The Gunslinger and the Heiress. Kathryn Albright

have those things. It... She stilled her hands and then started over. This is special. It means a lot to me.

      She leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek.

      Drawing back, she stopped close enough for her breath to tickle his skin. Gray eyes, large and luminous, blinked up at him. Her nearness set his entire body to thrummin’—not exactly the reaction he’d expected.

      “You’re sure sayin’ a lot for someone who can’t talk,” he mumbled, unable to look away. They were friends—practically brother and sister. And she was way too young to be lookin’ at him like that. To give in to the urge forming—the urge to kiss her properly—would change things between them forever. He should get up and walk away right now, put some distance between them before he did something stupid.

      Trouble was, his head told him one thing and his heart said another. And the second was drowning out the first. So he sat there like a dang fool, caught betwixt and between. Those pretty gray eyes of hers grew bigger, and she tilted her face up. His heart lurched to a new rhythm in his chest. Apparently the little lady was wantin’ the same thing. A fool he might be, but he didn’t need to be asked twice.

      He slid his hat from his head, barely conscious of the motion. Then, leaning forward, he tested the waters—a quick brush of his lips to hers. When she didn’t pull back, he took her by the shoulders and bent down to her mouth—careful to keep the kiss light. A birthday kiss. A sweet-sixteen birthday kiss. Gentle. Chaste. Her lashes swept down, and likewise he let himself enjoy the moment. She had the softest lips he’d ever felt, the smoothest skin he’d ever touched.

      And she was an innocent. She trembled under his mouth, stiff and a bit awkward in a way only first kisses can be. That she’d chosen to share her first kiss with him humbled him. It was a gift—the gift of herself.

      He broke contact and then brushed her forehead with a parting kiss, murmuring against her skin, “Happy birthday, Hannah.”

      When he pulled back, heightened color stained her cheeks, and her gaze was slightly out of focus.

      Well, he was right there with her—in as much shock as she. Imagine that.

      The tap of metal clicked on the flagstone path. “Hannah!” Dorian’s harsh voice boomed through the garden.

      Reluctantly, Caleb released her and stood to face her grandfather.

      Dorian made his way toward them until he stopped three feet before them. Quietly, Hannah stood. Dorian took in the pendant she wore, took in her flushed face and cut a barbed look to Caleb before addressing his granddaughter. “You are ignoring your guests. Please, return to the house immediately.”

      Caleb glanced toward the front door. The partiers had wandered onto the open marble landing at the top of the steps and stared out over the railing, curiosity splashed across their faces. On the path behind Dorian, Rachel, large and awkward with child, hurried forward, followed by her husband, Stuart.

      Rachel rushed up and hugged him fiercely. “You’re here! When did you arrive? Did you stop at the house?”

      He squeezed her tentatively, in awe of her changed form. “Hi, sis. Yes, I left my things there.”

      “Oh, it’s been too long this time.” She sniffled, and he saw the start of tears forming in her eyes.

      Uncomfortable with the display of emotion, he turned to his brother-in-law, reading the dark bent of his expression. Tread carefully, it said. Rachel didn’t need any worries, and an argument between him and Dorian wouldn’t do her any good.

      “Don’t mind me. Really,” Rachel said, blinking away her tears. “It’s just something to do with being in a family way. I seem to cry at the drop of a hat.”

      He grinned at that. Seemed women could always muster up a good cry—sometimes in honest feeling and sometimes only to manipulate. He’d experienced both. “Guess I interrupted quite a party. I’ll head to the house and you come on back when you’re good and ready.” Turning to Hannah, he resettled his hat on his head and tugged the brim down. “Your grandfather is right. Your guests are waiting.”

      Hannah pouted but moved her hands gracefully in answer. Thank you for the gift. You’ll come by tomorrow?

      Caleb caught the smoldering anger in Dorian’s eye. “Sure. Tomorrow evening.”

      She smiled, reassured, and turned down the stone path to the house.

      The moment she was out of earshot, Dorian faced him squarely. “Please don’t make contact with Hannah again.”

      “I’d say that’s up to Hannah, Mr. Lansing.”

      Rachel’s face blanched.

      “You will honor my wishes with my granddaughter.” Dorian didn’t raise his voice, but Caleb heard—no, he felt—the underlying steel. This was a man who got his way. “Hannah is young and impressionable, and she has been brought up to a finer style than one to which you are accustomed. I believe you would agree with me when I say that she deserves better.”

      Caleb nearly choked. The man was anything but tactful. “Our friendship goes back way before Hannah came here to live with you. Money doesn’t figure into it.”

      Dorian raised his brows. “You’ll find, Mr. Houston, that money has everything to do with her life now, the merchant business and her future.”

      Rachel gasped—a strangled, half-swallowed sound—and the corners of her mouth tightened, pale and drawn. Her hand clutched her bulging abdomen. “I...I believe I really must start home.”

      The way she said it, more than the words she used, had Caleb moving toward her to catch her by the arm. Stuart did the same, clutching her opposite arm in support. “Rach?”

      Her attempt at a reassuring smile faltered. “We should be going.”

      “The midwife?” Stuart asked, looking at Caleb over her bowed head.

      She shook her head. “It will pass. I need to lie down for a bit. Just overdid things today. That’s all.”

      Stuart quirked his head. The look was subtle, but Caleb understood. He was to take Rachel home. Stuart would go for the midwife. It didn’t matter that Rachel thought it unnecessary.

      “Thank you for having us, Dorian,” Rachel said. “Give Hannah our love.”

      Dorian stood aside to let them pass. Caleb could almost hear the thoughts swirling as the man assessed him one last time. “Mr. Houston. You’d be smart to remember what I said.”

      The challenge rang in the damp evening air. Caleb ignored it, but as he stepped away, flanking Rachel’s side, he felt the man’s gaze sear his shoulders. Dorian Lansing was not someone to turn his back on. He’d best remember that.

      * * *

      The guests were gone, the servants abed, the house quiet. Yet in one room, Hannah’s sitting room, the gas lamp burned steadily. Hannah sat at her writing desk watching Grandfather stride the length of the apartment, his bow tie hanging loose at his collar and his face tight with controlled anger.

      “I cannot believe that you left your guests, friends who had traveled considerable distances, to consort with that ne’er-do-well. Have you no pride in yourself? No sense of decency?”

      Caleb is a good friend, too— Grandfather turned away before she could finish signing. She dropped her hands into her lap. She wasn’t surprised. He had little patience for the way she communicated. Since the day she’d arrived ten years ago, unable to speak, she had been a disappointment. Each doctor she had seen, each professional opinion, each unsuccessful visit had frustrated him further. Yet she had no control over this wretched solitude. If only she could be the same as everyone else, if only she could force the words out, then everything would be righted. Grandfather would have to listen.

      He stopped pacing. “Tonight’s inappropriate