The Outlaw's Angel (Daughters of the Prairie 1)

Naomi smiled against his chest. So he had wanted her. Maybe even as much as she’d wanted him. “You can turn your back while I bathe.”

“Trust me, I’ll have to”—he chuckled into her hair—“if you expect me to behave myself.”

True to his word, Bobby kept his eyes out the window while Naomi bathed. She scrubbed herself nearly raw. The whole of Dakota Territory didn’t contain enough soap to erase the vileness of Ike Hawkins from her body. Yet still she scoured her skin, determined to cleanse every pore. When she was wrinkled as her granny, she stepped out of the washtub, toweled off, and slipped into the cotton nightdress a maid had provided.

All the time Bobby sat, his chin resting on his hands, his elbows on the window sill, gazing into the dark night.

“You can turn around now,” Naomi said.

He did so and smiled. “That was one long bath, angel.”

“I felt dirty.” She looked down at her bare feet. “Like I’d been violated. I wanted to get clean.”

“I understand.” He nodded. “Our supper should be here soon. You hungry?”

Naomi grimaced. She should be hungry. She hadn’t eaten since... Was it the raspberries that morning? But her hollow tummy didn’t want food.

A knock on the door brought a maid carrying a tray. She set two plates on the small table in the room. Bobby thanked her and offered her a coin and then closed the door and turned to Naomi.

“You didn’t answer me. I know you must be starving.”

“No. Not really.”

He winked. “You with the ‘I’ll not apologize for my appetite?’”

She forced a smile. “I’ll try. I know I should eat.” She took a seat at the table, and Bobby sat across from her. She removed the cloth napkin covering her plate to expose two pieces of fried chicken, fresh corn, and a roll. A glass of water sat next to the plate. She took a sip and inhaled. She normally loved fried chicken.

Bobby took a bite of chicken and smiled. “I’ve had better, but it’s good. Try some. Please.”

For him, she’d try. She picked up a drumstick and bit into it. And suddenly she was ravenous. She cleaned her plate and found Bobby, his plate still half full, showcasing his perfect white teeth in a gleeful smile.

“Now that’s my angel,” he said.

“I admit, I do feel better.” Naomi drained her glass of water.

Bobby poured her another from the pitcher on the table. “Do you want some of mine?” Bobby indicated his plate.

She let out a giggle. “I may have an appetite, Bobby Morgan, but I’ll never take food from a man. You’ve had a hard day too. Please, eat.”

“If you’re sure.” His dimple flashed as he picked up a piece of chicken.

Naomi’s body warmed, and she began to feel a little safer, a little more secure, in the presence of this man. He would let no harm come to her.

Something he’d said earlier tugged in her mind. “Bobby?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you mean when you said you understood?”

“Understood what, darlin’?”

Naomi cleared her throat and went on. “Understood when I said I felt like I was violated.”

Bobby dropped his chicken leg, and his gaze. “I didn’t mean anything.”

“Please. Tell me. It’ll help me, I think.”

He raised his gaze and his eyes burned gold. “I don’t speak of it.”