Page 105 of Charlotte's Reckoning
Seth leaned in and kissed her, and all her intelligent arguments for why they couldn’t work melted away.
Pulling away, he made a promise. “I’ll see you tonight, and nothing you say will change my mind.”
“And you call me stubborn,” she muttered.
“That’s part of it. I also have a hankering for fried chicken, and the Laramie has the best.” He rose, adding as he strode across the room, “Then there’s the matter of your bed. It’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than mine.”
“Fried chicken and a soft bed—is that what tonight’s about?” she asked, miffed that she came in third place even as she tried to push him away.
He paused at the door, a playful glint in his eyes. “Damn straight. I slept better than ever last night.”
“Oh, you old charmer,” she purred.
He chuckled softly. “My amazing sleep wasn’t about the bed. It was the woman in it. See you at supper, darlin’.”
With one last lingering look, he left.
Once his footsteps had faded, she flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and couldn’t help but smile. He ignited a passion within her that no other man ever had. Not Carson, who she admitted was a girlish infatuation, or Fen, who was an excellent lover with a wandering eye. Unlike Seth, neither had made her scream his name.
Maybe, like they say, the third time is the charm. Or had fate brought him into her life to torture her even more?
Undoubtedly, it was the latter. Fate had shown her repeatedly, by giving her a glimmer of hope, only to cut her off at the knees, that it could be a cruel bitch indeed.
***
That evening, he arrived by wagon filled with wood to replace the door and new latches for the front and back. While he installed everything with remarkable speed and skill, she fried up the potatoes he brought to go with the best fried chicken she had ever tasted, and this was a Southern girl sayingthat. Then he left her breathless with his passion and held her in his arms while they slept.
He arrived with beef stew the following night and a full-size tin tub. He helped her haul water from the creek. With the two extra buckets he brought, they had her bath prepared in less than half the time. And the bigger tub allowed him to slip in behind her.
“You fight dirty, Sheriff,” she accused, leaning back against his chest.
“Whatever it takes to win you over,” was his reply as he sluiced water over her shoulders and followed the rivulets that ran over her breasts with his fingers.
She turned in his arms, slippery and soapy, and things turned heated. The water had cooled, and half was on the floor by the time they got out and dried off.
The next night was the eve of her appearance before Judge Simpson. She’d been on edge all day when Seth arrived with bad news.
“The judge wired that he’s delayed a few days. I’m sorry, Charlotte.”
She sank into one of the kitchen chairs, defeated. “The longer we stay closed, the harder it will be to reopen. It’s just not fair.” Tears pricked her eyes as she looked up at him. “And the bank is worse. How do they expect anyone, especially a woman alone, to survive without money?”
“You aren’t alone. You have me.” He took her hand and laid a stack of bills, with a band denoting one hundreds like at the bank, in her palm.
“What’s this?”
“Enough to pay your people and reopen when this gets resolved.”
“Where did you get it?”
“It’s mine. I would have offered it sooner, but getting it transferred to the local bank took time. I’ve been so busy since I arrived, I didn’t think about it until you had your troubles.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just know you can always count on me.”
“I’m starting to see that, but I can’t take your money.”
“Why not?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing as if offended.
