Windstar by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Read Free Book Online Page A

lowered the script again and stared into the fireplace with longing. “Salt fish,” she said, sighing deeply. “Lord, I would give anything for a good piece of salt fish.”
    “What is salt fish?” he inquired. “What kind of fish was it?”
    “I don’t know,” she answered. “But it was so good.”
    “The Vikings did salt cod,” he said. “That’s damned good.”
    She shrugged and picked up the script. “You should do this one,” she said.
    He took off the glasses she hadn’t known he needed to read when she first met him and rubbed his eyes. “What’s it about?”
    “A gunfighter who’s out to avenge his little brother’s murder.”
    “Is there sex?” he asked. “It’s in me contract there must be wild, monkey sex.”
    “He kidnaps the daughter of the villain and has his way with her,” she said on a long sigh. “I’ll probably dream about that scene tonight.”
    “Does she fight him during the seduction?”
    “At first but then she gives in to the inevitable.”
    “Probably liked the way he slung his gun,” he declared with a chuckle. He was staring down at her bare feet, seemingly fascinated by the cherry red toe polish.
    “What evil thing are you thinking now, boss man?” she asked, seeing where his attention had gone.
    He sat up, scooted down on the rug, and lifted her foot. “I wanna do this ….”
    Angela just stared at him as he took her big toe between his thumb and index finger.
    “This little piggy went to market,” he said and she laughed as he moved to the next toe. “This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef. This little piggy had none.” He gently took her little toe and caressed it. “This little piggy got broken.” He looked up at her. “How’d that happen?”
    “A brutal encounter with the leg of one of our kitchen chairs,” she replied.
    “Ouch,” he said and stroked her toe softly. “I broke my big toe once and it hurt like a motherfucker.”
    “How’d you do that?”
    “Stubbed it on the stairs.” He slid his hand to her bare ankle and rubbed her flesh absently. “Ever notice how hard it is to walk with a broken big toe? It throws your balance off, you know?”
    She watched him scoot back up until he was sitting beside her. He surprised her by taking the script out of her hand, turning around so he could lay his cheek in her lap, the back of his head pressed against her belly.
    “What are you doing?” she asked quietly.
    “Gonna take a nappie now, Granny,” he said. He was lying on his side and he slid the arm on which he was resting under her crooked knees and curled his fingers around the lower part of her raised thigh and closed his eyes.
    Angela looked down at him as he lay there with his knees drawn up, his bare feet crossed at the ankle and of their own volition, her fingers spiked through his soft hair to massage his scalp.
    “Umm,” he groaned and his other arm went over her thigh, the fingers of each hand threading together to hold her captive in his embrace.
    This man was doing things to her that was driving deep into her heart. A part of him was childlike and trusting and she was beginning to realize he was a very lonely, needy man. As she smoothed his thick hair back from a perfectly sculpted forehead, she noticed a small scar on his right temple and traced it with a fingertip.
    “Snotty older brother,” he mumbled. “Tonka truck thrown at high velocity. Collision with six-year old flesh that bled like a stuck pig. Two stitches for little brother and very satisfying ass-whipping for older.”
    She ran her free hand to his shoulder and just held him, stroking his hair until she heard the steady, even breathing that told her he was asleep.
    * * * *
    Sloan Harper watched the rolling cloud of dust thrown up by the stagecoach as it rumbled over the open plains. His gloved hands were crossed over the saddle horn as he flexed his thighs to hold in check the high-spirited roan stallion upon which he sat. He moved