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He dismounted to unpack his gear. “I’ll be camping here with you tonight.”
“Ranger Morgan, let me assure you, I have every intention of leaving in the morning.”
“And until then, I’ll make sure you stay safe.”
“I don’t need you to babysit me,” she insisted, irritation flooding her voice as she sat by the fire.
Ignoring the fact she’d heard him earlier, he met her stare over the top of Nobel’s saddle. “You got a gun?”
Her gaze faltered. “No.”
“Well, the poacher does, so I’m staying.” That shut her up, until he tossed his sleeping bag inside her tent.
“I don’t think so.” She shot to her feet.
“Don’t worry, I promise I’ll stay on my own side.”
“No.” She stalked over and half-crawled into the tent to drag his bag out. When she straightened, she shoved the roll into his chest. “We can share a fire, but you are not sleeping in my tent.”
He fisted his hand in the material, leaned around her, and tossed it back inside. When she would’ve spun around, he grasped her arm to keep her facing him. “Did you happen to notice those clouds rolling in?”
She lifted her head toward the darkening sky, and he read the concern in her eyes.
“We’ve got a storm headed our way,” he confirmed. “We’re better off sharing body heat to keep one tent warm instead of two.”
A mutinous glint lit her eyes as she jerked free. “I’ll take my chances alone.”
Of course she would. “You take too many chances alone,” he said, returning to Nobel’s side. After unbuckling the cinch, he gave a jerk to loosen the saddle and decided to try to reason with her. “I realize the situation is not ideal, but the temperature is predicted to drop, and we could get upwards of a foot of snow.”
“So?”
He met her gaze over the horse’s back. “So, it’s my job as a ranger to keep you safe, and that includes making sure you don’t freeze to death.” When she reached inside the tent once more, he lost his patience. “You’re on my turf, which means my rules. Unless you’re worried about keeping your hands to yourself?”
She straightened to face him, hands empty, gaze narrowed. “Oh, please. Spare me the ego.”
When she stomped away without further protest, a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. Talk about an easy bait, and definitely something to keep in mind. She didn’t like being challenged whether it was in her favor or not.
While he unpacked the rest of his gear, she returned to camp with an armload of wood. He watched her walk away again, then turned a speculative eye toward her tent. Top of the line, the best money could buy. Same with her backpack and other gear. He hadn’t missed the mutiny in her expression when he’d called her a spoiled little rich girl, and now he wondered how much truth the statement held.
His initial, knee-jerk assessment of the beautiful woman and the evidence of money was impairing his judgment, but he couldn’t let those damned ghosts distract him. An objective evaluation of the contrary evidence was in order.
Her gear, her horse, and her attitude suggested he was right on the money with his initial assumption. Her roughing it alone in the mountains—expensive equipment or not—suggested otherwise. Evidence that didn’t add up bugged him. Made him want to dig deeper because usually the evidence was the only thing he trusted.
He led Nobel a short distance away and tied him up, making sure he had enough room to graze before the snow started piling up. He didn’t like the idea of him being out in the elements all night, but couldn’t do much about it other than give the gelding a double helping of grain.
In the gloom of dusk, he saw Brittany also settling her horses for the night.
“That’s some stallion you have there,” he commented. “How old is he?”
“Four.”
“Impressive training.”
“Thanks.”
“Who’d you take him to?”
“No one you’d know.”
