The Gunman's Bride. Catherine Palmer

because you always leaned against my shoulder and let me slide my fingers through your hair.”

      As he spoke, he slipped his fingers through the bun she had so carefully knotted that morning. Oh, how she tingled at his touch! The desert in her heart came to life for the first time in six years, and Rosie closed her eyes as a powerful yearning washed through her.

      When he drew her closer, she sighed and moved against him. But she remembered too well the pain a broken heart could bring. At the sudden realization of her peril, her eyes flew open.

      “Bart, you’d better leave,” she breathed out. “Just go!”

      “Rosie?” Confusion darkened his eyes.

      “I—I have to work the early shift tomorrow.”

      “I’ve scared you, haven’t I?”

      “I’ll be tired if I don’t get a good night’s sleep. You ought to head out while the moon’s up.”

      She looked into his face. She longed for this man and she loathed him. She feared the feelings he evoked in her, and she craved them. She hungered for his touch, yet the thought of it terrified her.

      “Goodbye, Bart.” She forced the words out. “It was good to see you again, and I sure hope your wound heals up.”

      Before he could see the quiver in her lower lip, she turned away from him and hurried to the hook where her aprons hung.