Her Dearest Enemy by Elizabeth Lane Read Free Book Online Page A

hermind—the confrontation, the threats, one mandrawing on the other, then a gunshot shattering thesnowy night…
    “No!” Harriet flung herself at him with a desperate fury she had not known she possessed. Her momentumstruck his arm, knocking the pistol out ofhis hand and sending the weapon spinning across thefloor. Her fists pummeled his chest in impotent rage,doing no more damage than the fluttering wings ofa bird. “No! You can’t—I won’t let you—”
    “Stop it!” He seized her wrists, his brute strengthholding her at bay. His stormy cobalt eyes drilledinto hers. “Damn it, Harriet, this isn’t helping anything!”
    His use of her given name startled and sobered her.She glared back at him, her face inches from his own.“Don’t you see? This is a tragedy in the making. Youwith a gun, angry and upset—anything could happenout there. You’ve got to take me with you!”
    “And if I refuse?”
    “Then I’ll rip my clothes and go to the sheriff.”Harriet could scarcely believe her own wild words.“I’ll tell him that I came here looking for my brother,and you dragged me up to your room and tried tohave your way with me!”
    “Oh, good Lord!” Brandon’s hands released herwrists and dropped to his sides. A muscle twitchedat the corner of his grimly drawn mouth. “You’d bea fool to try it. Nobody in his right mind would believeyou.”
    The implication of his words was all too obvious.Only a depraved man would make indecent advancesto a priggish old-maid schoolteacher like herself, and Brandon Calhoun was one of the town’smost respected citizens. His arrogance stung Harrietlike lye in a cut, but she masked the hurt withdefiance.
    “Wouldn’t they?” She hurled the words, wantingto shock him, to hurt him. “Maybe the story wouldn’thold up in a court of law, but I have your nightshirt,and I can describe your bedroom down to the last detail.That should be enough to smear your preciousreputation with mud.”
    Silence quivered between them like the hangingblade of a guillotine. Harriet’s audacious threat, shesensed, had hit its mark. Brandon’s livelihood dependedon the trust and good will of the townspeople. Lose thatand he might as well pack his bags and move away.
    “You wouldn’t dare!” he snapped.
    “Wouldn’t I?” Harriet’s eyes narrowed in whatshe hoped was a menacing look. “You don’t know mewell enough to predict what I might do, Mr. Calhoun.Can you afford to take that chance?”
    He groaned, looking as if he wanted to strangleher with his bare hands. “This is blackmail, MissHarriet Smith. You know that, don’t you?”
    “Absolutely.”
    With a muttered curse, he snatched up the pistolfrom the floor and jammed it into the holster. “Let’sget moving, then,” he growled. “Come on, we’rewasting time.”
    * * *
    Brandon peered over the backs of the horses, intothe stinging blizzard. The hood on the elegant blacklandau was fully raised, but the windblown snowpeppered his face like buckshot. He could barely seethe ears of the two sturdy bays, let alone the familiarroad that wound north along the creek bed towardthe county line.
    Harriet huddled beside him on the seat, wrappedin his long woolen greatcoat. A thick shawl, belongingto Helga, swathed her head and shoulders. Theshawl’s edges were pulled forward, hiding her stoicprofile from his view. And that was just as well, Brandontold himself. The less he saw of the insufferablewoman, the better.
    Had he gotten away alone, he would have saddledone of the horses and ridden through thestorm. But Harriet was not dressed for riding.Moreover, after her performance in his bedroom,Brandon was ill-disposed to trust her. Put her on ahorse and there’d be nothing to stop the fool womanfrom bolting after the runaways on her own. Thelandau was slower, but it would be safer—and aslong as he held the reins, he would be the one incharge.
    “How can we be certain they came this way?”She leaned toward him, raising her voice to be