Page 6 of Love’s Silver Bullet

Sheridan’s chin had nudged up. “Old enough to go off to college across the country on my own, Maggie,” she’d said with a hard duck of her throat, tears stinging that Jake might never accept that she was the woman he was meant to love. “And old enough to ache inside at never getting the chance to prove we were meant to be.”

A soft sigh of surrender had parted from Maggie’s lips as she gathered Sheridan into a tight hug. “All right, Sher. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but somehow I’ll find a way to extend my surprise picnic lunch after church.”

Sheridan had giggled as she squeezed Maggie back. “You’re a newlywed, Margaret Rose Donovan, so I have every confidence you can divert my brother’s attention.”

“Sheridan Marie!” Maggie had pulled away with an open-mouthed smile, a hint of rose blooming in her cheeks. “With wayward thoughts like that, young lady, I have a good mind to spare Jake your shameful shenanigans. And I would,” she’d said with a playful wag of her finger, the squirm of her smile belying her scold, “if I didn’t think you two were perfect for each other in the first place.”

A wispy sigh floated from Sheridan’s lips as her thoughts returned to the “voluptuosa” girl in the mirror. Now, if I can just get Jake to think the same … Battling a shiver, Sheridan spun around to pose for Kathy Jean, who sat cross-legged on Sheridan’s bed, biting her nails. “So, what do you think, Kathy Jean?” she asked, hands propped on the hips of her leather-fringed riding skirt. “You don’t think it’s”—she gave in to a gulp—“too much … do you?”

“Uh …” Kathy Jean spit out a sliver of thumbnail. “More like too little, Sher, if you ask me.” She scanned both Sheridan’s bare shoulders and the tightly gathered bodice of Sophia’s scoop-necked embroidered blouse, which clearly accentuated Sheridan’s assets.

“Bah! I think you look beautiful, chica.” Sophia plopped down on the bed next to Kathy Jean, bouncing their prim-and-proper friend. Tossing her thick, black braid over her shoulder, she readjusted her own peasant blouse which, Sheridan noted with a nervous nibble of her lip, appeared considerably looser on her than it was on Sheridan. “This is what Lolita wears to work, and Mama and I wear, too, when we work in the garden, with far more ease of movement than any silly, old dress.” She assessed Sheridan through a squint. “But Lolita says to make sure you tug it down down for shooting practice, si?”

A blush dusted Sheridan’s cheeks as she assessed herself in the mirror, wondering if she was going a wee bit too far. She wished she didn’t have to resort to such blatant female tactics, but she’d tried for two solid years to get Jake Sullivan to see her as a woman without an iota of success. So, what choice did she have? Resigned, she huffed out a gust of air. “Well, it’s certainly far more comfortable, I’ll give it that.”

“Si,” Sophia said with a nod, “and far more ‘seductor’ too, which Lolita says will light a fire to scorch away any ‘intento fraternal.’ And trust me, chica, with a mula like Jake, she says only a kiss can do that.”

“You, I trust,” Sheridan whispered, turning once again to stare at herself with a gulp. “Lolita, not so much.” Cheeks warm, she blinked at the girl in the mirror, pretty sure that at this point, she was willing to try almost anything to get Jake’s attention. Expelling a heavy sigh, she made up her mind right then and there that for all of her wild ways, Lolita was right. She needed to light a fire under Jake Sullivan to scorch any ‘brotherly intent.’ And by gum, she would, even if it took a kiss to do it!

Making a quick sign of the cross, she couldn’t help but inch the neckline of her blouse up along with the sleeves on her shoulders, hoping that when she lit that blasted fire …

It wouldn’t be her who got burned.

CHAPTER THREE

Where the devil are Blaze and Maggie? Gouging a hand through his hair, Jake paced back and forth in front of the shooting gallery he’d built long ago to train the greenhorn cowhands on the Silver Lining Ranch. Blaze was the foreman of the ranch and Jake only his assistant manager, no question. But when it came to training tenderfoots how to defend themselves and their herds on the range, everyone knew that Jake was the man in charge. Which is why Finn had allowed him to build a top-notch shooting range on the edge of Silver Lake, one of Jake’s favorite places.

Or used to be.

Fingers twitchy, he strode toward the wagon opposite the handmade targets and tin cans he’d carefully spaced on a homemade stand of varying levels. Opening his gun box, he jerked out the rifle he’d selected for Sheridan to shoot and made sure the bore was even and smooth, even though he already knew it was because he’d cleaned it himself last night.

The edge of his lip kicked up. Not to mention inspected the blasted thing at least three times while he waited here like a sittin’ duck. He slammed the barrel closed and laid the rifle down, his stomach in knots as he scanned across the field toward the road. Where in tarnation are Blaze and Maggie?!

Because there was no way he should be doing this alone. He grunted as he took to pacing again. Blame it all—there was no way he should be doing it at all! As assistant ranch manager, it was his job to make sure the cowhands of Silver Lining Ranch were the best in the state because a man had to learn how to defend himself, his herd, and those he loved. Jake’s jaw tensed. A lesson he’d definitely learned the hard way. His gaze flicked back to the road, narrowing along with the clamp of his mouth.

Not teach somebody’s little sister how to shoot.

Dash it all, his little sister, if truth be told, no matter how much his pulse denied it whenever she came around, a situation he tried to avoid like the devil. Because that was the only way he could keep his promise to Finn.

“I don’t want to smell even a whiff of romance around that girl for a long time to come … so promise you’ll help us keep her path clear until then.”

And he’d done it—over and over since then. Putting the fear of God into poor Murrell if he so much as glanced at Sheridan after last year’s rodeo dance. Or threatening the job of any cowhand who even thought about winking Sher’s way. God help him, he’d even gone as far as the evil eye and “friendly” chats at church with any boy who smiled in her direction, all the time repenting for the way his own blood heated anytime she was near.

But the hardest thing of all had been keeping his distance when the blasted woman—no, make that little girl, because he refused to see her as a woman—buzzed around, always flirting and teasing with that lovesick look in her eyes. Which meant he had to work all the harder to hide the same look in his own, making good and sure nobody ever suspected that he felt the same exact way.

Not Finn, not his best friend or his brother, not Finn’s wife Libby, Blaze’s wife Maggie, or anyone else in Virginia City. Especially one Sheridan Marie Donovan, the little-girl pest who’d turned into a big one almost overnight.

Jake mauled his face with his hands. Only three months to go! Then the temptation would be gone off to college, at least till Christmas.

His head jerked up at the sound of hoofbeats, and a slow reedy breath seeped through his lips. “It’s about blasted time, Donovan,” he muttered. But the moment the rider cleared the trees, a low groan cleared his lips as well when the wrong Donovan appeared, galloping across the field with flaxen hair streaming behind, blowing in the wind.

Noooooooo! Snatching his pocket watch from inside his vest, he groaned again, painfully aware she was early and Blaze was late.

“Hi, Jake,” she said with a bright smile as she trotted up to where he stood with mouth agape, eyes pert near bulging at the get-up that she wore. With practiced ease, she dismounted her tan and white paint, Honey—short for “Honeymoon,” she’d once told him with a flutter of lashes at the age of fourteen—landing with a little hop. The jump flared her fringed leather skirt up enough to give him a glimpse of skin above her dainty leather boots. “I’m ready.”

Yeah? Well, he sure wasn’t. His mouth was so dry, he couldn’t even gulp, Adam’s apple frozen at the sight of creamy bare shoulders and a neckline that taunted his eyes. He hadn’t seen that much of Sheridan’s skin since the age of four when she swam in her knickers in the very lake behind her. “Where’s Maggie?” he croaked, voice cracking with the effort.

“Oh, she decided to pack a picnic lunch for her and Blaze to celebrate their three-month anniversary after church.” She tipped her head in a shy smile, that thick, silken clasp of hair swaying with the motion. “It’s a surprise.”