Bound: A sizzling hot Western romance. Molly Wishlade Ann

looked up and caught her observing him. His stare was hot and dark. Her stomach flipped. There was an intensity in his gaze that unnerved her. He reminded her of a trapped animal about to fight for its life. Ironic, she thought, as she was apparently the prisoner here. Yet something else burned in his eyes. It was more than fear. But just as primal. It made her heartbeat quicken and the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end.

      Etu leant forwards and handed her a pewter mug and she smiled at him. A habitual expression which she wished she could suppress. Some folks took friendliness for weakness. Better to be hard, harsh, without softness. But try as she might, she was none of those things. Etu’s face remained blank. He returned to his side of the fire and hunched over again. It was as if he bore the burdens of his people upon his shoulders or had spent his life trying not to be seen. Like he was accustomed to sinking into himself and disappearing from view. She understood the feeling of isolation that she suspected he must feel. Wishing that someone would just come along and scoop her up, carry her off on a horse and take care of her. That someone would see her for the special person she really was, not just a body for using and abusing.

      She took a shaky breath.

      “So…uh…Charlie…” Layla spoke. She couldn’t just sit here silently waiting for them to do something. For something to happen to her. “You said we needed to talk?” She hoped that she sounded more confident than she felt.

      “That we do, little lady.” Charlie nodded then sat at her side. “That we do.”

      “What about?” She gripped the mug, savouring the heat searing the palms of her hands. For a brief moment, she considered flinging the hot coffee into Charlie’s handsome face then running off but she feared the repercussions if he caught her. Which he undoubtedly would. It might anger him and that wouldn’t be wise. And she bet that she wouldn’t feel safe in his arms then. An angry man could be almost as bad as an angry bear, especially when he had a gun. Then he was even more dangerous.

      “Well, for a start…I think you’d better explain what you’re doing out here in the hills all alone,” he growled.

      Layla shifted her position. She had to stay alert. She might have a chance to flee at some point and she couldn’t afford a numb leg. What on earth did these men want with her? The Sioux didn’t look like he would take the lead with her and Charlie seemed completely unfazed by her, if she was reading him correctly. So why bring her to their camp?

      “Well, I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” she replied, throwing a haughty tilt of her chin into the final word. In haughtiness, she could find some security. Like a protective shell, she could hide behind it, conceal the real her.

      “Well ya see, Miss Powell.” Charlie pushed his Stetson back on his head. “It really is my business…seeing as how you’ve reneged on a deal you made recently.”

      Layla bit her lip. How did he know? Had he been employed by Mr Jackman to find her? But she’d only been gone a day and she wasn’t even due to be collected until tomorrow. So they must have arrived early in Deadwood. Darnit!

      Now she’d been caught, what the hell was she going to do?

      ****

      Charlie stared into the fire as he sipped his coffee. The bitter taste flooded his mouth and he savoured the heat as he swallowed. He needed this to stay alert. He’d thought he would have more trouble finding the pretty Miss Layla Powell but she’d been as easy to find as a wounded animal. An apt comparison, he mused. There was something about her that seemed wounded. Though she’d attempted to exert some kind of snooty attitude towards him, her eyes were wary and she just oozed vulnerability. He needed to be firm with her, to find out why she’d behaved as she had, but he was already struggling to remain aloof. He just couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

      Now the question was…what would he do with her?

      He’d had a physical description of her in her letter but she’d not done herself justice. He glanced sideways at her. She was a real beauty. If you liked that sort of thing. Auburn hair tumbled down her back like a titian waterfall and even in the darkness he could tell that her eyes were the colour of emeralds. Her profile showed a small nose which turned up slightly at the end and a sweet full mouth like a rosebud about to bloom. That mouth would no doubt be delicious to kiss and the thought of it wrapped around his erect girth flooded his body with heat.

      He frowned.

      What was he thinking? He hadn’t kissed a woman in a long time and he rarely reacted to one in this way. Perhaps it was just the lateness of the hour and the excitement of finding her in the woods. A bit like the thrill of hunting. He’d been the hunter. She was the prey. As sweet and gentle as a doe. Although she hadn’t been as difficult to catch as some animals. But did his cock have to harden when he’d held her against his chest and breathed in her scent? His body had completely overreacted to her proximity and it was baffling the hell out of him.

      He had to keep calm. Be rational. Layla didn’t seem to realise who he was and he wanted to keep it that way for a while. Better to play the role of ‘good sheriff’ while he figured her out and found out if she really was the little swindler that her behaviour suggested she was. Surely a woman who could take a man’s hard-earned money then run off with it wasn’t the type of woman he wanted living at his homestead?

      “So, Miss Powell…” He drained his coffee. “Would you like to explain to me why you’re wandering around in the Black Hills? Alone.”

      Layla looked at him over the rim of her mug. Darn it, she had such fine eyes. They glowed in the firelight and danced with something akin to mischief. He wondered what Etu was thinking about her. So far, his companion had retreated into the quiet dignity he habitually displayed around white women. Perhaps he was sussing her out, trying to decide if she could be trusted. If she was suitable. If she was even worth the trouble.

      And right now she seemed like a whole heap of trouble.

      “Well…Mr…uh…” the young woman continued.

      “Charlie is fine, Miss Powell.”

      “Well then…call me Layla,” she announced. Her tongue flicked out with the final syllable and he had to fight the urge to leap at her just to suck it. Again, his reactions confused him. This was a woman. A soft, curvaceous female. He hadn’t been interested in the fairer sex in a long while. If he ever had been. So what was it about this one that was stirring his body and creating such heat?

      The thrill of the chase. It had to be that. Or knowing who she was, while she had no idea about his identity.

      “Okay, Lay-la.” He grinned. “You gonna explain?”

      She eyed him and he could see her calculating carefully before speaking. So she was a bright one too. Fool enough to run off alone but not fool enough to spill the beans without thinking it over first.

      “I…uh…I…panicked.”

      “You panicked?” Charlie frowned. “A man trusted you to keep your word and you pocketed his money then panicked? If you didn’t want to keep your promise to Mr Jackman…why didn’t you just write him to say you’d changed your mind?”

      “I didn’t have time. I just didn’t think.” Layla placed her mug on the floor at her feet then hugged her knees to her chest.

      “You’ve had weeks!” Charlie spat. “You could have let him know well before now.”

      “Seems like you’re mighty angry for your boss, Charlie,” Layla replied, and her voice carried her curiosity. “Anyone would think you was personally offended.”

      Charlie cleared his throat. “I guess it might sound that way, Layla. But ya know. He’s really been through the mill.” She had no idea! “Plus, I just can’t stand folks who take advantage of the trust and generosity of others. And something about your reason for fleeing doesn’t quite add up.”

      He got to his feet. Trouble was, he actually could understand her reason for running. Marrying someone you’d never met, let alone