Bushedwhacked Bride by Eugenia Riley Read Free Book Online Page A

plop himself into the rocker next to her. Appalled, she watched him prop a dusty boot against her tub. Heavens, the big lug was sitting on her towel, her wrap per. The only way she could escape would be to run past him stark naked.
    “My ma is out butchering chickens for your supper and she won’t hear,” Cole drawled, indolently lacing his fin gers behind his neck. “She gets right worked up when she butchers hens. Usually sings all six stanzas of ‘When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,’ as I recollect.”
    Jessica was mortified by his gall, his insulting familiarity. She shoved his boot off the tub. “I don’t care. Get out of here, or I’ll—”
    He sat up straight. “You’ll what, sugar? Pop up out of that tub and slap my face? Now, that’s a sight I’d purely love to see.”
    Jessica was too mortified to respond.
    From his pocket, Cole drew out a cheroot and a match. “So, what’s your name, honey?”
    “That’s none of your business.”
    Striking the match on his boot heel, he slowly lit his smoke. “Now, that’s a peculiar thing to say to a man while you’re sitting in front of him buck naked in a bathtub.”
    “Jessica Garrett!” she all but spat.
    “Well, Miss Jessie, I hear you’re the new schoolmarm,” he remarked, blowing a smoke ring at her. “What would you like to teach me?”
    Jessica was so livid, she almost did bolt out of the tub. “First, to put out that disgusting cigar,” she shot back. “Secondly, to get the hell off this porch.”
    He leaned toward her. “I’m not going anywhere, lady, so you’d best get used to it.”
    “You’re a coward to wait until I’m alone and defense less—”
    Again Jessica’s words were cut short as Cole abruptly stood, his menacing six-foot form looming just inches away from her—though she noted with satisfaction that he dropped his cheroot onto the porch and snuffed it out beneath the toe of his boot.
    “So I’m a coward, am I?” he asked softly. “Lady, you sure are full of prunes, a female alone in her bath with a man who is known to be . . . well, right ruthless.”
    Jessica trembled in anger. “Oh! If you assault me—”
    “Assault?” he repeated in disbelief. “Lady, you’ve al ready assaulted my dignity three ways to sundown, and that’s why I’ve come here to have a word with you.” Stubbornly, he crossed his arms over his chest. “And I’m not leaving till I do.”
    Jessica could not believe she was having this absurd conversation with this infuriating man. “Very well, then. Have your word. Then get out of my sight.”
    Instead of lighting into her as Jessica would have ex pected, he just scowled, appearing at a loss. Then the mama cat meowed plaintively, breaking the tension. Cole strode over to the cat, clucked softly to her, and stroked her ears. At once the female stood, shamelessly rubbed against Cole’s thigh, and purred loudly. He stroked her flank and continued to coo to her.
    Jessica’s mouth went dry at the sight of this hardened outlaw displaying such tenderness. It occurred to her that a man who could behave so gently toward a cat couldn’t be all bad. She dismissed the notion at once as being not the least bit helpful to her in her current plight.
    Yet the sight of him petting the cat still fascinated her, and she also realized that, since this man held all the cards, it might behoove her to be civil.
    She cleared her throat. “What’s the cat’s name?”
    “Jezebel.” Mischief shone in Cole’s eyes as he gazed up at Jessica. “She likes catting around, and comes through with a litter at least twice a year. Got the latest batch hidden under the porch somewhere.”
    “Poor thing.”
    “What do you mean, poor thing? Isn’t that a female’s lot?”
    Jessica harrumphed. “You would think that, like some throwback to the nineteenth century.”
    He appeared perplexed. “Lady, the last time I looked, this is the nineteenth century. It may be the year 1888, but we haven’t passed the century