Passion's Joy by Jennifer Horsman

its threat. All she knew was that she was going to be sick, very sick if this man did not—"Git your cotton pickin' hands off me, mister!"
    The horrifying sound of her small voice against the larger silence shocked her as she instantly realized she had just made herself the sudden interest of every living soul in the room.
    The sound of the familiar voice brought Ram to an abrupt stop, and he was laughing even before he turned round to confront the sight of her, in all the ridiculousness of her precarious upside down position. If there was any surprise at finding her in a place like the Red Barn and in the unusual position, it showed only in the sound of his amusement.
    "What's your name, my good fellow?"
    "Who me?" Jack could hardly believe he was being addressed. Ram nodded.
    "Jack. 'Tis Jack, gov’ner," he answered back.
    "Well Jack, I believe that's my baggage you're handling there." "Yours, gov’ner?"
    "Mine," Ram made the simple pronouncement. "And you'll do me honor if you drop it where you stand."
    "Well, certainly gov'ner." Jack dropped Joy, and because he sensed Ram Barrington's animosity toward this baggage, he did so unceremoniously. Joy fell in a heap on the floor. Gasping for breath and fighting dizziness, she found the way to her hands and knees. Only because she had to know if her worst nightmare had become a reality, she ventured a bold glance up and across the room.
    How he looked taller, meaner and far more threatening than before, she could not for her life imagine, but he did, standing there with his hands resting on his hips and staring at her with all the respect due a naughty child not yet out of swaddling clothes. As her gaze traveled up from the shiny black boots and over the tailored black breeches and open, white silk shirt—gentlemen's garb notably minus any fashionable foppish adornments of nicety—her emotions were best represented by the urgency with which she scrambled to her feet and made a mad dash to the door.
    Ram motioned to a man, and with no further interest in the matter, he turned and approached the table where the other pirates were congregating. Joy had not gotten as far as the door when, from behind, a man's merciless strong hands put a quick halt to her flight. She cried out as the man tossed her over his shoulder like the baggage she was named and headed in the opposite direction that she would have chosen. Small, white-knuckled fists pounded furiously on the large
    back, and though she tried, she could not catch enough breath to give voice to the screams in her throat.
    Ram stopped before the table and locked his gaze with the giant blond leader. Had anyone besides their men cared to notice, they would have been surprised, even shocked, by the plain, unmasked affection in both gazes.
    "Such a dramatic entrance, my lord," the pirate said in dispassionate exasperation and in a voice that rang with clear evidence of English aristocratic breeding. "It gets worse each time I've a chance to witness."
    Ram chuckled, then shrugged. "I can't seem to stop it. Although, much as I hate theatrics, I must admit it does wonders for business." Knowing they would talk later, Ram surveyed the group of men, nodded to the familiar faces and saw nothing or no one amiss. "My man said you already had something Sean?"
    It was half question, half demand, and Sean motioned two men up to see to it. While they waited, Ram turned his attention to the frantic cries and desperate struggle of the baggage draped over Derrick's shoulder.
    Derrick set Joy Claret on her feet. Panic molded her pale, fear-stricken features, and her breath came in those huge uneven gulps Ram was getting used to seeing in her. So frightened by him, she could not even think to know it was her absolute end. She stepped back, shaking her head, and
    Derrick, not wanting to chase again, grabbed her shoulders and asked, "Where do you want it, Ram?"
    Ram lifted one long leg over a bench and indicated his bent knee. "Why, right here