Montana Legend (Harlequin Historical, No. 624) by Jillian Hart Page A

pit of her stomach stung worse than her hands as she dunked the mop into the pail and wrung the excess water. She had a bad feeling about this. Milt wasn’t the most kind or honest of men. How far would he go? Would he steal those animals? Or worse?
    Sarah’s chest felt tight with worry as she gripped the mop handle more tightly and accidentally banged the side of the bucket.
    A metallic clank shot through the silence like a gunshot. She froze, listening to the echo fade in the long corridor. Wincing, she gently eased the mop back into the water, hoping beyond hope that she hadn’t startled anyone awake.
    The door in the shadowed hallway flew open and a man’s broad shape emerged as dark as the night, only a silhouette against the pitch-black room behind him.
    Sarah felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. With water dripping onto the floor, she carried hermop with her as she dared to step toward him. “I’m truly sorry I woke you, sir. I—”
    There was a metallic click that echoed eerily through the night. Sarah froze when she realized it was the sound of a revolver being uncocked and lowered. The man was armed. She didn’t know what to say as he jammed the Colt into the leather holster he carried and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
    â€œSorry about that, ma’am. I guess that sounded too much like a gunshot to a man sound asleep.” He lifted one sculpted shoulder in a shrug.
    Gage Gatlin. The mop handle slipped from her grip and clattered on the wet floor. She jumped when the noise bounced down the hallway like cannon fire. Oops. That wasn’t helping her job any. “I suppose that sounded like a band of road agents taking over the hotel.”
    Before she could kneel to rescue her mop, he was there, bending down and into the light, his dark hair tousled handsomely, his jaw rough and his eyes weary.
    So very weary. Sarah could only stare, mesmerized, as he straightened, only wearing his trousers, unsnapped and unbuckled, the faint lamplight caressing the span of his bare chest and abdomen.
    A very fine chest and abdomen. Sarah swallowed hard, feeling heat burn her throat and sear her face. It was entirely indecent to notice the light dusting of fine dark hair that splayed across his chest and arrowed down his firm, toned abdomen to where his silver belt buckle winked in the shadowed light from downstairs.
    â€œI didn’t know you worked here.” He held out the dripping mop, his stance open, a crook of curiosity arching his brows. “Your uncle and aunt don’t keep you busy enough?”
    She blushed harder, but for a different reason. He’d said his words kindly enough, although it didn’t stop the shame from creeping through her.
    Remembering how lovely the banker’s daughter had looked this morning when she’d visited Mr. Gatlin, Sarah felt plain indeed. Small and mousy and as dull as the patched dress she wore.
    She didn’t want to be attracted to Mr. Gage Gatlin anyway, so it didn’t matter what she looked like. Gathering her pride, she straightened her spine, looked him in the eye and took possession of her mop. “Living on the homestead has become rather dull, so I spend my nights in town seeking one thrill after the next.”
    â€œYou strike me as that sort of woman. Far too bold for propriety’s sake.”
    â€œThat’s what everyone always tells me.” As if to prove her point, she dunked the mop in the bucket and knelt, her soft skirts swirling around her, and wrung the excess water with a twist of her small, delicate hands.
    Gage swallowed. “And you spend your free time roaming the halls of this hotel, I take it. Causing trouble wherever you go.”
    â€œThat’s right. I’ve even been known to be so brash as to scrub pots in the kitchen, if it’s been a late night for the cook.”
    â€œMa’am, with your reputation I’d best stay clear of you.”
    That made