If You Believe

Maybe Mad Dog was a pisspoor choice. But he was here, and he was an interruption in the carefully ordered routine of her life. She couldnt ignore him.

Maybe hed make her laugh, maybe hed make her cry, maybe hed make her scream in frustration, maybe hed scare the be-jesus out of her. Rass didnt care. As long as he made her feel something.

For once, she wouldnt have her father looking out for her. No matter what happened, what Mad Dog said to her, how upset she got, Rass wasnt going to step in and protect her.

This time she was on her own.

At precisely five oclock, the Bee alarm clock rang. Mariah was already awake, sitting stiff as a nail, her gritty eyes staring at nothing. Absently she swatted the clock.

Dark silence tumbled around her, broken only by the erratic, anxious cant of her breathing.

Day two with Mad Dog Stone.

She let out an irritated sigh and stood up. Shoving her feet in her slippers, she padded to the commode and poured a generous amount of water into the crockery basin, washing her face and brushing her teeth quickly. She finger-combed her unruly, ringlet-curled hair and coiled it into a thick, no-nonsense chignon at the base of her neck. Only the wispiest corkscrews escaped her practiced hand.

Shed made a mistake yesterday, a mistake she had no intention of repeating. Shed let Mad Dog get to her. She shuddered at the memory. It was inexcusable, and stupid to boot.

How could she have let him frighten her? Shed grown up a lot in the years since her girlish infatuation with Stephen. No one could hurt her like that again— and certainly not the same kind of shiftless, lying loser as before. Passion no longer beckoned her with a sly, seductive voice. She was content here, and she was safe. No drifter with an easy smile could threaten her.

She wasnt afraid of him, she told herself firmly. She was simply irritated by his presence. He didnt belong here, and she wanted him gone. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was before. Silent. Safe. Contained.

The walnuts hadnt worked. So shed try something else. Anything else. Shed keep trying, over and over again with increasingly disgusting chores, until he went, screaming, in the other direction.

And she knew just what to try next.

Smiling at the thought, she went to the armoire and flung the mirrored doors open, reaching blindly into the darkness. It didnt matter what gown she chose; it never did.

Ever since the day shed returned home, shed worn nothing but brown. The drab color made her feel unobtrusive. Safe. No one noticed a woman in brown.

She slipped into a coffee brown linsey-woolsey dress and tied a washed-out apron over it. Securing a brown and white striped bonnet loosely around her throat, she sailed out of her bedroom. A quick knock at her fathers door wakened him, and then she was down the stairs.

Within moments, she had a fire going in the stove and coffee brewing. She hauled the heavy cast-iron frying pan out of the dresser and slammed it on the stove top.

While it was heating up, she pulled some leftover cornbread and hard-boiled eggs from the Metallic Ice Rack. Packing them in cheesecloth, along with some pickles and cider, she stuffed everything into a wicker basket and headed outside.

She almost ran into Mad Dog on the porch.

His bare, hairy chest filled her vision. She tried to look away; her gaze dropped, and snagged on the sagging drawstring waistband of his drawers. Heat scorched her throat and fanned up her cheeks.

"Miz Throckmorton," he drawled, scratching his naked chest. "What a pleasant surprise. "

She jerked her chin up—anything to keep from staring at his chest—and found herself gazing into warm, inviting gray eyes. He smiled down at her. The flesh around his eyes crinkled invitingly, his thick mustache bunched up. She drew in a sharp breath and stiffened, shoving the basket toward him. "Heres your breakfast. "

"Thanks. "

That was all he said, just "thanks," but in the dark, chilly beginnings of an autumn morning, his voice sounded warm and rich and . . . beguiling. Mariah shivered at the intensity of her reaction to it.

"You cold?"

She winced at his perceptiveness and felt suddenly exposed. "No," she snapped. "I am not cold, and it wouldnt be any of your business if I were. " She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Get dressed and meet me here in one hour. Farm work starts early. "

"Thats only one of the things I hate about it," he said with a throaty, vibrating laugh.

"I suppose youve concocted an especially enticing chore for me this morning?"

She felt just a tinge of satisfaction. "I have. "

His cocky grin faded. "What?"