Cattleman's Choice Read Online Free Page A

not…civilized.”
    â€œCarson…” she began, at a loss for words.
    He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Not for telling the truth.” He sighed, stretching, and the hard, heavy muscles of his chest were evident beneath his shirt. Her eyes were drawn to the mat of dark hair visible in the opening, and she felt a sensation that shocked her. “I didn’t sleep,” he said after a minute, watching her. “I’m sorry I cut your lip, that I manhandled you. I guess you knew I was drinking.”
    â€œYou tasted of whiskey,” she said without thinking, and then flushed when she remembered exactly how he’d tasted.
    â€œDid I?” His eyes dropped to her swollen lip. “I don’t know what came over me. And you fought me…that only made it worse. You should have known better, little debutante.”
    â€œI’ve been fighting you for years,” she reminded him.
    â€œVerbally,” he agreed. “Not physically.”
    She glared at him. “What was I supposed to do, lie back and enjoy it?” she challenged.
    His eyes darkened. His chest rose and fell roughly. “All right, I’m sorry,” he growled. “For God’s sake, what do you expect? I never knew my mother, never had a sister. My whole life revolved around a man who beat the hell out of me when I disobeyed….”
    She stood quietly, forcing away her bad temper, hearing him without thinking until the words began to penetrate. She turned slowly and stared up at him. “Beat you?”
    He drew in a slow breath, then glanced down at her bare arm where his strong, tanned fingers held it firmly. His thumb moved on the soft skin experimentally. “My father was a cattleman,” he said. “My mother couldn’t live with him. She ran away when I was four. He took me in hand, and his idea of discipline was to hit me when I did something he didn’t like. I had a struggle just to get through school—he didn’t believe in education. But by then, I outweighed him by fifty pounds,” he added with glittering eyes, “and I could fight back.”
    It explained a lot of things. He never talked about his childhood, although she’d heard Jake make veiled references to how rough it had been.
    Her eyes searched his hard face curiously.
    He lifted his hand to her face and touched her lip gently. “I’m sorry I kissed you like that.”
    She went flaming red. She felt as if his eyes could see right through her.
    â€œI’ve never been gentle,” he said, “because I never knew what it was to be treated gently. And now, I’m thirty-eight years old, and I’m lonely. And I don’t know how to court a woman. Because I’m a savage. This,” he sighed bitterly, tracing her swollen lip, “is proof of it.”
    She stared up at him, searching his eyes quietly as his hand dropped. “Didn’t you have any other relatives?” she asked.
    â€œNot one,” he said. He turned away and went to stand by the window. “I ran away from home once or twice. He always came after me. Eventually I learned to fight back, and the beatings stopped. But I was fourteen by then. The damage had already been done.”
    She studied his long back in silence, and then shifted, looking around the messy kitchen until her eyes found a facsimile of a coffee pot. She got to her feet. “Mind if I make some coffee?” she asked. “I’m sort of thirsty.”
    â€œHelp yourself.” He watched her with a familiar, unblinking scrutiny. “You look odd, doing that,” he remarked.
    â€œWhy?” she asked with a laugh. “I’m very domestic. I cook, too, or don’t you remember those dinners Uncle used to invite you to?”
    â€œIt’s been years since I’ve eaten at your table.”
    She stared down at the pot she was filling. How could she possibly confess that she was too uneasy with