Directly into the arms of Baron Cain.

"What in the hell…"

The heat from his naked, sleep-warmed chest seeped through her cold, wet shirt, and for a moment, all she wanted to do was stay where she was, right there against him, until she could stop shivering.

"Kit, what's wrong?" He grabbed her shoulders. "Has something happened?"

She jerked back. Unfortunately, Merlin was behind her. She stumbled over him and sprawled down on the hard kitchen floor.

Cain studied the tangled heap at his feet. His mouth quirked. "I take it this thunderstorm is a little too much for you."

She tried to tell him he could go straight to Hades, but her teeth were chattering so hard she couldn't talk. She'd also landed on the revolver tucked in her britches, and a sharp pain shot through her hip.

Cain stepped over them to shut the door. Unfortunately, Merlin chose that moment to shake himself off. "Ungrateful mutt." Cain grabbed a towel from a hook near the sink and began rubbing it over his chest.

Kit realized her revolver would be visible under her clothes as soon as she stood up. While Cain was preoccupied drying off, she slipped it out of her britches and hid it behind a basket of apples near the back door.

"I don't know which of you is more scared," Cain grumbled as he watched Merlin disappear down the hallway that led to Magnus's room. "But I wish you both could have waited till morning."

"I'm sure not scared of a little damn rain," Kit retorted.

Just then there was another crash, and she leaped to her feet, her face turning pale.

"My mistake," he drawled.

"Just because I-" She broke off and swallowed as she finally got a good look at him.

He was nearly naked, wearing only a pair of dun-colored trousers slung low on his hips, with the top two buttons left unfastened in his haste to get to the door. She'd been around her share of scantily clad men working in the fields or at the sawmill, but now it was as if she'd never seen a one of them.

His chest was broad and muscular,, lightly furred. A raised scar slashed one shoulder, and another jutted over his bare abdomen from the open waistband of his trousers. His hips were narrow and his stomach flat, bisected by a thin line of tawny hair. Her eyes inched lower to the point at which the legs of his trousers met. What she saw there fascinated her.

"Dry yourself off."

She lifted her head and saw him staring at her,, a towel extended in his hand, his expression puzzled. She grabbed the towel and reached under the collapsed brim of her hat to dab at her cheeks.

"It might be easier if you'd take your hat off."

"I don't want to take it off," she snapped, unsettled by her reaction. "I like my hat."

With a growl of exasperation, he headed into the hallway, only to reappear with a blanket. "Get rid of those wet clothes. You can wrap up in this."

She stared at the blanket and then at him. "I'm not takin' off my clothes!"

Cain frowned. "You're cold."

"I'm not cold!"

"Your teeth are chattering."

"Are not!"

"Damn it, boy, it's three o'clock in the morning, I lost two hundred dollars at poker tonight, and I'm tired as hell. Now get out of those damned clothes so we can both get some sleep. You can use Magnus's room tonight, and I'd better not hear another sound from you till noon."

"Are you deaf, Yankee? I said I wasn't takin' off any clothes!"

Cain wasn't used to anybody standing up to him, and the grim set of his jaw told her she should have killed him right away. As he took a step forward, she shot toward the basket of apples where she'd hidden her gun, only to jerk to a stop when he caught her arm.

"Oh, no, you don't!"

"Let me go, you son of a bitch!"

She started swinging, but Cain was holding her at arm's length. "I told you to take off those wet clothes, and you're going to do what I say so I can get some damn sleep!"

"You can rot in hell, Yankee!" She swung again, but her blow bounced off as harmlessly as thistledown.

"Stop it before you get hurt." He shook her once as a warning.

"Go fuck yourself!"

Her hat flew off as she felt herself being lifted off the floor. There was a clap of thunder, Cain sank down onto a kitchen chair, and she found herself upended over his outstretched knee.

"I'm going to do you a favor." His open palm slammed down on her bottom.

'"Hey!"

"I'm going to teach you a lesson your father should have taught you."

Once again his hand came down, and she cried out, more from indignation than from pain. "Stop it, you rotten Yankee bastard!"

"Never cuss at people who are bigger than you are…"

He gave her another hard, stinging smack.

"Or stronger than you are…"

Her bottom began to burn.

"And most of all…"

The next two smacks left her bottom on fire.

"… don't cuss at me!" He pushed her off his lap. "Now, do we understand each other or not?"

She sucked in her breath as she landed on the floor. Fury and pain swirled in a haze around her, clouding her vision, so she didn't see him reaching for her. "You're going to get out of these clothes."

His hand clamped her wet shirt. With a howl of rage, she leaped to her feet.

The old, worn fabric ripped in his hand.

After that, everything happened at once. Cool air touched her flesh. She heard the faint patter of buttons skittering across the wooden floor. She looked down and saw her small breasts exposed to his gaze.

"What in the-"

A sense of horror and humiliation suffocated her.

He released her slowly and took a step back. She grabbed for the torn edges of her shirt and tried to pull them together.

Eyes the color of frozen pewter stared down at her. "So. My stable boy isn't a boy after all."

She clutched the shirt and tried to hide her humiliation behind belligerence. "What difference does it make? I needed a job."

"And you got one by passing yourself off as a boy."

"You're the one who assumed I was a boy. I never said any such thing."

"You never said any different, either." He picked up the blanket and tossed it to her. "Dry yourself off while I get myself a drink." He moved toward the hallway door. "I'll expect some answers when I come back, and don't even think about running away, because that'd be your biggest mistake yet."

After he disappeared, she flung down the blanket and raced toward the basket of apples to retrieve the revolver. She sat at the table to hide it in her lap. Only then did she gather her tattered shirttails together and tie them in a clumsy knot at her waist.

Cain stalked back just as she realized how unsatisfactory the result was. He'd ripped her undershirt along with her shirt, and a deep V of exposed flesh extended down to the knot.

Cain took a sip of whiskey and stared at the girl. She was sitting at the wooden table, her hands folded out of sight in her lap, the soft fabric of her shirt clearly outlining a pair of small breasts. How could he have believed for a moment that she was a boy? Those delicate bones should have been a giveaway, along with her eyelashes, which were thick enough to sweep the floor.

The dirt had thrown him off. The dirt and the cussing, not to mention that pugnacious attitude. What a scamp.

He wondered how old she was. Fourteen or so? He knew a lot about women, but not about girls. When did they start growing breasts? One thing for sure… she was too young to be on her own.

He set down his whiskey tumbler. "Where's your family?"

"I told you. They're dead."

"You don't have any relatives at all?"

"No."

Her composure annoyed him. "Look, a child your age can't run around New York City alone. It isn't safe."

"The only person who's given me trouble since I got here's been you."

She had a point, but he ignored it. "Regardless. Tomorrow I'll take you to some people who'll be responsible for you until you're older. They'll find a place for you to live."

"Are you talkin' 'bout an orphanage, Major?"

It irritated him that she seemed amused. "Yes, I'm talking about an orphanage! You sure as hell-heck-aren't going to stay here. You need some place to live until you're old enough to look after yourself."

"Doesn't seem to me I've had too much trouble up till now. Besides, I'm not exactly a child. I don't think orphanages take in eighteen-year-olds."

"Eighteen?"

"You havin' trouble hearing?"

Once again she'd managed to shock him. He stared down the length of the table at her-ragged boy's clothing, a grimy face and neck, short black hair that was stiff with dirt. In his experience, eighteen-year-olds were nearly women. They wore dresses and took baths. But then, nothing about her bore the slightest resemblance to a normal eighteen-year-old.

"Sorry to spoil all your nice plans for an orphanage, Major."

She had the nerve to smirk, and he was suddenly glad he'd spanked her. "Now, you listen to me, Kit-or is your name phony, too?"

"No. It's my real name, all right. Leastways it's what most everybody calls me."

Her amusement faded, and he felt a prickling at the base of his spine, the same sensation he'd felt before a battle. Odd.

He watched her jaw set. "Except my last name's not Finney," she said. "It's Weston. Katharine Louise Weston."

It was her last surprise. Before Cain could react, she was on her feet, and he was looking down into the barrel of an army revolver.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

Without taking her eyes from him, she came around the edge of the table. The gun pointing at his heart was stead)' in her small hand, and everything fell into place.

"Doesn't seem to me you're so particular about cussin' when you're the one doin' it," she said.

He took a step toward her and was immediately sorry. A bullet whizzed by his head, just missing his temple.

Kit had never fired a gun indoors, and her ears rang. She realized her knees were shaking, and she tightened her grip on the revolver. "Don't move unless I tell you, Yankee," she spat out with more bravado than she felt. "Next time it'll be your ear."

"Maybe you'd better tell me what this is all about."

"It's self-evident."

"Humor me."

She hated the faint air of mockery in his voice. "It's about Risen Glory, you black-hearted son of a bitch! It's mine! You've got no right to it."

"That's not what the law says."

"I don't care about the law. I don't care about wills or courts or any of that. What's right is right. Risen Glory is mine, and no Yankee's takin' it from me."

"If your father'd wanted you to have it, he'd have left it to you instead of Rosemary."

"That woman made him blind and deaf as well as a fool."

"Did she?"

She hated the cool, assessing look in his eyes, and she wanted to hurt him as she'd been hurt. "I suppose I should be grateful to her," she sneered. "Hadn't of been for Rosemary's easy ways with men, the Yankees would've burned the house as well as the fields. Your mother was well known for sharin' her favors with anybody who asked."

Cain's face was expressionless. "She was a slut."

"That's God's truth, Yankee. And I'm not goin' to let her get the best of me, even from the grave."

"So now you're going to kill me."

He sounded almost bored, and her palms began to sweat. "Without you standin' in my way, Risen Glory will be mine, just what should of happened in the first place."

"I see your point." He nodded slowly. "All right, I'm ready. How do you want to go about it?"

"What?"

"Killing me. How are you going to do it? Do you want me to turn around so you won't have to look me in the face when you pull the trigger?"

Outrage overcame her distress. "What kind of fool jackass thing is that to say? You think I could ever respect myself again if! shot a man in the back?"

"Sorry, it was just a suggestion."

"A damn fool one." A trickle of sweat slid down her neck.

"I was trying to make it easier for you, that's all."

"Don't you worry about me, Yankee. You worry about your own immortal soul."

"All right, then. Go to it."

She swallowed. "I intend to."

She lifted her arm and sighted down the barrel of her revolver. It felt as heavy as a cannon in her hand.

"You ever killed a man, Kit?"

"You be quiet!" The trembling in her knees had grown worse, and her arm was beginning to shake. Cain, on the other hand, looked as relaxed as if he'd just awakened from a nap.

"Hit me right between the eyes," he said softly.

"Shut up!"

"It'll be fast and sure that way. The back of my head will blow off, but you can handle the mess, can't you, Kit?"