Page 57 of Love’s Silver Bullet

“No, you wouldn’t,” Jake called, leading his horse out of the stall with a hard smile. “Because that job will be mine.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“Yeah, well, I’ll be right behind you, my friend,” Blaze muttered under his breath as he watched Jake ride down the drive, wondering if he should have just let him teach Morgan a lesson. Because nobody taught a lesson better than Jake Sullivan, the once quiet and skinny orphan that all the other boys always made fun of.

Until Jake had shocked Blaze senseless—and everyone else—the day he knocked Reginald Crumley out cold. The burley bully of the eighth grade, Reggie had forced a kiss on sweet Gracie Johnson behind the outhouse when Jake had been on his way to the privy.

Hearing Mary’s cry, Jake had taken Reggie on, jumping on his back and drumming his head like a Shoshone war chief. Attempting to flail Jake off his back, Reggie had screamed so loud, the whole schoolyard had gathered round, bug-eyed.

Who would have guessed that small and spindly Jake Sullivan could land one in Reggie’s gut, knocking him clean out with the next clip to his jaw? Pert near half Reggie’s size, Jake had felled Reggie like a dead tree, along with a few of Reggie’s teeth, earning everyone’s undying respect.

Nobody ever made fun of Jake Sullivan after that.

And sweet Gracie Johnson followed poor Jake around, moony-eyed the next four years.

Shaking his head, Blaze walked toward the house with a faint smile. When Blaze saved Jake from falling off a cliff months later, that had sealed a life-long friendship for which Blaze would always be grateful. Because Jake was the calm and steady one to Blaze’s fire and fury, the unflappable, solid-rock friend he could count on to never lose his temper when Blaze always did.

Usually.

Picking up his pace, Blaze scowled as he mounted the steps of the log-hewn wrap-around porch two at a time, their dilemma with Sheridan coming back to haunt. Dad-burn-it—if he’d known about Sher meeting up with Morgan, he would have stomped on that dandy like a stinkbug. His mouth twitched. Or sent Jake to do it.

Barreling through the mammoth oak door with its intricate carving of Bar SLR, he let it slam good and loud behind him since everyone was gone. Tonight was Angus’s night off and Finn’s city council meeting in town, while the ladies spent the evening at Mrs. Poppy’s for dinner and quiltin’.

Their border collie, Scout, came a-running from the back of the house, tail wagging enough to cause a stiff breeze. The welcome in the collie’s dark brown eyes helped ease Blaze’s grouchy mood. After a dusty day overseeing repairs on the south forty in the blazing heat, he usually enjoyed coming home. But tonight his uncle’s magnificent hardwood entryway with its vibrant Navajo rug, colorful paintings, and unique pottery, failed to soothe. He had too blasted much on his mind to clear up.

Like why is Sheridan hobnobbing with Morgan?

And just why didn’t my wife tell me?

Well, he sure in the devil intended to find out, and glancing at the mantle clock in the empty parlour, he figured the ladies wouldn’t be home for a while, and Finn even later than that. Just enough time for a quick dinner, an hour or so of paperwork and recording his logs, and then a nice long bath to wash all the grime off his tired body.

But the grime in his mind that was stoking his temper till it was almost red hot? He strode down the hall toward the kitchen with a tic in his temple, figuring a good long soak in the tub was just the ticket.

And an ice-cold one at that.

Blaze had bathed, shaved, and was reading in bed when the ladies finally came home. The sounds of muted laughter, female chatter, and running water seeped under his closed door, in stark contrast to his own sullen mood while he waited for Maggie.

When she quietly entered their room, the whites of her eyes expanded in the dim light of the gas lantern on his nightstand. Her surprise was evident that he was still awake after a long day on the range that usually began at dawn. “You’re still up!” she said with a smile, her obvious approval more of a statement than a question.” She sniffed at the air as she laid her purse on her dressing table and hurried over to give him a kiss. “Mmm … and I smell Angus’s cedar soap, so that means your fresh and clean too.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and nuzzled his jaw, the touch of her lips dispelling the heat of his temper with a heat of a whole ’nother kind. “And you shaved, too. Mmm … it would appear, Mr. Donovan, that you have something other than sleep on your mind.”

“You got that right, Maggie, but I’m afraid you have the motivation all wrong.”

She pulled back, hands still latched to his arms as she studied him with a pucker in her brow. “Are you angry with me?”

“Depends, Mrs. Donovan.” He slapped his book closed and slammed it on the nightstand, crossing his arms to challenge her with a lidded glare. “On whether or not you lied to me.”

Maggie shot straight up, hands on her hips. “I do not lie, Blaze Donovan, to you or anyone else.”

He leaned in, a fire lit deep in his belly. And not the usual kind he always had in this room he shared with Maggie “You don’t tell the whole truth, like the time you didn’t mention Clay Morgan was coming to the barbecue to see Sheridan.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake—are we back to that again?” She strode to the closet to unhook her nightgown off the inside of the door, promptly kicking her pumps off. “I promised the last time we had this argument that I would always be totally honest with you regarding Sheridan and Clay Morgan, and I have ever since.”

“Oh, sure,” he said with an exaggerated nod of his head, “like forgetting to tell me he’s been sparkin’ her.”

“What?” She spun around, fingers frozen on the middle button of her pin-striped shirtwaist, her wide-eyed shock a true Sarah Bernhardt performance.

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know, Maggie.” Blaze hurled the coverlet away to jump up, staring her down in his long johns.