If You Believe

"Well, I throw a mean right punch. "

She stirred the spaetzle. "My, my, what a repertoire of skills. It must be a simple matter to find employment. "

"I rarely look for work. "

"Unfortunately for me, you occasionally find it. "

He leaned toward her. For one terrifying moment, she thought he was going to touch her. She tried to back up, but couldnt move.

He didnt reach for her. His only touch was with his eyes. And somehow that look, that glance, was more intense and physical than any touch shed ever known.

"Youre not what you seem, are you, Miss Throck-morton?"

The quiet words pierced Mariah like tiny, poison-tipped arrows. She tried to think of a flip, sarcastic remark, but nothing came to mind. She stared at him, her lips parted for words that never came.

Behind them, the kitchen door creaked open. "Hi, you two," came Rasss gravelly voice from the foyer.

The spell shattered. Mad Dog backed up.

Shaking, Mariah turned away from him. "Hi, Rass. " Her voice was sandpaper-rough and soft. Even breathing was difficult.

Rass inhaled deeply and patted his stomach. "Smells like sauerbraten and spaetzle.

My favorite. Give me an extra helping, will you?"

"Sure, Rass. " She bent down and opened the oven door. Waves of heat hit her in the face as she eased the big roasting pan from the oven and set it on the range top.

She stared down at the steaming roast, barely seeing it. Anxiety curled around her insides, cold and hard. She didnt want to be studied by Mad Dog, didnt want him testing her limits, asking her questions that hadnt been asked in years. Questions she had been unable to answer in the first place. She didnt want to be "known" by Mad Dog Stone.

Her past was hers, damn it. He had no business probing into things that didnt concern him.

She told herself thats why she was shaking, why she was afraid of Mr. Stone. She wanted her secrets kept secret. Just that and nothing more.

But she couldnt make herself believe it. There was something besides fear that made her tremble in his presence, something she hadnt felt in . . . sixteen years.

Mad Dog was chipping away at her resolve, getting past her rigid defenses. He made her angry, made her smile, made her laugh, for Gods sakes.

He made her feel alive again.

It had been so long since shed felt anything for a man. And then shed done it all so badly, given her heart completely and asked for so little in return. Her own emotions had devastated her.

She didnt want to feel alive again, didnt want to respond to Mad Dog as a woman reacts to a man. She wanted to be employer-employee, nothing more. Anything else would hurt too much.

Of that, she had no doubt. There was no percentage in caring for a man like Mad Dog Stone. The worn, holey soles of his boots told her everything she needed to know about him.

He was exactly like Stephen. And he was making her feel things, just like Stephen had___

But then shed been a young girl, practically a child. The words calmed her, soothed her somewhat. She wasnt sixteen anymore and she didnt want the same fairy-tale life shed wanted then.

Now, she was older, wiser, the exact opposite of that starry-eyed adolescent. She saw the world as it was, a cold, inhospitable place where danger lurked behind every corner.

She was stronger. Mad Dog might make her feel things—she couldnt deny that—but he couldnt hurt her unless she gave him her heart.

And God knew she wouldnt do that.

Mad Dog scooted his chair up to the table.

Across from him, Mariah sat as stiff as a plank, her hands demurely in her lap, her gaze on her plate.