Wild Burn by Edie Harris Read Free Book Online Page A

once again ravenous.
    The door opened slowly to reveal her, limned in the warm light of the hearth flickering behind her. Glorious dark red hair fell in thick, loose waves past her shoulders to stop at the top of her rib cage.
    His fingers twitched. Just… glorious .
    “Mr. Crawford.” Her gaze flicked over his features, summer-blue eyes wary. “What can I do for you?”
    “Mornin’, Miss Tully.” He swallowed. He was a stupid man. He knew better than to be here, talking to a lady—a schoolteacher —when he was in Red Creek on business. If he needed a woman, he could go to the Ruby Saloon. Not the second cabin from the end, with its garden and its gray stone chimney, its tidy golden glow streaked through with the homey scents of biscuits and coffee. “Just stopped by to see how your ear is doing.”
    Her brows lowered in a sharp frown. She was always frowning at him, it seemed. “It’s fine, thank you.”
    “I see you’re not wearing a bandage.”
    She shook her head as she pulled a black woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders. He could see where her bodice met the simple skirt of her brown calico dress. There were no telltale bumps of a boned corset beneath the light fabric, no sign of a metal-caged crinoline or bustle at her hips. She was achingly dressed—achingly in that he hurt with the desire to dance his hands over her body and learn every inch of her slim shape. The gown was so worn it would prove no greater barrier than a thin bedsheet, and he could fall to his knees before her and curve his fingers around those slender thighs, part them with his thumbs as he fisted her skirts and—
    “Is that all?”
    No, no, that wasn’t all. He wanted her to knock his hat off his head while he stayed on his knees, grip his hair in her long fingers and steer his hands, his mouth, from the back of one knee and up her inner thigh. It would be so soft. She would be so soft, that pale skin…and probably freckled too. Oh, Christ, he—
    “Mr. Crawford?”
    Hell. “Sorry, ma’am. Guess I’m still tired.”
    He wondered if she believed his excuse when she tugged the shawl even closer across her chest. “I see. Are you…? How long will you be in Red Creek?”
    It was difficult to shrug with inconvenient arousal tightening every muscle in his body. “As long as it takes.”
    Her gaze changed, narrowed. “As long as it takes to kill the Cheyenne, you mean.”
    “I’m not going to hurt the tribe across the hill, Miss Tully.”
    “Not unless you think they’re dangerous. I know what you do now.”
    “Oh?”
    She nodded. “Mr. Vangaard runs the general store and collects the post. He has a nice stack of old newspapers in his back room filled with the accountings of your grand deeds. Saving the West one dead Indian at a time.” Sarcasm gave her words a cruel twist.
    “That’s not all I do.” It absolutely was all he did, not that he wanted her to know.
    “Mm.” She let her eyes settle briefly on the gun at his hip, and her lips compressed before she spoke again. “I suppose you’re going over there now.”
    “I am.”
    “The chief, Walking Bear, is John White Horse’s uncle. I’ve not yet met him, but, knowing Mr. White Horse, I can only assume he is as peaceful as his nephew.”
    “I’m sure the problem doesn’t lie with Walking Bear’s tribe, Miss Tully. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t investigate, at least once.”
    She shifted her weight to lean against the doorframe. “Don’t hurt any more innocents, Mr. Crawford, or you’ll undo every good thing Mr. White Horse has accomplished in the past three months.”
    It was much more difficult than it should’ve been to draw in air as she gave him a beseeching look. The softest expression she’d yet gifted him, it did funny things to his insides, and it drew him to her. He climbed the steps until he stood on the one just below her. “I won’t.”
    “M-Mr. Crawford?” Her eyes grew bigger, rounder.
    Slowly, so as not to