The Next Mrs. Blackthorne (Bitter Creek Book 6) by Joan Johnston Page B

as well take advantage of the opportunity he’d been given to scratch the irritating itch she’d become. Maybe if he could quench this unendurable physical hunger, he could rid himself once and for all of this unwelcome yearning for…her.
    She must have some fatal flaws, personality quirks that would reveal her for the conniving Jezebel she was. What kind of woman could do—would do—what she’d done tonight? Who was Jocelyn Montrose, really?
    North didn’t know. But starting tomorrow morning, he intended to find out.

4
    Jocelyn felt nauseated. For the better part of the day, she’d endured the panicked bawling of cattle as they were castrated and a red-hot brand was pressed against their hides. The sickening smell of blood and burning flesh had become overwhelming in the heat of the day.
    She was grateful not to have been asked to perform either of those jobs, but she’d been posted at a cattle chute to inoculate cows with a vaccinating gun. Her back ached and her feet hurt. She was sweaty and dirty. And starving.
    Which was her own fault.
    She’d cried half the night and tossed and turned the other half, so she’d been less than happy when North flipped on the guest bedroom light while it was still dark outside. He’d ordered her out of bed, insisting she had to work to earn her keep, and gave her five minutes to get to the breakfast table.
    She’d taken a very quick shower and then put on the “costume” she’d brought with her, a beautiful tailored white western shirt with a blue yoke and pearl snaps, designer jeans, a black belt decorated with silver conchas, and expensive black ostrich cowboy boots. She’d put her hair up in an elegant French twist and swiped on some lipstick.
    When she’d arrived twelve minutes later in the kitchen, she discovered North had already fed her breakfast to a couple of dogs loitering at the screen door.
    “Breakfast is over and done,” he said. “You want to stay, you do a full day’s work. That’s the deal.”
    Six hours later, Jocelyn was still seething at North’s arrogant behavior that morning, but hell would freeze over before she’d complain to that brute !
    She squinted at the afternoon sun, then pulled off the battered felt cowboy hat North had lent her and dabbed delicately at the sweat on her forehead with the already dirty cuff of her yoked western shirt. Her brand-new boots had been stepped on by cows and were coated with a fine layer of dust. Her designer jeans were dotted with cow slobber.
    She needed a long, cool bath. The sooner, the better.
    “Put your hat back on. Your nose is pink.”
    She jerked at the sound of North’s voice and nearly dropped the vaccinating gun. She looked up with narrowed eyes into the stony face of her nemesis. “It’s my nose.”
    “Just don’t come crying to me later.”
    Before they’d left the house, she’d asked North for sunscreen. Instead, he’d tossed her the brown felt hat, with its grimy sweat stains along the band. Not only was it dirty, it didn’t match her outfit.
    “You expect me to wear this?” she’d asked.
    “Your choice. But we’re going to be outside most of the day.”
    Without sunblock, her pale complexion would roast in the hot Texas sun. “I’ll have to take my hair down,” she’d protested.
    He’d shrugged and said, “Day’s wasting.” A moment later she was staring at his back, as the screen door slammed behind him.
    She’d yanked the pins from her hair and tossed them onto the kitchen table where she could find them later, then hurried after him.
    Hungry as she’d become during the endless morning, she’d never said a word about food. But her stomach was growling, it was so empty. “When do we eat?” she asked, cringing as she eased the sweat-wet hat back on, tugging it down low on her forehead, the way North wore his.
    “You quitting already?” North said.
    “I’m not quitting,” she said. “I’m just hungry.”
    “We’ll stop when the job’s done.”
    “When