin at the base of his neck, then down to his chest, settling on his belt buckle.
What am I doing gaping like an adolescent girl?
She ordered herself to look into his fathomless eyes. “I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Matt’s hooded eyes twinkled. “I’m just as much to blame. Maybe I’d best escort you back to Lenore’s so you don’t get lost again.” His expression sobered. “You shouldn’t be out this late on a Saturday night. There are a lot of ranch hands in town, and most of them ain’t seen a women in some time. No telling what they might do.”
Libby’s embarrassment faded and indignation filled the void. “I thought you said men didn’t find me very ‘sightly.’ ”
Matt glanced down at his boots. “Some men don’t care what you look like as long as you’re a female.”
Bewildered hurt laced through Libby. “Why shouldshe care if Matt didn’t find her attractive? She should be relieved—but she wasn’t. “Thank you, but I can find my own way back.”
She turned and, holding her shoulders stiffly erect, marched away. Matt fell in step beside her.
“I said you needn’t put yourself out, Sheriff,” Libby reiterated in a taut voice.
“No problem, Miss O’Hanlon. I was headed that way anyhow.”
Despite his quietly assuring words, Matt was a formidable man, and Libby’s defenses remained in place. Her elbow brushed his arm, and through her coat a tingle spread upward. The night’s cold disappeared, replaced by a warmth from within. Her gaze slid down Matt’s profile, and she tried to muster disapproval of his whiskers and unruly hair. However, the heat only spread to her stomach and lower. She ached to touch his thick hair, to see if it slipped through her fingers like the whisper of silk. Her traitorous mind wondered how his lips would feel on hers. Would they be warm and gentle, or harsh and demanding? Libby’s stomach fluttered and her breathing intensified.
“We can slow down if you’d like,” Matt said.
“What?”
“This ain’t a race. We can slow down some so you ain’t breathing like a lathered horse.”
“Oh, no, that’s all right. I’m fine.” Mortified, Libby concentrated on the pinch of her left shoe, the small hole in her glove, the tie-down of Matt’s holster on his muscular thigh.
Ignore his anatomy!
Libby began to count to one hundred. At nine, she wondered if he had dimples when he smiled. At twenty-two, she wondered how his whiskers would feel against her cheek if he kissed her. At thirty-nine, she wondered how his hard body would fit against hers. At forty-five, she gave up counting.
“Sorry I ran out on you when that strutting pea-hen came to the school the other day,” Matt said.
Libby forced the sensual musings aside and brought the present into focus. “After talking to her, I don’t blame you. I only wish I could’ve run out, too.”
Matt chuckled. “The Beidlers figure they’re royalty here. Heard
Matt strode into the evening, his open coat flapping about his legs. The wind coaxed a few flakes out of the dark sky to settle on the earth. He spied the first starof the night and without pause made a wish, then grimaced at his own folly. Twinkling stars and wishes-come-true were for children, not men who no longer believed in miracles.
He rounded a corner and collided with a soft body. Instinctively, Matt grabbed the cloaked figure and steadied her. Wide eyes stared back at him, and he was reminded of a deer poised for flight. He immediately removed his hands from Libby’s arms. “Pardon me, Miss O’Hanlon, but ain’t it kind of late for you to be out?”
Libby straightened so quickly her hood slipped from her head. Her cheeks flushed. “Ah, well, Sheriff, I couldn’t sleep and decided a walk might help.”
“This probably ain’t the best place for you to be walking.”
Matt’s height shadowed Libby, and she found her gaze captured by his broad shoulders. Her perusal moved lower to the patch of skin at the base of his neck, then down to his chest, settling on his belt buckle.
What am I doing gaping like an adolescent girl?
She ordered herself to look into his fathomless eyes. “I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Matt’s hooded eyes twinkled. “I’m just as much to blame. Maybe I’d best escort you back to Lenore’s so you don’t get lost again.” His expression sobered. “You shouldn’t be out this late on a Saturday night. There are a lot of ranch hands in town, and most of them ain’t seen a women in some time. No telling what they might do.”
Libby’s embarrassment faded and indignation filled the void. “I thought you said men didn’t find me very ‘sightly.’ ”
Matt glanced down at his boots. “Some men don’t care what you look like as long as you’re a female.”
Bewildered hurt laced through Libby. “Why shouldshe care if Matt didn’t find her attractive? She should be relieved—but she wasn’t. “Thank you, but I can find my own way back.”
She turned and, holding her shoulders stiffly erect, marched away. Matt fell in step beside her.
“I said you needn’t put yourself out, Sheriff,” Libby reiterated in a taut voice.
“No problem, Miss O’Hanlon. I was headed that way anyhow.”
Despite his quietly assuring words, Matt was a formidable man, and Libby’s defenses remained in place. Her elbow brushed his arm, and through her coat a tingle spread upward. The night’s cold disappeared, replaced by a warmth from within. Her gaze slid down Matt’s profile, and she tried to muster disapproval of his whiskers and unruly hair. However, the heat only spread to her stomach and lower. She ached to touch his thick hair, to see if it slipped through her fingers like the whisper of silk. Her traitorous mind wondered how his lips would feel on hers. Would they be warm and gentle, or harsh and demanding? Libby’s stomach fluttered and her breathing intensified.
“We can slow down if you’d like,” Matt said.
“What?”
“This ain’t a race. We can slow down some so you ain’t breathing like a lathered horse.”
“Oh, no, that’s all right. I’m fine.” Mortified, Libby concentrated on the pinch of her left shoe, the small hole in her glove, the tie-down of Matt’s holster on his muscular thigh.
Ignore his anatomy!
Libby began to count to one hundred. At nine, she wondered if he had dimples when he smiled. At twenty-two, she wondered how his whiskers would feel against her cheek if he kissed her. At thirty-nine, she wondered how his hard body would fit against hers. At forty-five, she gave up counting.
“Sorry I ran out on you when that strutting pea-hen came to the school the other day,” Matt said.
Libby forced the sensual musings aside and brought the present into focus. “After talking to her, I don’t blame you. I only wish I could’ve run out, too.”
Matt chuckled. “The Beidlers figure they’re royalty here. Heard
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