My Darling Gunslinger by Lynne Barron Page A

bought that headboard from an old Indian who’d told her it had taken him nearly a year to carve. His hands had been covered in crisscrossing scars, like a map of the world.
    “The bed is mine.” The words just popped out of her mouth, prompted, no doubt, by the anger that had simmered and stewed inside her for days.
    “You’re welcome to join me.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Charlotte’s voice squeaked in a most unbecoming way. Had the man just invited her to join him in his…that is, her bed?
    Surely she’d misunderstood him. The man didn’t even like her. He ignored her whenever she walked into the room. And when he wasn’t ignoring her, he practically skewered her with his hot eyes.
    But, Lord, she couldn’t deny the thrill that chased down her spine to hear his sinfully dark voice whisper the words, never mind she’d certainly mistaken his meaning.
    Tyler Morgan blinked, once, twice. A dark wave of scarlet swept up his neck and across his cheeks.
    Surely he wasn’t embarrassed. No, he was likely angry to awaken and find her in his room, an uninvited guest, an intruder. In her own home!
    She took a deep breath, striving for control. “I only meant the bed and the rest of the furniture in this house are not included in the kettle you won from Jasper.” There. She sounded perfectly reasonable, if a bit stiff.
    “Kettle?” One dark brow winged up.
    Charlotte waved her hand about. “You know…”
    “The kitty?” he asked.
    “Kitty?” she repeated in confusion. “Serendipity is most certainly not part of your winnings.”
    “Serendipity?” A frown that resembled a pout hovered around his mouth. His luscious, pillowy mouth.
    “The cows and sheep and horses are yours, of course,” she explained. “You can keep the slobbering hounds if you’d like. But the cat leaves with us.”
    Tyler Morgan made no reply. In fact, he seemed suddenly frozen in the bed.
    “If you fancy a feline, one of the mousers in the barn is expecting a litter,” Charlotte said into the silence. The man seemed unduly upset to learn he must give up Serendipity. She hadn’t realized the two had even met.
    “You’re leaving?” His voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes were dark and stormy.
    “Certainly.”
    “Why?”
    “Why?” Charlotte repeated in confusion.
    “Why are you leaving?”
    “Well, because the ranch is yours, Mr. Morgan,” she answered slowly. Had he forgotten the card game? The deed he’d pulled from his breast pocket?
    “It’s only three-quarters mine,” he said as he leaned forward in the bed expectantly, as if he watched for some sort of sign, some sort of portent.
    “Whatever do you mean?” Charlotte moved to the side of the bed near his long legs.
    “Jasper Heimlich only wagered three-quarters of the ranch.”
    “But then who owns the remaining quarter?”
    “Charlie Green.”
    That didn’t make sense. How on earth could Charlie Green own a quarter of the Zeppelin?
    “Jasper told you Charlie Green owns a quarter of this ranch?” She barely breathed as hope shifted and trembled inside her.
    Tyler Morgan nodded.
    Charlotte dropped onto the bed, her hip brushing his knee. “Which part?”
    Up went that winging brow.
    “Which part of the ranch does Charlie Green own?” she said by way of clarification.
    “A ranch isn’t like an apple,” he replied. “You can’t cut it into pieces.”
    “That’s a wonderful simile. Extraordinarily imaginative and vivid.”
    “Simile,” Tyler whispered with another pouty little frown.
    “If Charlie Green owns one-quarter of the ranch…” She let her words trail off, hoping he would tell her precisely what it meant.
    “He and his family can stay,” he supplied carefully. “If they want to stay.”
    “Charlie and his family,” Charlotte whispered.
    “That includes you, doesn’t it?” Tyler asked, his voice low and raspy.
    “And Serendipity,” she answered, hoping to soften the blow.
    “I only have one question.”
    Charlotte leaned