Page 8 of If You Believe

Mad Dog eyed the embroidered scrap of linen. It was the size of a postcard. Rass had obviously never been coldcocked. "That should help. "

Rass frowned for a moment, then brightened as if at a sudden inspiration. "Get the man a steak, Mariah. "

"I will not. He can wait until supper to eat. "

"Its not to eat," the old man answered. "Its for the swelling. "

The woman in the doorway didnt move. Mad Dog pushed himself up on his elbows to see her better. His vision was still slightly blurry, but what he could see was discouraging. She looked like a tall, disapproving owl. From the tip of her carefully coiled hair to the pointed toes of her sensible shoes, she was entirely brown. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown dress, brown apron.

She stood as stiff and unforgiving as a statue. Head held high, arms crossed, mouth pinched, she watched him study her. She had a face that looked as if it had been carved from stone. No laugh lines pleated the flesh around her eyes or bracketed her pursed lips. When his gaze finally reached her eyes, he was surprised by the hot emotion in her gaze. "Its not polite to stare," she said curtly. "I see your manners are as exemplary as your dress. "

Mad Dog shrugged. "As are yours. "

"Mariah," Rass said sharply. "Get the man a steak. Its the least you can do after you knocked him out. "

The woman called Mariah snorted. For a second Mad Dog thought she was going to ignore her father. Then, with a defiant snap of her dull brown skirts, she turned and went into the house.

Rass gave Mad Dog an apologetic shrug. "Shes rather . . . "

Rude? Dim-witted? Battle-trained?

"Headstrong," Rass finished. Then, slowly, he got to his feet. "Ill go get you some Purola Sizz. Youre going to have a hell of a headache later on. "

Mad Dog nodded. "Thanks, Rass. "

"No thanks needed, son. Ill be right back. " With a wave, the old man wandered into the house and disappeared.

Mariah emerged a moment later, holding a tiny scrap of beef between her thumb and forefinger, as if it were a dead rat to be offered to a cur dog. Lifting her skirt a fraction of an inch, she descended the porch steps and came to a stop at Mad Dogs feet.

Her gaze swept his outstretched body in a single condemning glance and stopped at the holey soles of his cowboy boots. She grimaced and held out the meat. "Here. "

Her obvious disapproval struck Mad Dog as funny. It was as if she actually expected him to care what she thought. One thing he didnt care much about were judgmental, narrow-minded spinsters. He sat up and offered her a cocky grin. "Its an awfully small piece of meat. "

"Its an awfully small bruise. "

Mad Dog burst out laughing. "So the wren has a temper. "

Slowly he got to his feet.

She started to back up, then stopped. The porchs bottom step pinned her in place.

She squared her shoulders and met his gaze head-on.

She was tall for a woman, with a straight-backed stance that made her seem even taller. The top of her head came almost to his jaw, and he was six feet tall. Fuzzy, curly strands of hair tickled his chin, and he knew instinctively that she hated the defiant curliness of her hair.

Up close, he could tell hed been wrong to dismiss her as a brown wren. She was . . .

more.

Everything about her bespoke grit, from the strong set of her delicately pointed jaw to the defiant tilt of her chin. Her face was chisled and sharp, without a hint of softness. Strong, prominent cheekbones slashed above hollow cheeks; pale, colorless lips spread in a thin, unforgiving line. She wasnt beautiful by any means, barely even pretty. But there was something interesting about her face, something that made

her seem almost attractive in spite of her austere, freckled features. If shed smile, she might actually be pretty.

It was the eyes. At first glance hed thought they were brown, like everything else about her, but on closer examination, he saw that they were the extraordinary hue of maple syrup, and fringed by thick, dark lashes. Against the milky paleness of her skin, they seemed huge and vibrant.

"Are you going to stare at me all day?"

He shrugged easily. "Ive been known to stare at a pretty woman for that long. "

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