The Lawman Meets His Bride Read Online Free Page B

lock on the heavy batten shutters, and swung them wide.
    She only wanted to be rid of this man. She stayed back in the doorway, saying nothing to further a sale.
    He glanced around indifferently.
    “Well,” he said after a few moments, adding nothing else. She noticed that his eye coloring was variable according to the light—the smoky tint she noticed outside seemed almost like a teal blue in here. He really was extraordinarily good-looking, if one could see past that sneer of cold command. And that ashen complexion…it seemed curiously unhealthy in light of his robust build.
    “Thank you,” he told her with another cursory dismissal. “I’ll give it some thought and call you.”
    Despite her desire to be rid of him, Constance could hardly believe her ears. The man had been downright desperate to see the place. But now, clearly, his tone was cold—he had no intention whatsoever of calling her, she could tell.
    “Fine, Mr. Henning,” she replied with a bare minimum of civility. Never mind her wasted time; at least she’d be rid of him. “Now I really must get back to Mystery.”
    “Let me close the shutter and window,” he offered quickly as she started toward them. She could have sworn his limp seemed more pronounced when he crossed to the window. For the first time, she noticed the small tear in his trousers on the back of the left thigh. A dark stain ringed it. The tear and the stain was at odds with the man’s impeccable attire, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that he was in a hurry.

    “You forgot to bolt the shutter,” she pointed out as he turned to join her.
    “No, it’s fine,” he assured her, his tone brooking no debate on the matter.
    She was on the verge of pointing out that it clearly was not locked—she could see a seam of daylight where the shutters failed to join tightly.
    Then she spotted it on the bare wooden floor, brightly illuminated in the sunlight flooding through the front door: a glistening scarlet drop that could only be fresh blood.
    For a long moment she paused, on the edge of her next breath, cold dread filling her limbs as if they were buckets under a tap. She glanced around and spotted another drop, another—several of them, all marking places where he had walked.
    A terrible sense of foreboding gripped her. She had to grab hold of the door to steady herself. Henning, meantime, had stepped outside, waiting for her to lock up.
    “Mr. Henning?” she said without turning around.
    “Yes?”
    “Are you…I mean—Mr. Henning, are you…bleeding?”
    The moment she asked, some instinct warned her she should have pretended not to notice. His next comment verified her instinct.
    “I’m sorry you had to notice that, Miss Adams. I truly wish to God you hadn’t.”
    Fighting a sudden, watery weakness in her calves, she turned toward the yard to confront him. And encountered the single, unblinking eye of the gun in his hand.

Chapter 3
    T he moment she spotted the gun, Constance felt her heart surge. For a few seconds, an exploding pulse made angry-surf noises in her ears.
    He wasn’t actually pointing it at her, but he certainly hadn’t pulled it out for show-and-tell, either.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Adams,” he repeated. “You’re too observant for your own good. It would’ve been much…simpler if you hadn’t noticed those bloodstains.”
    Maybe it was the influence of too many movies, but the possible significance of his words made her go numb with fright.
    That same fear must have addled her reason, she decided, judging from her next comment—which surprised her at least as much as it seemed to surprise him.
    “You deceitful bastard! ” She spat the words at him with a contempt unmitigated by her fear.

    Bastard…the word had a B-movie feel in her mouth, yet it came out automatically from the depths of her anger and indignation. If she had been burned by a dishonest fiancé, this was infinitely worse. So far as she knew, Doug had never sunk