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bed.
    She picked up the silk robe from the chair where she’d carelessly thrown it. The fabric felt cool against her skin as she slipped her arms through the sleeves. Leaving the robe untied, she flounced onto the small stool in front of the vanity.
    A smirk twisted her lips as she patted her perfectly coifed hair. After enduring fifteen minutes of Sam’s clumsy rutting, not a lock was out of place. She hadn’t even broken a sweat, but had completed a mental list of needed supplies and decided the ceiling of the bedroom needed to be painted.
    A red rash covered her face and neck from Sam’s whiskers. The smirk on her face disappeared, replaced by a frown that made creases in her forehead. He could have at least shaved before he’d come to her, but he never thought of it, never considered her feelings for a moment. Hate, an emotion more familiar to her than love, settled in the pit of her stomach and made her tremble.
    Sam Townsend propped himself up on some pillows piled against the headboard and sighed. He reached for a cheroot on the bedside table, lit the thin cigar and inhaled deeply as she watched his reflection in the mirror. Smoke curled to the ceiling. “Come on, Cassie, Hunter hasn’t done anything. What more can I do than keep an eye on him?”
    Cassandra hid her distaste and asked herself, not for the first time, why she kept inviting him back to her bed when the man she really wanted was the mysterious Chase Hunter. To her utter humiliation, he hadn’t given her a second glance. She pushed the thought from her mind and caught the last few words of his recitation.
    “Besides, it might be good for him to stay. His presence could be useful.”
    While Sam smoked, she took stock of her sometime lover. She admitted Sam was an extremely attractive man. Blond hair stuck to his forehead from sweat and a light sheen of perspiration coated his long, lean body. Muscles, relaxed now, rippled with every move he made.
    As a lover, Sheriff Townsend left a lot to be desired. As a partner in crime, she couldn’t have asked for a more conniving, scheming and manipulative man—the reason she did everything in her power to keep him happy.
    Piercing green eyes met hers in the mirror and she knew he was ready to take her again. The hungry gleam filled her with a sense of power, but the feeling never lasted long.
    Though sore and chafed from his less than satisfactory performance, Cassandra would, once again, let him use her body so she could get what she wanted. And what she wanted, more than anything, was wealth. Enough wealth to start over, to put her sordid past behind her.
    Mentally, she shook herself from her musings. “I don’t like him.”
    “Only because he didn’t take you up on your offer.” He snickered. “Turned you down flat, as I recall.”
    “That’s not true.” She bit back the rising tide of anger, rose from her seat and strutted toward the bed while she envisioned putting a bullet hole right between Sam’s eyes. The edges of her dressing gown flared open to offer him a tantalizing view of her full breasts, flat stomach and triangle of curly hair between her thighs. “Why would I even look at him when I’ve got you?”
    “You have a weakness for handsome men, Cass,” he stated in a matter of fact way with no rancor or criticism. “You always have.” He grinned. “Of course, it helps if they’re rich.”
    Cassandra couldn’t argue, not when he spoke the absolute truth although he didn’t have to keep reminding her of the fact. She did have a weakness for handsome men and they were her downfall on more than one occasion. This flaw in her character was the reason she’d married Winston Kinsbrough, a man thirty years older than herself, and moved to his ranch in Arizona Territory.
    A year later, she became Winston’s widow, inheriting Willow Creek and the mountain of debt that went with it.
    “Something isn’t quite right. I’m not sure he is who he says he is.” The mattress dipped