Bounty Hunter's Bride. Carol Finch

shed his expensive jacket. Hanna opened her mouth to retaliate against his snide tone, but when he hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt and cast it aside, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped again. It dawned on him that she probably wasn’t in the habit of watching a man undress in her presence.

      “Oh, pardon me, Princess Malloy. I suppose the wealthy, pampered heiress of Louisiana’s most noted shipping magnate isn’t accustomed to changing clothes with a man in the same room.” He waved his hand toward the adjoining door. “You can change in there, and be quick about it.”

      She stared at him for a long silent moment, assuring him that he was definitely the first half-naked man she’d ever seen. For some reason that pleased him immensely, even though he was aggravated with her. Her gaze zeroed in on the bronzed expanse of his chest, then her eyes leaped to his face and she blushed profusely. Hanna took off like a flying carpet, the garments clutched to her bosom.

      Cale sighed audibly as he peeled off his breeches, then grabbed his buckskins. He didn’t have the time or inclination to indulge his new wife’s delicate sensibilities at the moment. He was as frustrated as all get-out and impatient to leave town before trouble came knocking on his door. Plus the kiss he’d delivered to Hanna in the judge’s chambers left him smoldering like live coals. He’d been determined to enjoy that kiss, since he’d promised to bypass the usual wedding night that came with marriage. But he really hadn’t expected Hanna to reciprocate so enthusiastically when his mouth came down possessively on hers.

      Man, she’d nearly burned him to a crisp when she’d kissed him back. His body was still simmering, and forbidden need played hell with his disposition—which had taken a turn for the worse when he discovered who she was.

      He was fastening his assortment of weapons in place when the door to the adjoining room banged open and Hanna stepped into view, looking laughably transformed in baggy clothes that downplayed her feminine assets. There was a pinched expression on her face and a violet fire in her eyes as she walked straight up to him and tilted her chin to meet his gaze.

      “I thought you were different,” she said with a huff, startling the hell out of him. “You seemed to like me well enough yesterday and this morning, when I was Sarah Rawlins. But the moment you discovered my identity you changed. I did not. I am exactly the same person I have always been and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

      Apparently, she’d recovered her composure while changing clothes and had gathered a full head of steam. He didn’t know why she was so sensitive all of a sudden, but she definitely had a bee in her bonnet. Well, tough, so did he.

      “You aren’t the same person anymore,” he retorted. “Now you’re my lawfully wedded wife and you might as well know right off that I’m not a man who appreciates convenient lies and surprises of gigantic proportions.”

      His rejoinder seemed to have taken some of the starch out of her, for she said, “Fair enough. I’m sorry I snapped at you, but I’ve spent half my life watching that same astonished reaction from men when they discover my identity. I don’t like it. I have no control over where I come from and I do not want my name to define who I am. Which is exactly why Hanna Elliot is heading out West, where the boundaries of gender and society aren’t so strict and the name Malloy won’t hang over my head like a curse.”

      Cale didn’t claim to be a genius, but he was smart enough to realize Hanna was hypersensitive about her heritage. Why? He didn’t know. There was a lot he didn’t know about her—yet.

      When a brisk rap sounded on the door, Cale’s hand reflexively dropped to the pistol on his hip. Skeet bounded onto all fours, ears laid back, teeth bared.

      “Deputy Marshal Elliot, I’d like a word with you. My name is Richard Sykes and I’m from the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

      Hanna froze to the spot, her alarmed gaze shooting to Cale. He gave her silent instructions to gather the last of her belongings and pitch them out the window. Hanna hurriedly obeyed, then flung her leg over the windowsill.

      “C’mon, Elliot, I know you’re in there,” called the impatient voice in the hall.

      “Go away. I’m on my honeymoon,” Cale called back as he rolled up his fashionable clothes and stuffed them in his saddlebag.

      “That’s what I want to talk to you about. That and your new bride. Her father and fiancé want her back immediately. There will be an extremely generous reward for annulling your marriage and turning Miss Malloy over to me.”

      Hanna’s frantic gaze flew to Cale. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. He simply motioned her out the window, across the roof and down to the waiting buckboard. Hanna didn’t know if he wanted her to make a fast getaway or simply wanted her out of earshot while he bargained with the detective.

      Twisting around, she planted both feet on the roof and then made the crucial mistake of looking over the edge. She clamped a shaky hand on the eave, willing herself to move, but her feet refused to cooperate.

      This was a fine time to discover she had a strong aversion to heights. Damnation, what other weaknesses would she discover about herself when she was on a quest to find her strengths and her hidden talents?

      Hanna dragged in a fortifying breath and tried to figure out how to contort her quaking body so she could latch on to the beam that supported the narrow roof above the back exit of the hotel. Before she found the nerve to ease over the edge—where a fourteen-foot drop waited—a hand clamped over her mouth.

      Curse it! Cale had betrayed her for money! She twisted sideways, expecting to see the Pinkerton agent. To her everlasting relief, Cale’s grim face hovered above hers. He tossed her satchels and his saddlebags into the buckboard below, then leaned as close to her as her own shadow.

      “Wrap yourself around me, Miz Mags. We’ll tackle this together,” he murmured in her ear.

      Hanna was so relieved to know he hadn’t betrayed her and that she didn’t have to face her newfound fear alone that she gladly flung her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his hips.

      A lopsided smile quirked Cale’s lips and one black brow arched as she pressed herself against him like a second skin. “That didn’t take much convincing,” he whispered, amused.

      “I just discovered I don’t deal well with excessive heights,” she said, her face buried against his chest. “I’ve never climbed off a roof before.”