Dear God, he was more beautiful than any man had a right to be.
He’d kicked the sheet off his good leg, and she stared hard at his well-muscled, hair-roughened calf and long, slim foot. His other leg remained covered, hidden even in sleep.
She backed away, wondering again how he’d been injured. Perhaps he’d slipped with an ax or tangled with some wild mountain creature. Heart aching, she closed the door.
She went to the kitchen and gathered some cleaning supplies. Perhaps if she stayed busy enough, she wouldn’t think of Luke and how much she wanted the safety and security a marriage to him could provide.
He’d said he didn’t want a wife. But he’d rescued her from the saloon and told her he’d help her.
How could she make sure he wanted to marry her?
She kept remembering his fury when she’d cooked him breakfast that first morning. He’d accused her of trying to trick him into marriage.
Could it be that simple? Was he worried he might fall prey to the temptation of a well-cooked meal and a clean house?
If so, she intended to domesticate him to death.
