"My, my, you are a discerning man," she murmured.

"Cut the simpering belle act, Kristin. It isn't your style."

She flashed him an angry glance and started to turn away.

"Stop, turn around and tell me what you want!" he ordered her. He was a man accustomed to giving commands, she realized. And he was a man accustomed to his commands being obeyed.

Well, she wasn't going to obey him. She had paused, but she straightened her shoulders now and started to walk away.

She heard his boots strike the dirt softly, but she didn't realize he had pursued her until she felt his strong hands on her shoulders, whirling her around to face him. "What do you want, Miss McCahy?" he demanded.

She felt his hands, felt his presence. It was masculine and powerful. He smelled of leather and fine Madeira and her father's fine Havana cigar. He towered over her, and she wanted to turn away, and she wanted to touch the hard planes of his face and open his shirt and see the dark mat of hair that she knew must cover his chest.

"I want you to stay."

He stared at her, his eyes wary, guarded. "I'll stay until you can get some kind of an escort out of here." '

"No." Her mouth had gone very dry. She couldn't speak. She wet her lips. She felt his eyes on her mouth. "I — I want you to stay on until — until I can do something about Zeke."

"Someone needs to kill Zeke."

"Exactly."

There was a long, long pause. He released her shoulders, looking her up and down. "I see," he said. "You want me to go after Zeke and kill him for you."

Kristin didn't say anything.

"I don't kill in cold blood," he told her.

She wanted to lower her eyes. She had to force herself to keep meeting his demanding gaze.

"I — I can't leave this ranch. I can give you a job —"

"I don't want a job."

"I —" She paused, then plunged on desperately. "I can make it worth your while."

He arched a brow. Something brought a smile to his lips, and suddenly his face was arrestingly handsome. He was younger than she had thought at first, too. But then he was talking again.

"You — you're going to make it worth my while."

She nodded, wishing she could hit him, wishing he would quit staring at her so, as if she were an unproved racehorse.

"Come here," he said.

"What?"

"Come here."

"I —I am here."

"Closer."

He touched her. His hands on her shoulders, he dragged her to him. She felt the steely hardness of his body, felt its heat and vibrancy. Through his pants and through all her clothing she felt the male part of him, vital and pulsing, against the juncture of her thighs. She still stared at him, wide-eyed, speechless, her breasts crushed hard against his chest as he held her.

He smiled crudely. Then his lips touched hers.

Curiously, the touch was very, very light. She thought she might pass out from the feel of it, so startling, so appealing. His lips were molded to hers…

Then hunger soared, and his tongue pressed between her teeth, delving deep, filling her mouth. She was engulfed as his mouth moved over hers, his lips taking hers, his tongue an instrument that explored her body boldly and intimately. Her breasts seemed to swell and she felt her nipples harden and peak almost painfully against his chest. He savaged her mouth, moving his tongue as indecently as he might have moved another part of his hard body…

Something inside her exploded deliciously. Heat coursed through her, filling her. She could not meet the power of his kiss, but she had no desire to fight it. It was shameful, maybe more shameful than what had happened to her this morning.

Because she wanted it.

She savored the stream of liquid sensations that thrilled throughout her body. Her knees shook, and the coil deep inside her abdomen that was so much a part of her womanhood seemed to spiral to a peak, higher and higher. She wanted to touch him. To bring her fingers against him, exploring. To touch him as his tongue so insinuatingly invaded all the wet crevices of her mouth…

Then he released her. He released her so suddenly that she nearly fell, and he had to hold her again to steady her.

He stared down at her. Her lips were wet and swollen, and her eyes were glazed. He was furiously angry with himself.

"Worthwhile?" he asked.

Kristin's mind was reeling. What did he mean?

"You don't even know how to kiss," he told her.

"What?" she whispered, too stunned to recognize the anger rising inside her.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was softer now.

"Damn you!" Kristin said. "I'll make a bargain with you! If you'll just stay —"

"Stop it!" he said harshly. "I'm sorry. I just don't have the time or the patience for a silly little virgin."

"What?" She stepped back, her hands on her hips, and stared at him. The insolence of him!

She wanted to scream and she wanted to cry.

"I don't want a love affair, Miss McCahy. When I do want something, it's a woman, and it seldom matters who she is, just so long as she's experienced and good at what she does. Understand?"

"Oh yes, I understand. But I need help. I need you. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"I told you, I don't want a virgin —"

"Well then, excuse me for an hour, will you?" Kristin snapped, her eyes blazing. "I'll just run on out and screw the first cowhand — oh!"

She broke off in shock as he wrenched her hard against him. "Shut up! Where the hell did you come up with language like that?" he demanded heatedly.

"Let me go! It's none of your business! It's a rough world here, Slater!" She flailed desperately against him. He didn't feel her fists, and he didn't even realize that she was kicking him.

"Don't ever let me hear you say anything like that again!"

"Who do you think you are, my father?" Kristin demanded. She was very close to bursting into tears, and she was determined not to, not here, not now — not anywhere near this drifter. He had made her feel as young and naive and foolish and lost as Shannon. "Let me go!"

"No, I'm not your father. I'm a total stranger you're trying to drag into bed," he said.

"Forget it. Just release me and —"

"You just stop, Miss McCahy!" He gave her a firm, hard shake, then another. At last Kristin stopped fighting. Her head fell back, her hair trailing like soft gold over his fingers, her eyes twin pools of blue fire as she stared into the iron-gray hardness of his.

"Give me some time," he said to her very softly, in a tone that caused her to tremble all over again. "I'll think about your proposition."

"What?" she whispered warily.

He released her carefully. "I said, Miss McCahy, that I would think about your proposition. I'll stay tonight. I'll take my blanket out to the bunkhouse, and I'll give you an answer in the morning." He inclined his head toward her, turned on his heel and started off toward the house.

CHAPTER THREE

When she walked back into the house, Kristin was in a cold fury. She didn't see Cole Slater anywhere, and for the moment she was heartily glad.

He had humiliated her, plain and simple. She'd been willing to sell honor, her pride, her dignity — and he hadn't even been interested in what she'd had to sell. She wished fervently that she wasn't so desperate. She'd have given her eyeteeth to tell the man that he was a filthy gun-slinger, no better than all the others.

Yet even as she thought of what she'd like to be able to say to him, she realized it would be a lie. He'd saved her from Zeke, from the man who had murdered her father. She owed him.

And she'd paid, she thought dryly. With humiliation.

Shannon wasn't around when Kristin reached the dining room. Delilah was there, though, humming a spiritual as she carefully picked up the fine crystal and china on the table. She glanced Kristin's way curiously and kept humming.

"Where's Shannon?" Kristin asked.

"Out feeding the chickens," Delilah said.

Kristin decided to help clear away the remains of the meal, but when her fingers clenched too tightly around a plate, Delilah rescued it from her grip. "Sorry," Kristin muttered.

"Kristin, for the sake of your mama's fine things, you go do something else here this morning, hm?"

Kristin stepped away from the table, folding her hands behind her back.

"You didn't ask where Mr. Slater had gotten himself off to," Delilah said.

"I don't care where Mr. Slater has gotten himself off to," Kristin replied sweetly.

Delilah shot her a quick glance. "The man saved our lives," she said sharply.

Kristin strode furiously across the room to look out the window. "He saved our lives… and he really doesn't give a damn."

"He's riding out?"

Kristin exhaled slowly. She could see Shannon by the barn, tossing feed to the chickens. If she had any sense she would leave. Shannon was precious to her, just as Delilah and Samson were. She should do whatever was necessary to protect them.

But the dream was precious, too. The dream and the land. And where would she go if she did leave? She could never embrace the Southern cause — she had been treated too cruelly by the bushwhackers here for that — nor could she turn against Missouri and move into Yankee territory. She wanted desperately to fight, but she was helpless.

It didn't matter where she went, Richmond, Virginia or Washington, D.C. Nowhere was life as cruel and violent as it was here on the border of "bleeding Kansas." Nowhere else did men murder each other so callously.

"Kristin?" Delilah said.

"Slater…" Kristin murmured. Her pride was wounded, she realized. She had offered up her finest prize — herself— and he had informed her crudely that he wasn't interested.

"Kristin, if you're mad at that man for something, you remember the rest of us here. You understand me, missy?" Delilah came toward her, waving a fork. Kristin tried not to smile, because Delilah was deadly serious. "Quantrill's men get ahold of us and they'll think nothing of a hanging. You saw what they did to your pa. I got a baby boy, Kristin, and —"

"Oh, Delilah, stop! I'm doing my best!" Kristin protested. She tried to smile encouragingly. She couldn't quite admit to Delilah yet that she had offered her all and that it hadn't been enough. She hadn't even tempted the man.

She clenched her teeth together. She'd like to see him desperate, his tongue hanging out. She'd like to see him pining for her and be in the position to put her nose in the air, cast him a disdainful glance and sweep right on by. Better yet, she'd like to laugh in his face. If it hadn't been for this war, she could have done just that. She could have had any rich young rancher in the territory. She could have had —

Adam. She could have had Adam. A numbing chill took hold of her. Adam had loved her so much, and so gently. Tall and blond and beautiful, with green eyes that had followed her everywhere, and an easy, tender smile.

Adam was dead. The war had come, and Adam was dead, and she had few choices. Yes, Slater had humiliated her. But part of it was the fire. Part of it was the feeling that he had embedded in her, the hot, shameful longing for something she didn't know and didn't understand. She had loved Adam, but she had never felt this way when she had been near him. Never. Cole Slater did frighten her. She didn't like the feelings he evoked in her. They shattered her belief in her own strength.

"Cole Slater is staying tonight," she told Delilah.

"Well, glory be!"

"No, no," Kristin said. "He's bunking with the hands for the night. He'll, uh, he'll probably be gone by morning."

"By morning?" Delilah repeated blankly. "Kristin, I don't want to suggest anything that ain't proper, but chil', I'm just sure that if you tried being friendly to the man…"

"Delilah," Kristin murmured, her sense of humor returning at last, "I'm sure I don't remember what proper is anymore. I tried. Honest to God, I tried." She shrugged. "I'm not going to do you any good around here. I'll see you in a bit, huh?"

She hurried toward the stairs, giving Delilah a quick kiss on the cheek as she passed. She felt the older woman's worried gaze follow her, but by the time she reached the landing, she had forgotten about her.

The house felt so empty now.

Delilah and Samson and their baby had the rooms on the third floor. Kristin's and Shannon's were here on the second floor. But Matthew's room was empty now, as was the big master bedroom where her father and mother had slept. The two guest rooms were empty, too. They hadn't entertained guests in a long, long time.