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Robert Morgan’s voice cut into her daydream. “You all right, angel?”
She opened her eyes. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just...so beautiful.”
“You mean you’ve never been here?”
“No. My pa wouldn’t bring my sister and me, though we often begged him.”
“That’s a right shame,” Bobby said. “This here’s paradise.” He cleared his throat. “Or as close as it comes, near as I can tell.” He held out his hand. “Come here. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
She shyly placed her small hand into his large tan one but then pulled it away. He nodded slightly, and he led her about a hundred yards to a bush.
“Oh! Raspberries!” Naomi knelt and gathered a handful of the plump dark pink berries. Their sweetness burst on her tongue.
Bobby chuckled behind her. “You really were hungry.”
“I didn’t get any lunch today,” she said. “I’d planned to eat after I delivered the bread to...” No need to finish. He knew as well as she why she’d missed her noon meal.
“I’m sorry, angel. I should have asked when you’d last eaten.”
Naomi swallowed another mouthful of sweet berries. “It’s not your fault—” She stopped. As a preacher’s daughter, she was used to making allowances. But it was his fault. This whole situation was his fault, and she’d do well to remember that. No matter how kind he was to her, he was still the enemy.
Bobby nibbled at a few berries.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Naomi asked.
“Yeah. I haven’t eaten in a while either. But I’ve a hankerin’ for some meat. Problem is, I don’t have my shotgun. That goddamn tenderfoot sheriff—”
His words angered Naomi, and she huffed. “Mr. Morgan, I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from taking our Lord’s name in vain.”
His handsome face reddened, and Naomi fought a smile. She had embarrassed him.
“Sorry, angel.” He smiled, and a shallow dimple appeared on his left cheek.
Naomi’s pulse quickened.
“What I mean is, the sheriff’s Colt isn’t my first choice of weapon for hunting. He took my revolver and my shotgun and what money I had in my pockets. Even the dirty laundry in my saddlebags. And my horse. I’ve no idea where he is.”
Naomi revolted against the pity edging into her heart for this man. Stripped of everything, but it was nothing less than he deserved. He was a criminal.
“Goodness, Mr. Morgan. The sheriff was doing his job. He is sworn to keep our growing town
safe. His job is no easy task, what with that raucous saloon in town.”
“Well, now”—he smiled again—”some folks say a man who works hard all day is entitled to a little drink.”
Naomi scoffed. “A man who works hard all day is entitled to come home to a hot meal and the love of his family. He should want nothing more.” She filled her hands with more berries and walked back toward Barney. “Take the sheriff, for instance,” she continued, speaking louder so he could hear her. “He’s one of the hardest working men in town, with no family to go home to, but he never walks into that den of sin.”
She jerked backward when Bobby grabbed her elbow. The berries tumbled to the mossy earth. Her hands, stained with red juice, trembled as warmth crept up her arm to where his hand held her.
“Are you sweet on the sheriff, Naomi?” Bobby’s deep voice rasped.
Naomi opened her mouth but no sound emerged.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bobby said and released her elbow with what almost seemed like disgust.
Why on earth would he care if she was sweet on Justin Stiles? Truth was, she wasn’t. He was sweet on her. But she’d never thought of him that way. Her heart didn’t go pitter-pat when in his presence. Certainly not the way it was racing right now.
But that was only because she was in such a frightening situation. Surely she wasn’t actually attracted to Mr. Morgan’s rough male beauty.
