Margaret Brownley Read Online Free Page A

she panicked.
    She pulled away and ran, but her injured foot slowed her progress. He chased after her and grabbed her by her sore arm. The pain caught her by surprise and she slugged him hard. He growled like a bear and released her, hand on his cheek, his eyes leveled beneath dark, knitted brows.
    God, forgive her. She had never before raised a hand to anyone, and she hardly knew what to say. What a mess she was: crying, hitting, kissing . Where was all this strange behavior coming from? And why was the earth spinning around her?
    He held up his hands, palms facing her. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only trying to help.” When she made no reply, he continued, “Sorry, lady, but you don’t give me a choice.” Without another word, he picked her up and heaved her over his shoulder.
    “Let me down.” She pounded on his back with clenched fists. He said something but she was yelling too loud to hear. “How dare you! If you don’t let me down I’ll—”
    He lifted her into the stagecoach as if she were weightless and slammed the door shut. Before she had a chance to regain her composure, the stagecoach took off like a flash, sending her flying back against the hard horsehair seat.
    More angry at herself for her wanton behavior than she was at him, she stuck her head between the leather curtains, leaned out the window, and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Stop this stage at once!” The least he could do was let her explain her behavior. “Do you hear me? At once!”
    He ignored her, and at last she gave up. She sank back into the seat, arms folded across her chest. If he told anyone about her behavior, she would deny it. Better yet, she would plead temporary insanity.
    Her mind went back to her camera. If it was damaged, her career as a newspaper photographer might possibly be over before it had even begun.
    With this thought came another. The man wasn’t really wild. Trotter had obviously lied to impress his friends or get attention. The Rocky Creek residents had lived in fear these last few weeks for no reason—that in itself was a story. All she needed was the stranger’s photograph and—oh dear, in all the confusion she hadn’t thought to ask his name. Or where he was from. She hadn’t asked him anything. What kind of newspaper reporter was she?
    Just as suddenly as the stage had started, it stopped. She flew to the window and was surprised and relieved to see the stranded driver and passengers hurrying toward her.
    Arranging her clothes as modestly as possible, she opened the door and stepped outside. Her mind was filled with questions as she looked for the stranger but he was nowhere in sight. Momentarily disappointed, she shrugged.
    No matter. She failed to get the photograph she’d gone after, but she had something better. Wait until the newspaper editor heard about her encounter with the so-called wild man of Rocky Creek!

    David Wolf crouched behind the bushes and watched. He had hoped to keep his arrival in Rocky Creek secret, but that was no longer possible. First he found that boy going through his belongings, now this encounter with Miss Fairbanks. Judging by the way the passengers and stagecoach driver kept looking around, remaining undetected just got that much tougher.
    The stagecoach should have been long gone by now, but still it lingered. The crazy talkative woman still hadn’t run out of steam and she held the passengers and driver captive with her long tale. Never had he known anyone to talk so much or so fast. Or have sweeter lips.
    She had looked so vulnerable, bare toes poking from beneath her hem, hair tousled, lips trembling. Rambling on and on nonstop. If she were a man, a slap on the face might have brought her out of her shock. But a woman . . . he could never strike a woman, not even under those circumstances. Still, he had to do something to bring her out of her alarming state. The kiss succeeded, or at least rendered her speechless.
    He could justify his