Rebel Outlaw. Carol Arens
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That’s why he had left her the carousel, so that she would be surrounded by Mr. Travers...nowhere to run...nowhere to hide.
In the moonlight, Holly Jane watched the wind rip the leaves off the trees, whip them about in the air then tumble them on across the earth. Her ribs fairly ached with shivering and, she had to admit, rebellion.
She had never been disobedient to her grandfather during his lifetime, but he knew her as well as she knew him and she was taking a stand.
Colt Wesson Travers was the embodiment of the man she told her grandparents that she would marry. As a dreamy adolescent, she had described him in vivid detail on a daily basis. Granddaddy would have recognized him as easily as she had.
Had she ever guessed that a man existed who fit her fantasy description to a letter, and that Granddaddy would find him and sell him her land, she would have kept her mouth shut.
Oh, but the wind had a bite. She yanked the tarp over her head and squeezed her eyes tight. No matter what happened she was not going to go into that house.
Granddaddy was not going to reach out from beyond the sky and force her to wed.
If she could dodge the Folsoms and duck the Broadhowers, she could elude her neighbor, as well.
And what Granddaddy had failed to take into account was that Colt Travers did not appear to be the marrying kind. He was bad-mannered, bold, certainly not a gallant man like the one of her dreams. He was clearly used to having his way and—
All of a sudden her behind lifted off the carousel and Colt carried her, wrapped up in the tarp. She twisted, trying to wriggle out of the arms that banded her, but they only held on tighter, pressing her against his very solid chest.
It would be a lie to say that this chest was not an exact fulfillment of her dream lover’s chest, but she pushed away from it anyway.
A deep, rumbling laugh vibrated her fingertips.
“Time to come home, Snowflake.”
Chapter Four
Buried in the tarp, all Holly Jane saw was a dark blur of rough canvas, but she knew the instant Colt Travers hauled her across the threshold and into the parlor. Heat from the large fireplace replaced frigid, howling wind. Flames snapped and fizzled in the hearth. With all her strength, she kicked her feet and flailed her arms, trying to escape the folds tucked all about her.
“Let me go!” She jabbed her elbow into his ribs, but she might as well have slammed it into a log wall.
The infernal man laughed, blame him. His deep rumble tickled her body where it pressed against his chest.
She felt the jerky rise and fall of her weight as he mounted the stairs...two at a time, it felt like.
She heard his boot kick a door then the door slam against the wall. She winced, but it was his house, after all.
She felt herself falling. Her backside hit the mattress of her bed.
“You, Colt Travers, are a brute,” she sputtered, digging her way out of the tarp.
“It’s the Travers way.” He cocked his head and smiled down at her. Not only did he appear to find her situation amusing, he clearly enjoyed the physical power he had over her.
“You can’t keep me here... It’s kidnapping.”
“That’s the Travers way, too.”
She freed herself from the tarp then leaped off the bed.
“Stand aside, I’m going home.” When he didn’t, she made to go around him, but he stepped left and blocked her way.
“You are home.”
It felt like home...smelled like it, too, but— “Not anymore. I’m not.”
“I’m inviting you politely to stay.” He filled the doorway with his big, invasive body then leaned against the jamb.
“I’m declining.” She stepped close to him and hoped he noticed the spit and determination in her glare. She would not spend a night in a house that felt like home but with other people living in it. “Kindly move out of my way.”
He shook his head. Collar-length hair, brown and sun streaked, dipped across his forehead. It brushed his cheek, obscuring one of his dimples.
“I reckon your grandfather would have a thing or two to tell me on judgment day if I let you freeze to death.”
“I’m leaving.” She lifted her chin, clamped her jaw tight and prayed that she looked firm...resolute. “If you try and stop me, I’ll scream.”
“Have it your way.”
All of a sudden he lunged at her, scooped her up and dumped her back on the bed. Before she could let out a screech, he’d climbed in beside her and wrapped her tight in his embrace.
“If you scream, you’ll scandalize Grannie Rose and Aunt Tillie.” He arched his brows. His eyes conveyed a searing blue challenge.
He was a devil, and no doubt about it. His thigh crossed her hip. He hugged her bosom close to his chest with his big open hand pressing the small of her back. Heat and temptation curled about her in a sinuous wave, brushing her hair, her belly and twining down her legs.
“I’ll bake you a cake if you get out of my bed.” She offered her proven weapon, but he shook his head.
“Got all the sweets I want right here.” He touched a lock of her hair and gently pulled it. It twisted about his finger, gleaming in the soft lamplight. She’d yank it free but she was stuck.
“I’ve got a deal for you to think about,” he murmured, and let her hair go slack on his finger. “You promise to sleep in the house and I’ll get out of your bed.”
She could refuse... But did that mean he’d stay here all night making her feel... Never mind that.
He was the devil, all right, and charming enough to whisk the bloomers right off her if she weren’t careful.
“If it means that much to you, I’ll stay.” She made sure her voice sounded good and grudging.
He eased out of the bed and took the warmth with him.
“But only this one night,” she clarified.
“Guess that means I’ll meet you here in bed tomorrow night and every other one you try and spend outside.”
“You ought to be locked up. You’re just a crime short of being a criminal.”
For whatever reason, her insult made him laugh and mention the Travers way again. He kept on laughing, too. She listened to the disturbing timbre of his voice while he walked down the hall then descended the stairs.
A gust of wind hit the window, shook it like a fist. She snuggled into her pillow grateful to be in her bed with her blankets over her. What made her think that she could survive outside with the cold weather coming on?
Pride in all its foolishness, she reckoned. Still, she wasn’t ready to let go of it entirely. Self-respect counted for something.
That meant in order to save face she’d have to act out some sort of objection to remaining in the house. She only hoped the price was not beginning each night in bed with Colt Travers.
“How great a folly is it to lie to one’s own self?” she asked the wise old owl who circled the night sky beyond the window.
* * *
A couple of things had kept Colt from getting more than a few moments of sleep last night.
He walked across the yard in the predawn listening to the crunch of his boots cut the crisp, quiet morning. He thought about those two things.
One of them was the barn, big and red in the distance setting on top of the rise of a gentle green slope. It had been a long time since animals