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sure what she'd do if he denied the possibility of her claims. "Were you injured then?"
    "Yes, I hit my head when I was pulled back into the boat."
    "So," he said, folding his arms again. "You remember all of this, but not how you walked into my house?"
    Ah, so he had been trying to set a trap. "No, I don't actually remember everything that happened that horrible day," she said, adding a dramatic flutter of her hand for emphasis. "I relied on what others told me, since I hit my head."
    "And this was how long ago, Miss Galloway?"
    "Just a few days."
    "No one could find you anything else to wear except these inappropriate trousers and ill-fitting shirt?" His riding crop again flicked toward her chest.
    She scooted back on the soft mattress, which threatened to swallow her into its depths. "No, I suppose not."
    "I find that hard to believe."
    She shrugged, since she didn't have an answer.
    "Where were you headed when this accident occurred?"
    She glanced around the room, then answered with the partial truth. "Here."
    "Black Willow Grove was your destination?"
    "Yes."
    "Miss Galloway, I was not expecting you. I have no idea why you were journeying to my plantation."
    She crossed her fingers in the depths of the feather mattress and said a silent prayer that her next lie would work. "Well, that's very simple.
I'm
your daughter's new governess."

Chapter Three
     
    "Don't be ridiculous. The only person who was supposed to be on a packet was Miss Agnes Delacey. And you, Miss Galloway, are a far cry away from that proper young lady."
    "No, not really. You see, she's actually a very good friend of mine."
    He gave her a look which said she and the saintly Miss Delacey weren't in the same league. Heck, he probably doubted they were the same species.
    His continued interrogation and blatant skepticism were interrupted by two servants who brought in an armload of dresses, undergarments, and shoes. One of the women carried what Randi assumed was a sewing basket. Good Lord, she really was in
Gone With the Wind
!
    Jackson Durant's eyes narrowed while he watched the women enter. "We'll continue this conversation later," he said, before starting for the door.
    "Wait," Randi called out before he disappeared into the depths of the house.
    "What is it, Miss Galloway?" he asked impatiently, riding crop clenched against his thigh.
    "I don't want to be a bother. Won't Mrs. Jackson miss these dresses?"
    "Mrs. Jackson," he said deliberately, as though the very name angered him, "is dead. She won't miss these frocks."
    With a turn of his heel, he strode from the room, leaving Randi alone with two servants.
    "Please, put those down on the bed," Randi said softly.
    So, his wife was dead, leaving him with a baby to raise and a plantation to run. No wonder he was so curt. Some might even say rude. She hadn't known him long enough to form a firm opinion, but first impressions told her he was an extremely results-oriented man who didn't have time for foolishness. Not a warm, friendly, type. Not exactly a "people person."
    She sighed, then pushed herself off the bed. With outraised arms, she twirled in front of the two attentive women. "Make me into an acceptable lady, please," she asked. With wide-eyed disbelief, they continued to stare at her hair, her clothes, and her shoes.
    "Okay, I know we've got our work cut out for us, but you'd be surprised. Really, I clean up pretty well."
    #
    Jackson galloped away from the house, his mood as dark as the gelding he rode to the far cotton fields. What a ridiculous female! Dressed like disreputable boy, with unusual-colored blond hair shorter than his, she should have been nearly indistinguishable from any young male. Unfortunately, she didn't look--or feel--like a boy. Curves in all the right places, firm and sweet-scented, she'd sent him reeling when she'd swooned in his arms.
    How was he supposed to stay angry with her when she was constantly feeling ill? For someone who looked healthy, she certainly didn't have a