Renegade Wife - By Charlene Sands Page 0,3

his grasp. “No, thank you. I’m only here to look for—”

“Looking for a man, are ya? Well, ain’t gonna find a better one than’s right here in front of ya. How about that drink now?”

“I don’t drink.” Molly shuddered and turned to leave, heeding the barkeep’s words. Perhaps this hadn’t been one of her better ideas. But she found herself being drawn back with a sharp tug on her skirt.

“C’mon now, miss.”

The persistent man’s audacity enraged Molly. She swung around abruptly and cringed when she heard a definite rip in her skirt. She felt the tear go clear down her backside, more than she’d ever exposed to any man in her life. Molly gasped, crying out, “Look what you did!”

The cowboy chuckled. “Sorry.” There was no true apology in his words. And now, Molly had caught the attention of many in the saloon. She felt their eyes upon her, heard their lurid whispers.

Her simmering anger boiled over. Molly had had one trying day, this being the last and final straw. She lifted her valise and landed a blow to the cowboy’s midsection. Surprise registered on the man’s scruffy face. Molly figured she’d stunned, more than hurt him.

“Hey!”

“Stay away from me.” She grabbed her valise to her chest and bounded with full force out the saloon doors, ignoring the laughter that followed. Fury mingled with mortification as she forged ahead, right smack into the chest of yet another cowboy. He grabbed her shoulders. Molly shoved at him with all her might, unwilling to have a repeat of the saloon debacle. Were all the men in this town prone to manhandle women? She struggled fiercely. “Let me go,” she said, just before she lost her balance as they cascaded down the steps. Both went tumbling to roll ungraciously into the dirt, the valise flying up and over her head.

The cowboy braced her fall and took the brunt of the impact on his back, while cushioning her in his arms. She lied atop him, the strength of his broad body protecting her from injury. For the briefest of moments, Molly relished the feel of him, holding her firm, but oh, so tenderly. She stared into his deep silver-gray eyes, noting the slight hint of concern. His hat had flown off in the fall, revealing raven-black hair, too long and unruly to be considered civilized. Within the seconds that ticked by, Molly took in his high cheekbones, sun-bronzed skin and strong powerful jaw. A tingle of awareness, one completely female in nature, coursed through her veins. Molly’s heart flipped over itself.

“Miss McGuire?”

Molly blinked at the deep resonating sound of the man’s voice, and certain familiar words in the letter she’d kept close at hand fluttered into her mind. Tall, not too unsightly, with gray eyes and dark hair. I hope you find my appearance adequate.

Molly swallowed hard, realizing the description more than fit. She quickly hoisted herself off of him. She brushed at her skirt, too humiliated to even think about the gaping hole in her backside at the moment. She glared down at him as he lifted up on his elbows.

His dark gaze raked her over, one sweep like a lightning flash, assessing her unabashedly. Warmth spread throughout her body from that one quick look. She didn’t know if she’d measured up or not, his expression giving nothing away. She stared back, out of curiosity now, gaining a full-length view from his position on the ground. He wore buckskin, pants tight enough for Molly to note his muscular legs and a shirt stretched across his chest pulled together by crisscrossing string. But it was the colorful beads circling his neck that told Molly there was something different about Kane Jackson, something that set him apart from other men. It had only taken one look for Molly to recognize that her betrothed wasn’t like most men. Yet, Molly couldn’t figure the why of it. She only knew it for fact. And to think, she’d been atop him in the middle of the street for all of Bountiful to see. Atop him and enjoying the comfort of his arms.

Molly admonished herself for such a notion, yet she couldn’t deny that Kane Jackson was a fine-looking man. Long in body, but broad where a man should be broad. It didn’t appear that Mr. Jackson had on ounce of softness anywhere.

She watched as he bounded up with the ease of a graceful animal and she immediately recognized that it was her own clumsiness, as well her state