Firestorm by Brenda Joyce Read Free Book Online Page A

care of myself!”
    He gave her a contemptuous look.
    Storm decided she hated him. “I can shoot better and ride faster than any man!”
    He noted grimly that she had a six-shooter strapped to her thigh. “That’s quite an accomplishment for a young lady,” he drawled sarcastically. “Maybe it should be added to the repertoire of all young ladies’ training.”
    She flushed. “I can certainly defend myself better than some dandified city-slicker gambler!”
    Brett tensed, and Storm whirled her stallion in the other direction. “Goodbye, Mr. D’Archand. I’m going home, so there’s no need for you to further ruin my day.”
    Brett turned his own mount and continued to ride silently alongside her. He would escort her to her door and deliver her into Paul’s hands. The girl had no common sense. None at all.
    But he found himself staring at her perfect form, so ripe for lovemaking, and her arresting profile. Desire washed over him, and he fought it. He had always been a lusty man, and proud of it, but this time his lust was misplaced.
    She glared at him. “It’s rude to stare.”
    â€œForgive me.”
    She looked quickly at him to see if he was mocking her, but his expression told her nothing. She urged the black into a canter.
    Brett had to admire her seat. She rode with consummate grace, as if she and the horse were one. He wasn’t even shocked that she rode astride, for he had imagined she would when he had first seen her clad in men’s buckskins. Now, however, he had an image of her astride something else. Him.
    â€œYou ride very well,” he said hoarsely.
    â€œSo do you.”
    He grinned then. “Tell me, Storm, do you have a beau back in Texas?” He was sure she didn’t. The girl was flustered every time he looked at her. Clearly she didn’t know how to flirt.
    She glanced warily at him. “No.”
    He was pleased, although he refused to recognize why that should be. “Why?”
    â€œI’m only seventeen.”
    He chuckled. “That’s old enough.”
    When he began laughing at her, Storm lashed out. “Lennie Willis tried to kiss me, but I blackened his eye,” she said with hard satisfaction.
    Brett’s smile widened. He could vividly imagine the scene, some young bumpkin trying to steal a kiss from the wild, buckskin-clad girl, her fist flying. He laughed again. Storm glared, flushing.
    He decided to change the topic. “How was shopping yesterday? Did you find some pretty things?”
    â€œI have no use for ‘pretty things,’ Mr. D’Archand. I’m a Texas woman who lives and works on a ranch. As far as I’m concerned, this life is for people like you, not for me.”
    He frowned. He had only been trying to make pleasant conversation, but it seemed she wanted to fight. “You haven’t even given San Francisco a chance.”
    â€œThat’s right,” she said as they turned off the beach.
    They rode the rest of the way in silence, and when they reached the gates of the Langdon residence, Storm turned a flashing blue glance at him. “Goodbye, Mr. D’Archand.”
    â€œBrett,” he said easily. “And I intend to escort you to your front door.” He had already decided not to confront Paul now, in front of her, for his temper at her foolishness had cooled. He would stop by the bank in town later and have a private word with her guardian. After all, Paul mustbe informed of his cousin’s riding off alone. It was just too dangerous.
    They reached the stables to the left of the house. Ever the gentleman, Brett swung down as Storm did. She ignored him, handing her reins to the groom who had hurried over. Brett caught her arm before she could move away. “Until Friday,” he said, holding her hand and staring into her eyes.
    Then he was gone, swinging effortlessly into the saddle and cantering away without a backward