Tempting A Texan. Carolyn Davidson

she’d lived with Amanda and her parents.

      Tomorrow would be soon enough to unpack the bag someone had delivered from the train station. She looked forward to hanging her few articles of clothing in the vast expanse of that dressing room, perhaps pretending for a while that this was her home.

      Turning back to the bed, she folded the coverlet at its foot, then slid between the sheets. Her eyes noted the glass windowpane and she compressed her lips with impatience, aware that it was still closed to the night air. It took only a moment to slide from the comfortable mattress and cross the room to lift the wooden frame. It slid silently upward, and Carlinda dropped to her knees to look down at the lawn below.

      A pale shadow caught her eye and she watched as the tall figure of a man walked toward the trees lining the edge of his property. Nicholas Garvey out for an evening stroll, she decided, aware of the long, slow stride that carried him beneath the low-hanging branches.

      A flicker of light illuminated his profile as he bent his head to touch a match to his cigar. She hadn’t caught the scent of tobacco on him earlier, yet the faint aroma touched her nostrils now, the breeze carrying it upward. A chill of foreboding touched her and she shivered, rising and making her way back to the bed.

      He held the scent of danger, and her instincts had seldom been amiss. It would be foolhardy to linger here.

      The morning sun was brilliant in the sky, but Nicholas ignored it, his mind caught up with the events of the evening before. She was an enigma, perhaps playing him for a fool with her talk of leaving, then dithering as she seemingly settled into his household. The thought of her departure was not welcome, for Carlinda held an attraction he could not resist, yet resented with his sensible, masculine mindset. She was definitely not the type of woman who would accept for herself what he had in mind.

      “Damn. She isn’t even beautiful,” Nicholas muttered, aware that his steps were heavy, his momentum rapid as he walked toward the bank.

      “Who isn’t?” Jonathan Cleary’s voice shot holes in his concentration as the local lawman stepped to his side and voiced aloud the query Nicholas had known in that split second was coming. He’d caught sight of Cleary just as his voice uttered the exasperated statement, and now he supposed he was doomed to explain the meaning of his claim.

      “You know damn well who I’m talking about.” Embarrassed not only by his sullen retort, but by his obvious interest in the nursemaid he’d taken to his home, he stopped dead still on the wooden sidewalk and aimed a dark glance at his friend.

      Cleary only grinned, further irritating the banker.

      “You’ll have to admit I’m right,” Nicholas said, more quietly as he nodded a good morning in the direction of a passerby.

      “That she’s not beautiful?” Cleary seemed to consider the matter, and then shook his head. “There’s something about her, Nick. Maybe those dark eyes, or the auburn curls. Maybe the creamy look of her complexion, like it would be velvet under your fingertips.” He shrugged. “And don’t go quoting me to Gussie, you hear? She’d have my neck if she thought I’d looked cross-ways at another woman.”

      “How could you help it?” Nicholas asked, gloom coating each word. “I don’t need to be smitten by a stranger. One who won’t even be here long enough to form an attachment.”

      “You’re thinking about—”

      “Don’t even say the words,” Nicholas warned him. “I’m not going to dillydally around with a woman here on a short-term basis when I’ve got an eye on Patience Filmore. I have a notion Miss Donnelly would put demands on a man, when all he’s asking for is something temporary. If I marry Patience one day down the road, I’ll still be my own person.”

      Cleary only shook his head and shrugged. “You’re right there. You’re the least of her concern. Patience is interested in the money you’ve got in your bank.”

      Nicholas took affront. “You don’t think I’m gentleman enough or handsome enough for the lady?” And yet, he knew that Cleary wasn’t too far off the mark. Patience was definitely a lady with an eye to the future. And being the owner of the only bank in town gave him an edge.

      “Hell, you can probably talk her into marriage without any trouble at all,” Cleary said harshly. “But will you be happy with her?”

      “Happy?” Nicholas felt his throat close as he uttered the word. “What does that mean?” And yet he knew. Knew that Cleary and his wife shared a life he found himself observing at times with a sort of awe and envy he’d always thought beneath him. “I’m not a homebody like you, Cleary. I think Patience will suit me just fine.”

      “Speaking of which…” Cleary lifted a brow and nodded at a woman heading in their direction. “I need to be across the street,” he said, tipping his hat at the lady in question before he stepped down from the sidewalk.

      “Nicholas.” Patience was blessed with abundant dark hair that hung in a series of ringlets from beneath her bonnet. Her blue eyes were wide and fringed with equally dark lashes, and she had an hourglass figure that drew the eye of every man in her vicinity, no matter where she went.

      And yet, all Nicholas could see this morning was that there was an enameled look to her, as if she had spent hours perfecting the image she portrayed. His own smile was equally feigned as he offered his arm. She swept to his side, her skirts wrapping around his trouser legs as her slender fingers touched his forearm.

      On the other hand, Carlinda had looked a bit frazzled at the breakfast table, her hair curling against her temples and brow, her morning gown a bit wrinkled, having been hauled from her luggage for the occasion. She’d apologized for being late, then spent long moments fixing a plate for her charge before she once more sought his attention.

      And in those moments he’d filled his eyes with her soft contours, her rosy cheeks and the hastily pinned-together, russet-hued curls that perched high on her crown, several of them already on a downward slide as she shook her head in response to a query.

      “Nicholas?” Patience called his name, her voice curt as she broke into his thoughts. “What in the world are you thinking of?” she asked. “I’ve been telling you about the party Saturday at the Millers’ home, and I do declare, I think you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

      “My mind is on a problem at the bank,” he told her, lying without a speck of guilt. The woman had lost her attraction for him, almost overnight, it seemed. And for the life of him, he didn’t know how he’d go about shedding her presence from his daily routine, wishing glumly he’d never given her any encouragement.

      For the pursuit had been from her direction, he recognized, almost from the first. She’d set her cap for the banker, and been persistent in the chase. And he, idiot that he was, had allowed it. Had, in fact, aided and abetted her in her determination to win his favor. Now she stood before him and he thought how wonderful it would be to hold a magic wand in his hand, just for a moment, so he might wave it over her lush form, sending her back to wherever she’d come from this morning.

      Instead, he forced a benign smile to appear. “I have to get to my desk,” he said, his words apologetic. “I’ll try to find time to call on you later today, Patience.”

      Her pout had lost its appeal, he decided, as she allowed her rosy lips to form a small moue, and then fluttered her lashes in what he’d once thought was a beguiling manner. Miles removed from the open, honest glare he’d received from the woman in his study only last evening.

      His stride was long, as if he could not escape Patience quickly enough, and he crossed the dusty street, heading for the bank where his clerk, Thomas, was sweeping the wide sidewalk before the open door.

      “Good morning, Mr. Garvey,” the young man said cheerfully. “Beautiful day, don’t you think?”

      “Depends on your viewpoint,” Nicholas said with a grunt, his long legs carrying him into the high-ceilinged lobby, leaving behind an employee he knew must be puzzled by his employer’s mood. Normally