Her Sheriff Bodyguard. Lynna Banning

of his arms around hers. Or anything. He smelled of leather and wood smoke and sweat. Well, she acknowledged, she probably smelled the same. He didn’t seem to mind, because he moved his jaw right up against her hair.

      “Breathe in,” he said. “Now breathe out.”

      She couldn’t. Not with him so close. Not without revealing how uneven her breathing had become all of a sudden.

      He lifted her forearms and the gun barrel leveled off parallel to the ground. “Now sight down the barrel.”

      “Sight? What does that mean, ‘sight’?”

      He snorted. “Hell, lady, it means aim the damn gun!” With his chin he nudged her head down. “Look through those two little notches and point the barrel at something.”

      She’d like to point it at him. Instead she swung the weapon toward a low-hanging branch.

      “Now squeeze the trigger.”

      She heard a metallic snap.

      “Good. Now we’ll try it with a bullet.”

      Patiently Hawk showed her how to crack open the chamber and slide the cartridges into the slots. She was a quick study, and that surprised him. He only had to show her something once. She was obviously intelligent. Probably had attended some fancy girls’ school, maybe even college.

      When she’d loaded his revolver he instructed her about not swinging the barrel around but keeping it pointed down, then showed her how to release the hammer.

      “Okay, now aim at something.” Hawk stepped in behind her again and watched her point the weapon at another tree branch.

      “Try not to hit a bird,” he joked. She didn’t even crack a smile. “Don’t wait too long or your hands will start to shake.”

      “My hands are already shaking,” she said. Her voice was shaking, as well.

      “Bring the barrel up slowly. Now hold your breath and sight. When you’re ready, just squeeze back on the trigger.”

      The revolver discharged with a sharp crack, and the kick propelled her backward into his chest. Instinctively he grabbed her shoulders. “A gun always pushes back when you fire it, so you need to be ready.”

      He liked holding her that way, her backbone pressed against his chest. Her head just fit under his chin. Damn, her hair smelled good, like lemons and some kind of soap.

      He could feel every breath she took and he wasn’t liking his reaction one bit. He wanted to slide his fingers around to her chest, cup her breasts and feel her heart beat under his thumb.

      He snatched his hands away so fast it was as if a bee had stung him. Now, that was an interesting reaction.

      No, it was a damn worrisome reaction. He didn’t have time to dally with a woman, especially this woman, all proper and educated and remote.

      Even more important, he didn’t have the guts for it. Not anymore.

       Chapter Five

      They arrived in Gillette Springs just as the sun dipped behind the mountains to the north. The trunk sat waiting in the hotel foyer, as Hawk had instructed, so he arranged for a room. The women ordered a bathtub to be brought up. He made sure they bolted the door and strode off to find the sheriff.

      The man’s office was just three doors down from the hotel, but nobody was there. A sign stuck to the door read At Polly’s Cage. Back at five.

      Good idea. He could use a shot of whiskey before heading back.

      “Sheriff Davis in town?”

      The pie-eyed deputy leaned against the polished wood bar and sent Hawk a sloppy grin. “Leadin’ a posse up to Idaho,” the paunchy man allowed with a derisive snort. “Left me in charge, he did. In charge of what, I’d like to know. Nuthin’ exciting ever happens in this town.”

      “Might be something exciting tonight,” Hawk offered. “Suffragette lady’s making a speech.”

      “Oh, yeah, I heard about her. Over at the church, seven o’clock.”

      “Listen, Deputy, someone took a shot at the lady two nights ago in Smoke River. Think you should...” Hawk leaned toward him and lowered his voice. Then he stopped short and studied the man. Old. Out of shape. And drunk. This deputy couldn’t protect a dog from a flea.

      Hell. All he wanted to do was head back to Smoke River and forget the woman now taking a bath at the hotel. He wanted to get as far away as possible from Caroline MacFarlane.

      But he couldn’t leave her to the protection of this sorry excuse for a lawman. He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt.

      “How about you make sure nobody sits down in that church tonight without removing their sidearms. Pile ’em up on the back pew and guard them.”

      “Oh. Oh, sure, mister. I’ll do that for sure.”

      And not much else, Hawk realized. The minute Caroline entered the church she would be a sitting pigeon. Hell and damn, he couldn’t leave her. When he returned to Smoke River he’d send off a stiff note to Sheriff Davis about his derelict deputy, but for tonight, Hawk figured he’d have to stand in. Maybe he’d have to rethink the whole thing to keep this headstrong woman safe.

      He grabbed a bath and a shave at the barbershop across the street from the saloon, then went up the hotel stairs to tell Fernanda and Caroline what not to do tonight.

      * * *

      “Whatever do you mean, don’t wear this dress? This is my most tailored suit. It is perfectly proper and stylish and it commands resp—”

      “It makes you look stiff and superior and men hate women like that.”

      Caroline drew herself up as tall as she could and glared at him. “Oh, they do, do they? Well, let me tell you something. It is not men I am trying to reach, Mr. Rivera. It is the women I want to hear my message.”

      “No, it isn’t. It’s the men you need to convince. The women are already on your side.”

      Fernanda laid a restraining hand on her arm. “He is right, hija. It is men who will be voting to give the vote to the women.”

      Rivera yanked open the door to her wardrobe where she’d hung up her dresses and flicked through the hangers. “Wear something frilly,” he said. “Something with ruffles or bows or ribbons or something.” He pulled out her flounced yellow skirt.

      “Wear this.”

      “That is meant for a party or a reception. It is entirely too dressy for speech-making.”

      “Wear it anyway.”

      The man was impossible. She eyed his selection with trepidation. It was entirely too frivolous for playing the role of a—what had he called her?—a crusader?

      Oh, Mama, I am beginning to wish I had known more about what I would be getting into.

      But Fernanda had a point; it was men who would be voting to change the suffrage law.

      “I—I cannot do it. I refuse to...to...well, seduce the men with a pretty dress.”

      “You want to win the war,” he grumbled, “you do what you have to do.” He reached over and plucked the pins holding her bun at her neck.

      “And wear your hair down.”

      She gasped as her hair tumbled free. “Just what do you think you are doing?”

      “Damned if I know,” he muttered. “Keeping you safe. Out of the line of fire from some crazy gent who wants to stop you.”

      “Oh.” The look on his face stopped every protest she could think of.

      “Look,