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Prudence knew why. He was the only one Zac had. If his father died, he'd be alone.
"My legs shook, but my hands, they were steady. I had one six-shooter in a single holster and that gun was sparkling clean. I stood in that smoky, dirty saloon and looked at my father passed out in a drunken stupor on the table and then at the gunslinger who stood smiling at me at the other end of the bar. His hand moved, I thought, way too slow. My gun was out before his slipped from his holster. I fired once and he went down . . . never got up."
Prudence listened, feeling close to tears.
"Word got around fast about my speed with a gun. It didn't take long for more to challenge me. I had to leave town. Sheriff asked me nice and polite."
"Did your father go with you?" she asked.
He shook his head sadly. "He died the very same night I killed that gunslinger to protect him. Doctor said it was too much liquor . . . rotted his gut."
Prudence placed her hand on his back, offering comfort.
"My reputation grew after that. There wasn't a man I couldn't outdraw. Then one morning I woke up and realized that one day a young man just like myself would challenge me and that would be the end. That's when I started hiring out for money. Mostly to the towns that needed cleaning up. I put away almost every cent I earned until I had enough to buy the first hundred acres of my ranch. Then about four years ago the ranch started showing a profit, and it's been booming ever since."
"Why do you still wear your guns?" Prudence asked, worried that someone more talented might challenge him.
Zac turned and leaned against the post. "Honey, I'd be a fool — actually a dead fool —to go anywhere out here without them."
"But if you didn't wear them, no one would bother you," she said, needing to find a way to protect him.
Zac raised his hand and ran his finger along her cheek. "It wouldn't matter. I'd be given time to get one . . . probably have a gun handed to me."
"You could refuse," she insisted.
"No, Pru, I couldn't," he said softly. "It's a matter of honor."
She opened her mouth to protest.
He placed his finger over her lips. "I must do what is proper," he teased, sending her a sinful wink.
Prudence wanted him to kiss her. Right there and then, no matter who was about. She needed to feel his lips—hot and alive— so frightened was she that he would die. But how? She couldn't just tell him she wanted a kiss, needed it, and ached for it. She thought a moment.
No smile came to her lips, though she felt it when she sternly announced, "Mr. Stewart."
"Ahh, Pru," he whispered, realizing full well why she had addressed him so. And he lowered his mouth to hers, to savor, to taste, and to enjoy.
CHAPTER 13
The cabin was hot.
Prudence sat on the edge of the bed, tugging at the neckline of her blouse.
"Shall I open the louvers on the door more?" Zac asked, amused by her uncomfortable state and reaching to adjust the wooden slots meant for ventilation.
She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."
Zac, in a playful mood, added to her discomfort with the statement, "I thought it rather cool myself, especially with the late spring breeze blowing off the river."
"It must have been all that coffee I drank at supper," Prudence offered, watching Zac remove his gray vest and add it to the gray waistcoat hanging on the peg near the chest. He had looked so handsome this evening when they had gone to supper in the dining salon. He had changed from his usual black outfit to a gray one. The dusky gray color set off his striking features, sending the females in the salon into apoplexy. He, himself, took no note of it, but Prudence did, finding their stares, giggles, and blatant overtures unmannerly.
"Perhaps if you changed into your nightgown, you would feel more comfortable," he suggested, removing his shirt.
Prudence had never undressed in front of anyone, not even Tess, her personal servant. Buttons, stays, and hooks were seen to after she had clothed herself enough to avoid embarrassment. She had never really thought her hill figure pleasant to look upon and had even refrained from viewing herself naked.
"I could help, if necessary," Zac said, startling her as he stepped toward her.
Her eyes settled on his chest, broad and solid and oh, so lovely to look upon. "Not necessary," she cried in a high-pitched squeak.
He stifled the chuckle that rushed to escape. "But you're so hot and bothered, removal of those garments is the perfect solution," he argued. "And besides, you would never be able to reach the back buttons."
