West End Train Station, Boston Massachusetts

July 1875

Lady Margaret Travers stared at the three steps leading up to the train and took a deep breath. The sounds of people talking, laughing, and shouting, and of the hissing steam coming from the locomotive engine all faded as she contemplated stepping onto the train. Three steps and their escape was complete. This was the moment she and her sister Millicent had planned for six weeks on the ship crossing over from England to Boston. And yet she hesitated to board.

“Hurry up then, Maggie. Let’s get on! This is stellar!” Millie’s voice whispered in her ear.

Millie was excited. She always was the one who craved adventure and something new. Maggie was more grounded, the one who liked safe, predictable events. And this ... this was definitely not safe or predictable. It was dangerous, some would say foolhardy.

But truth be told, there was no way on God’s green Earth that she was going to marry a man she’d never met, regardless if he was an earl or that her father signed a marriage contract.

Maggie grabbed the handrail with her right hand, gripped the valise with her left and stepped onto the train. An enormous weight seemed to lift off her shoulders as her feet touched the wood planked floor of the landing. She took a deep breath and walked into the train car. Millie was right behind her, practically dancing with exuberance.

“Millie,” she turned to look at her younger sister. She stood on her tiptoes and gazed around with mischievous brown eyes.

“Yes?”

She shook her head. “It’s not an adventure, puss.”

Millie smiled that wide, mischievous grin of hers. “Oh, yes it is! It’s a grand adventure! I wish I could see Mrs. Rutherford’s face when we don’t appear at the hotel as planned! The old biddy will likely have apoplexy!”

Maggie found their private compartment and slid the door open. Two long seats with a smattering of cushion. Not a luxury accommodation, but within their limited funds. All they had was in Maggie’s reticule, carefully exchanged at the bank before they came to the train station. Between them, they had five hundred American dollars to start a new life in Corpus Christi, Texas. She hoped it would be enough. She sat down and dropped the valise, packed only with a few essentials, on the floor.

“It’s not nice to be so mean spirited toward Mrs. Rutherford. After all, she agreed to be our chaperone at Papa’s urging and left behind her life for at least three months. She’s well ... she’s just ... all right, she’s an old pickle,” Maggie said as she sat down and spread her purple traveling suit comfortably.

Millie practically bounced into the seat across from her. Her red curls blew around her face like a sunset halo. She set the basket of food they’d purchased beside her.

“I can’t help it, Maggie,” Millie said as she turned her attention to the window. “Oh, look, you can see Wind Dancer being loaded!”

Maggie looked out to see her thoroughbred mare being walked into the train’s cargo section. She was going to be their transportation when they got to Texas. If necessary, to be sold for funds. She didn’t even want to contemplate that. She was the only other thing they took with them from the ship. The rest of their clothes and belongings were left behind with the others to be transported to the hotel to await them. A hotel they would never step foot in. Their maids and chaperone would find out this evening when the letter Maggie had written would be delivered. It would take another six weeks before their father found out what they had done.

Maggie unpinned her hat and laid the purple concoction down on the seat. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, willing the tears away. She would not cry over this. She was twenty-five years old. Old enough to know her own mind and make her own decisions. This was one she could not, would not, regret. Her life in London was gone for good. She was going to be an American now, a Texan. Life as she knew it would never be the same.

* * * *

It seemed like hell had taken a lesson from the train companies in America. Maggie firmly believed that hell could not be any less comfortable, smell worse, or have a lower caliber of people than the train she had the misfortune to be on.

There was the widow with five ill-kempt, ill-mannered children. The overweight leering bible salesman. A couple of cowboys that snickered and eyeballed them. And she was sure there were at least one or two fallen women selling their wares in the dining car. Millie absorbed it all like the adventuress she was.

Maggie was beyond annoyed. She was disgusted and ready to simply buy a house in the middle of the Texas prairie. Forget Aunt Gertrude.

Sighing, Maggie tried to put her hair back into a semblance of order, but it was extremely hot on the train. Apparently it was extremely hot in Texas, and very humid. Her normally wavy, honey-brown hair was sticking in all different directions, including to her neck. And the plum wool of her traveling suit made her itchy in various unmentionable places on her body.

She had taken off the jacket, although her blouse was still buttoned up to her neck and down to her wrists. Millie had unbuttoned at least three buttons, exposing her neck. And no amount of chastising changed her mind. Millie was going to be Millie. Sometimes it was hard being an older sister to such a stubborn little hellion, but she loved her sister. She was her best friend and confidante. Maggie didn’t know if she could have made the journey without her.

She took Aunt Gertrude’s letter out of her reticule and unfolded it again. Rereading her missive was a way to pass the time, which she’d done dozens of times over the past two days. She hoped when they made it to Corpus Christi that she would be as kind and giving to her wayward nieces as she always had been. Maggie’s stomach clenched at the thought that she would force them on the next ship bound for England. No one was going to force her to do anything ever again.

Millie was staring out the window again at the passing countryside. It really was quite lovely, with lots of trees and tall grass. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the dirty glass.

“Millie, we’re dirty enough without you rubbing your face on there,” she admonished.

“There are some horses back there, Maggie. They are riding right up to the locomotive,” she gasped. “Bloody hell! I think the train’s being robbed!”

Before Maggie could gather her thoughts, the sound of screaming brakes assaulted her ears right before she was thrown off the seat and onto Millie. They collided, knocking heads and squealing like little girls.

Maggie couldn’t even get up off Millie as the force of the train stopping kept her pinned against her.

“Good thing we haven’t eaten much on this trip, Maggie, or you’d have flattened me,” Millie chortled from below her.

“Are you all right?”

“I think so. My head’s banged up, and you kicked me in the shin, but otherwise, top notch.”

The train gave a great shudder and stopped completely. Maggie was still clutching Aunt Gertrude’s letter, which was now a crumpled heap. She pushed herself up to her knees and shook her head to clear it. She stuffed the crumpled letter in her reticule and stared out the window.

“Did you say the train was being robbed?” Maggie finally replayed Millie’s words in her head.

“I think so! There were men on horses and...”

Millie’s words were cut off when the door to their compartment was thrust open. Maggie’s back was to the door, but she saw her sister’s eyes widen. Those brown orbs flicked to hers and she saw something she’d never seen there before. Fear.

*

Brit Spalding narrowed his gaze at the two women he found in the most expensive car on the train. They were bound to have money. There was a brunette on her knees on the seat and a little redhead peeping out from behind her.

“Okay, ladies, hand over your jewelry, money, and anything else of value.”

The brunette stood and smoothed her skirt before turning to look at him. It was good thing he was wearing a neckerchief over his face or she would have seen his mouth drop open. His cock jumped to attention and pointed like a compass.

She was exquisite. Creamy complexion, narrow face and nose, eyes almost the color of amber, deep pink bow shaped lips, high arched eyebrows the color of dark honey. She had a beautiful body too. Curvaceous, tall, with graceful limbs, and an abundance of thick hair that he would love to sift through his hands and bury his face into.

Lord but this was a gorgeous piece of feminine flesh.

“Pardon me?” she said.

The sound of a clipped British accent almost made his soldier lay down again. It reminded him of his mother. Of a place he would like to forget.

“You heard me. Hand it all over. Now,” he said.

He took a step toward her, pistol raised. He gave her points for bravery. Her eyes flickered to the gun and then back to his. She didn’t move a muscle.

“I have no intention of giving you anything,” she said. “So be on your way.”

Brit threw back his head and laughed. “You’ve got brass, honey. I’ll give you that.”

“What’s brass?” piped up the redhead.

“Be quiet, Millie,” the brunette said through gritted teeth.

“Brass balls. Ya know? Being able to stick it to the best of them without backing down.”

“Brass balls?” the redhead named Millie repeated.

He saw the brunette flush. Oh, she knew what brass balls were. Obviously the other didn’t.

“Millicent, be quiet!”

“But Maggie...”

She shushed her with one hand in a chopping gesture. “That’s enough!”

Maggie sure did have a lot of gumption, not to mention a habit for giving orders. Well, Brit wasn’t going to take them.

“Yup, that’s enough all right. If you don’t give them over, I take them.”

He reached for her reticule, clutched in her hand, and she slapped his hand. Slapped him hard enough that it stung. A lot.

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched the reticule out of her hand.

“Nobody hits Brit. Do you hear me? Nobody.”

“And you, I suppose, are Brit?” she spat.

“At your service.”

All he wanted to do was kiss the hell out of this one in the purple dress and press himself close. She definitely had passion. What she would do in a bed was enough to feed his dreams for weeks.

“You are definitely not at my service or you would not be taking my reticule. Give it back.”

He grinned under his neckerchief. “For a kiss.”

“Certainly not!”

He heard Millie start to protest and Maggie shushed her again.

“I will appeal to you as a gentleman. Do give back the reticule and go rob the other patrons on this conveyance. They are all in dire need of your services.”

Brit laughed again. Damn, he hadn’t laughed in so long and now she had made him do it twice in five minutes.

“Nothing doing, Maggie.”

He started to back out of the compartment when she lunged for him. For a heartbeat, that beautiful body was pressed up against him. He smelled lilacs, soap, and woman. His cock was pushing against the buttons now, reaching for her. He rubbed himself just slightly up and down, then lifted his neckerchief and kissed her once, before releasing her.

Good God, that was the best five seconds he’d had in years.

“Stay here, woman. I don’t have time for that now. Maybe later.”

She stumbled backwards into the seat then sprang up with her hands clenched into fists.

“How dare you!”

“Oh, I dare a lot, little lady. Gotta go.”

He ducked out of the compartment and ran. Sorry to leave Miss Maggie behind. She was the first person that made him feel anything. It had been such a long time.

*

Maggie was breathing hard and felt on the verge of tears. That ... that arrogant ass! He stole all their money! And Aunt Gertrude’s letter! How would they survive or even find her!

“Millie, I’ve got to go after that man.”

“What?” Millie asked.

“He’s got all our money and the letter! I have to get my reticule back!”

“But Maggie, he’s a bandit! With a gun!”

Maggie didn’t care. All she could focus on was the fact that he had taken all their money. Without a backward glance. She wasn’t about to allow him to steal her future. She snatched her hat and jacket and stalked out of the compartment with Millie at her heels.

“What are you going to do Maggie?”

She marched out of the train car and into the next. Out the window, she could see the outlaws mounting the horses. She had to hurry.

Maggie put on her jacket and hat as she walked. She found the conductor in the third car she went through.

“Sir! Excuse me, what is the next stop?”

The conductor was an older white haired man who looked dazed.

“The next stop? Beaumont.”

Maggie turned to Millie and grabbed her hands. “Listen, you need to stay on the train and get off at the next stop. Beaumont. I will find you. Do you understand puss?”

Millie nodded her head, her brown eyes wide.

Maggie hugged her tightly then took off running to the cargo car, her skirt hiked up, petticoats flying. The other patrons on the train stared at her as she held onto her hat and ran like no lady should. There wasn’t a choice. She needed her horse.

When she finally arrived at the cargo car, it took a few minutes of arguing with the train engineer and the cargo person. They were adamant, however, they didn’t know Lady Margaret Travers. In the end, they relented and she took Wind Dancer and her tack off the train.

She quickly saddled her, then used the stump of a tree to mount. She turned back to the train and saw Millie standing at the open door, staring at her.

“I will find you, Millie! Stay in Beaumont!”

She nodded and waved. “Be careful, Maggie!”

Maggie looked in the distance and saw a cloud of dust from the bandits’ horses. She kneed Wind Dancer into motion and took off after them.

The Sheriff’s Vixen
Robin Danner

Chapter One

Beaumont, Texas 1875

Lady Millicent Travers was tired, sweaty, and hungry. She dragged her valise behind her, vainly trying to hold onto her sanity. She and her sister, Maggie, had gotten onto a train to escape unwanted marriages. Somehow, Millie had been left behind while her older sister went off on a quest to recover their stolen money. Now she was left alone in Beaumont with no money and no idea when she was going to see Maggie again.

Millie stomped her foot, frowning when she stepped into something squishy. “What the hell?” She lifted her skirts and peered at her expensive new half boots. Damn, now they were covered in horse shit. Swearing up a blue streak, she limped across the porch of Beaumont’s only boarding house and knocked loudly.

A wizened old woman jerked open the door and peered up at her. “Can I help you?”

Millie gave a practiced smile. It was the same one she’d used when faced with her adoring beaus back in London. “Yes, you may. I need to rent a room for a few days.”

“Sorry. We’re all booked up,” the lady snapped and began to shut the door.

Millie stopped her by slapping her palm against the door. “Please, ma’am. I’m on my way to Corpus Christi to visit my aunt, but I have to wait here until my sister returns. Surely you have at least one room available?”

The woman tilted back her head and regarded Millie from under the brim of her battered Stetson. “I don’t like the look of you.”

Millie’s mouth dropped open. “Pardon?” She knew she wasn’t a raving beauty, but her features were pleasant enough.

The old lady spat a stream of tobacco juice toward Millie’s feet. Only by jumping aside was Millie able to avoid having her skirts stained. “You smell like horse shit.”

Dear Lord, the lady was blunt. Even so, Millie felt a smile tugging at her lips. “That’s because I just stepped in a pile of steaming manure on your front lawn.”

The old lady grinned, displaying her missing front teeth. “What did you do a thing like that for?”

“It wasn’t intentional, I assure you.” Millie scraped her boot heel against the edge of the porch, hoping to dislodge the odiferous mess.

The woman cocked her head to the side and seemed to be weighing the wisdom of allowing a smelly, bedraggled young lady into her house. “Alright then. I’ll let you stay but I want my money up front.”

Millie’s relief came crashing down. Money? The small amount she and Maggie had painstakingly tucked away was gone, taken by a handsome outlaw who’d held up their train earlier that day. “I don’t actually have any funds with me. Can I pay you tomorrow?” She didn’t know how she would, but she’d worry about that when morning came. Right now she just wanted a bath, a clean bed, and something to eat.

The old lady’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Sorry. No money, no room.”

Sticking her smelly boot in so she couldn’t close it, Millie once again stopped her from shutting the door in her face. “Please hear me out. The truth of the matter is my money was taken during the train robbery earlier. My sister chased after the man who took it. She should be back with it any time now.”

The lady guffawed. “Your sister took off after Brit? There ain’t no way in hell she’ll catch up with him.”

Recalling her sister’s stubborn nature, Millie disagreed. “Trust me. If Maggie says she’ll get our money back, she will.”

The lady did not seem to be bending. Giving in to something she never did, Millie begged. “Please, ma’am. I swear to you that you’ll have your money before the end of the week.”

“What if your sister doesn’t return by then?”

“Then I’ll get a job,” Millie answered. She’d never worked a day in her life, but she was nothing if not determined. After all, how hard could it be?

The woman spat again. Millie grimaced at the disgusting habit, which caused the older woman to smile again. “I’ll let you stay, but if I don’t have my money by Friday, out you go!”

“Fair enough,” Millie said and stuck out her hand. “My name’s Millie, by the way.”

The lady shook her hand. “You can call me Bessie.”

“Bessie?” Millie echoed.

“Bes’ see some money or you’re out of here.” The lady began to cackle at her own joke.

Millie lifted an eyebrow, not amused by the old lady’s humor. “Can you please show me to my room?”

Bessie drew herself up to her unimpressive height. “Now, see here. I won’t stand fer none of that hoity toity business. You get all uppity on me and I’ll put you out. See if I don’t.”

Despite her brash exterior, Millie was beginning to like her hostess. Her spit and sputter was almost comical. Would be if Millie wasn’t in such a state. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Follow me then.” Bessie turned and led the way into the house. The floor creaked beneath their feet as they headed for the stairs. Dust and clutter filled the small house, but it felt like heaven after the blistering sun she’d endured during her walk. Texas in July was miserably hot, much hotter than it’d ever been in London.

“This is where you’ll sleep.” Bessie threw open the door to a small room. “There’s a shade tree outside so this room’s the coolest part of the house.”

“Thank goodness,” Millie sighed. If she never felt the sun again, she would die a happy woman. Her pale English skin was not made for a Texas summer. She was itchy and covered head to toe in dust and there was nothing she longed for more than a bath. Except maybe some sleep and food. At the thought, her stomach rumbled.

“We eat at seven sharp. Be sure you’re not late,” Bessie said.

“We? Are there others staying here also?”

Bessie rolled her eyes. “It’s a boarding house, ain’t it? Of course there are others.”

“How many?” Mille asked. She did not feel up to dining with a crowd of strangers. She wanted to take a bath, curl up in the middle of her bed, and sleep until noon the next day.

“Just one other, actually. Fellow by the name of Spalding. He’s the sheriff.”

Millie groaned. Just her luck. The one boarding house in town and it would be inhabited by the town’s local law enforcement. She and authority figures never seemed to get along. It had started way back in school when she’d put frogs in Miss Dalrymples’ bed. “Would it be possible for me to dine upstairs?”

“No, it ain’t. I ain’t no bleeding maid. You eat downstairs with us or you go hungry.”

“In that case,” Millie remarked dryly. “Expect me at seven.”

* * * *

Benjamin Spalding reined in his horse and cursed.

He’d been so close this time, almost close enough to see the color of shirt the outlaw had been wearing. There’d been two of them, which was unusual. Brit usually worked alone, but damned if the second one hadn’t looked like a female.

For the past year, since becoming sheriff of Beaumont, Ben had made it his duty to keep the town safe from outlaws. He was having none of that business like had been going on down in Corpus Christi, bandits running amok and causing all sort of trouble. He’d been doing a damned fine of protecting his town too until Brit came along. The man was slippery than an eel and as elusive as a puff of smoke in the wind.

Ben used the back of his shirtsleeve to wipe his sweaty, dusty face and glared at the outlaws who were mere dots on the horizon and cursed again. Granted, it was a mild curse, but a curse nonetheless. His mother would horsewhip him if she ever heard him speak in such a manner. His dear mamma was as English and proper as they came, but living in the wilds of Texas sometimes changed a man. Surely he was allowed an epithet every now and again.

Deciding it would be useless to continue chasing the ones responsible for robbing the southbound train, Ben turned his horse back toward town. A couple of hours later, he arrived in Beaumont. The streets were as dry and dusty as usual, but it always felt like home. Being raised in London and then on his stepfather’s ranch, Ben was used to all the comforts money could buy. Out here, a man had to live by his wits. Even though his mother had pleaded with him to stay in Houston, Ben preferred the untamed areas of Texas.

As he appeared, a crowd of townspeople immediately rushed him, clamoring for news of the outlaw.

“Did you get him, Sheriff Ben?” Five-year-old Sammy Newton asked.

Ben groaned inwardly. He hated to disappoint the boy. “No, Sammy. Not this time.”

Sammy smiled, his missing front teeth clearly evident. “That’s alright, Sheriff. You’ll get him next time.”

The half dozen or so people surrounding him eagerly echoed the sentiment. Ben looked at their shining faces and felt a wedge of guilt lodge in his stomach. These people saw him as their hero since he’d rid their town of most of the rabble that had previously terrorized the area. Crime was decreased by fifty percent and the jail was routinely filled with lawbreakers. Even with all the good he’d done, Ben didn’t see how he could remain sheriff if he couldn’t get rid of one lone outlaw. He suspected there were more outlaws in cahoots with Brit, but he could never catch them or wind of their hideout.

Ben climbed off his horse and stretched his tired, aching muscles. He’d spent all day in the saddle and he knew he was going to pay for it in the morning. Excusing himself from the crowd, Ben walked the short distance to Miss Bessie’s boarding house. He led Theo to the small stable beside the house and gave his horse a quick rubdown. After making sure Theo was fed and watered, Ben crossed the yard to the front door.

“Howdy, Sheriff.”

Ben shaded his eyes and glanced up at Russell Ames, the town drunk who was currently perched on the roof of Tom’s Mercantile. “Russ, what in the hell are you doing up there?”

Russ took a swig from the bottle permanently attached to his right hand and grinned. “Just enjoying the view.”

Ben’s gaze swung toward Miss Bessie’s small house. What view? There was nothing but dust and tumbleweed as far as the eye could see. “Get down from there before you hurt yourself,” Ben ordered. He entered the relative coolness of Miss Bessie’s house and tossed his hat on a nail she’d put there especially for that purpose. Miss Bessie didn’t hold with hat wearing in the house and she’d tan his hide if he appeared at the dinner table wearing his dusty Stetson.

Ben caught a whiff of himself and grimaced. He smelled like horse and sweat. Even though his belly was rumbling, the English half of him rebelled against appearing at the table in such a condition. He slipped out the back door, intent on washing up at the barrel of water Miss Bessie kept out back for her struggling rose bushes.

He had his shirt halfway over his head before he heard the tinkling laughter of a woman. He knew it wasn’t Miss Bessie whose laugh was more like a cackle. Struggling to put his head back into his shirt, he stared at the vision in front of him. Who the hell was she? And what was she doing in Miss Bessie’s backyard wearing nothing but her shift?

She was barefoot, her red hair unbound and hanging nearly to her waist. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen and he’d seen some mighty fine ones in Texas. Dumbfounded, he just gaped at her.

“Are you going to stand there gawking all day or are you going to get over here and help me?”

Ben frowned. She might look like an angel, but she used the language of a harpy. He glanced at the bundle of cloth in her hands. She was unsuccessfully trying to hang it across the branches of the yard’s lone tree. She was tall for a woman, but not nearly tall enough for the task. Ben enjoyed the sight of her stretching and twisting for a moment. The late afternoon sun caused her shift to become nearly transparent and he could see the shadow of her breasts through the thin cloth. As she made a small leap, her breasts swung forward and he imagined himself cupping their full weight. His britches began to feel tight, so he forced his eyes away from her tempting bosom.

“Let me get that for you,” he said as he leapt off the porch and strode toward her. Dust flew up beneath his boot heels and tickled his nose.

She paused in her task and lifted a dark eyebrow in amusement. “That is very gentlemanly of you.” She slapped the dress into his outstretched hands and stepped aside while Ben unfolded the cloth and arranged it across the branches.

“Don’t rip it!” she warned.

“I won’t,” Ben assured her as he carefully draped the pink frilly garment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stick her finger in her mouth and nervously bite the end of one nail. Did she think him a complete moron? He was more than capable of hanging a simple dress over a...

Riiiipppp!

Ben cursed softly while the woman at his side screeched. “You ripped it!”

Ben eyed the small tear in the hem of the dress with a critical eye. “It’s barely noticeable. All you need is a needle and thread and it’ll be good as new.”

She slapped his arm and glared at him. “I can’t sew, you idiot!”

“Then learn!” Ben snapped back. Really, enough was enough. It wasn’t like he’d ripped the damned thing on purpose.

Her pretty pink lips opened and closed, but no retort was immediately forthcoming. She stomped her dainty foot and screwed up her face at him. Even in her anger, she was adorable. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

Was this woman insane? Ben glared down at her from his five-inch advantage. “Don’t be daft. Of course I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You should have been paying more attention.”

He threw up his hands. “You shouldn’t have distracted me.”

She put her hands on her curvaceous hips and faced him fully. “How did I do that?”

By being so damned beautiful I can’t concentrate on the simplest task. “By hollering at me,” he said out loud in his best imitation of a Texan’s drawl.

“I would hardly consider it hollering,” she argued.

“My dear lady, you were definitely hollering.”

She cocked her head to one side and regarded him closely. “You’re English.”

She said it as if it were a curse. “Half English,” he admitted. “How did you know?”

She shrugged, the strap of her shift slipping down one gently rounded shoulder. “Something in your demeanor gave it away.”

“What’s wrong with being English?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m English myself as you can probably tell by the sound of my voice.”

She turned back to her dress and plucked at the piece of lace that had been ripped.

At her wistful expression, he was moved enough to offer. “I can repair it for you.”

She cut a look toward him. “You sew?”

He nodded. If a man wanted to survive in Texas, he had to learn a lot of things. “A little,” he admitted.

At first, he thought she was going to be impressed. Instead her eyes widened, her lips twitched, and then she exploded into full-scale laughter. She doubled over, her hands clamped about her waist, and howled with laughter.

“What is so amusing?”

“You are,” she choked out. “What kind of man sews?”

“A real one,” Ben shot back. “I can also cook, clean, and bake a fine apple pie.”

“A man of many talents.” She was trying hard not to laugh again, but small tears of mirth leaked from the corners of her eyes. She swiped a hand across her face and fought to keep a straight expression.

“Can you do those things?” he taunted.

“Of course not,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I was raised to be a lady of leisure.”

“Meaning you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth,” Ben completed for her.

She put her hands on her hips. Her breasts thrust forward temptingly. “A silver ladle actually.”

He could tell she came from money. She had an air about her that told him she was used to getting whatever she wanted. No doubt she probably had servants waiting on her hand and foot back in London, but damned if Ben was going to be her whipping boy. “Well, out here, it takes more than money to survive.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

He cupped a hand about his ear. “Sorry. I didn’t quite hear you.”

She sniffed and raised her nose in the air. “How would you know? You’re obviously no poor tenant farmer yourself.” Her gaze raked over the silver pistol stuffed in its holster on his hip. He’d had it shipped in from London and it had cost a small fortune, but its fine shot made it well worth its cost. And how would she recognize the value of a gun anyway? She continued talking before he could ask her about her knowledge of weapons. “You’re some big time rancher, aren’t you?”

Ben tapped the silver star on his chest. “No. I’m the sheriff actually.”

Once again, he failed to impress her. She raised her hands and mockingly clapped. “Good for you. Protecting the bustling metropolis of Beaumont from evildoers must take a lot of energy out of you.”

His eyes narrowed. Beaumont may not be a large city like London, but there was enough crime to keep him busy. In fact, he normally worked sixteen-hour days just to keep the town safe. “You’ve just arrived, so I’ll overlook your ignorance this time.”

“I’ve been called many things, but ignorant has never been one of them.” Her whiskey brown eyes were alight with mischief as she smiled at him. As much as he wanted to dislike her, she was making it hard to do so. In fact, she was making many things hard. Just watching her now, her pale limbs displayed through the sheer fabric of her shift, he felt a faint stir of arousal.

“Hey, Sheriff! Why don’t you introduce me to your lady friend?”

Ben groaned. He’d forgotten all about Russell still perched on the roof beside them. Ever since he’d walked into the yard and seen her half-dressed, his mind had been scattered. “We have an audience,” he murmured for her benefit.

“I know,” she answered. “He’s been watching me all afternoon.”

“You knew?” Ben asked. “And you remained out here in your unmentionables?”

She laughed again, but this time it was a small chuckle. “Of course I knew. I’m not blind.” She stepped past Ben and lifted her hand in a wave. “Hello,” she called up to Russ. “I’m Millicent Travers.”

Russ snatched his cap off his head and nodded vigorously. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Millicent. I’m Russell Ames.” His vigorous head nodding nearly unbalanced him. They both watched anxiously until he recovered his balance. “I’m okay,” Russ called out.

“Russ, for the last time, get down from that roof!” Ben shouted. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

Millicent turned her attention back to him and Ben felt seared. She was definitely a handful, but she would make some man a definite armful also. She was lushly curved in all the right places, with a generous bosom and pert bottom. His hands itched to shape themselves to her curves and see if she felt as good as she looked. Belatedly he realized she was waiting for him to introduce himself. He stumbled over the words. “I’m Benjamin Spalding, but my friends call me Ben.”

He caught a whiff of lavender as she moved past him. “In that case, I’d better call you Benjamin.”

Ben recognized the challenge in her voice. So she didn’t want to be friends? He smiled to himself. They would just see about that.

Ben silently watched as she sashayed away from him. The sway of her hips caused his dick to harden even further. Damn, but it was going to be interesting matching wits with her. And if he had his way, they would be much more than mere friends.