Outlaw Carson Read Online Free

would have attempted to get into a single serving of
coffee.
    He must have misunderstood, so she tried
again.
    “You didn’t talk to Harry Fratz or somebody
from the university?” she asked helpfully, hoping to jog his memory
and trying to ignore the jump in her pulse every time he smiled his
roguish smile. She unconsciously shook her head to negate her
unnerving response to him and the shiver winding its way down her
spine.
    He cocked one brow in confusion, his eyes
narrowing. “You know Harry Fratz?”
    “Yes,” she said, overcoming a ridiculous
urge to run, trying to be the helpful hostess.
    “Ah, then I have made a mistake,” he said
with another sly grin. “Harry doesn’t have the imagination to think
of a concubine.”
    “I should hope not!” she exclaimed, shocked
out of her politeness and her wayward thoughts. “Harry and I are
associates, professional associates.” Concubine, indeed!
    “You aren’t my housekeeper?” He tilted his
head to one side, sending his braid sliding across the black cotton
and one broad shoulder. Rather than detract from his masculinity,
his long hair added an extraordinary touch to what was arguably the
most male animal she’d ever met. Everything about him spoke of eons
long past, every rough edge, every mannerism—except his eyes, for
what she saw there was timelessness itself.
    She took a deep, calming breath before
replying with all the propriety she could muster. “No, Mr. Carson.”
She paused for a second, aware of how inappropriate the title
sounded. Mister implied a degree of civilization she doubted he’d
attained. “I am not
your
housekeeper. I am Kristine
Richards, Dr. Richards, Harry Fratz’s replacement, which you would
have known if you had bothered to check in with the univers—” A
light bulb clicked on in her head like a floodlamp, giving her
another pause. When she continued, she did so with a gaze much
narrowed by skepticism. “And if you didn’t talk to anybody at the
university, how did you know to come here?”
    “I followed the trunks.” He gestured behind
him to where the trunks lay stacked across her living room floor in
all their curious splendor.
    As explanations went, his was sorely lacking
in salient points. She lived a good five miles outside of Fort
Collins, up in the foothills of the Rockies, and most people
couldn’t find her house with a map full of directions. Correction,
she thought. No one could find her house
without
a map
full of directions.
    “You followed the trunks,” she repeated,
allowing every single one of her doubts to show.
    His innocent yet oddly ancient gaze held
hers. “Things of power always leave a trail. It is your choice
whether or not to believe.”
    Things of power, she repeated silently.
Right
. She shifted uneasily, casting a wary glance at the
trunks. She’d thought they were plenty strange and plenty old, what
with their heavy iron hinges and padlocks, the oiled leather
reinforcements on the corners, and the intricate grid of metal
holding the blocked planks together, but she hadn’t felt any power
coming off them, in truth, she was damn glad she hadn’t.
    “Do you have cream?” he asked.
    “Uh, sure,” she stammered, dragging her gaze
away from the trunks. His fingers brushed hers again as she handed
him the carton of cream from the refrigerator, physically reminding
her of the energy he embodied.
Things of power
.
    Dammit-all, she thought. Somebody should
have warned her about Kit Carson. Harry was a milksop, but surely
Dr. Chambers, the dean, or Dr. Timnath, her department head, had
known more than they’d told her. The list of digs and articles she
and Jenny had compiled on Carson didn’t begin to add up to the
enigmatic man standing in her kitchen, looking for all the world
like he’d just ridden into a caravanserai somewhere on the Eurasian
steppes.
    Plastering a wan smile on her mouth, she
backed away from the counter. She spied a box of chocolate covered
doughnuts, and shoved them