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the process of undressing. His shirt gaped, revealing a smooth well-muscled chest. Clamped between his teeth was a cigarette. Half his mouth tilted into a far too sinister smile for her liking. Squinting, his pale eyes took her measure through a cloud of smoke.
    Making no attempt to fix his attire, he removed the cigarette from his mouth. "Settled already?"
    Her eyes scanned the room, picking out the masculine elements; a worn leather coat hanging from the bedpost, a shaving brush and razor, a utilitarian wooden comb, and in the corner, an unexpected pile of well-thumbed books.
    She focused again on him. "Th-This is your room?" she managed to stutter out the obvious.
    He'd shifted closer and now stood only inches from her. "Well, yeah." For the second time that day he touched her hair. He lifted a tress and brushed the ends against the ball of his thumb. Her scalp tingled with the sensation. "I like it down," he said.
    "Do you think I bloody care what you like?" She yanked her hair from his grasp. "You'll have to move to another room."
    "Not a chance, Duchess." He moved to the open window and flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Don't worry," he said with a sneer, "Grady and I have never shared anything in our lives." His gaze slid insolently over her.
    His insult brought the sting of tears to her eyes. "Your brother warned me about you. I thought he'd exaggerated your shortcomings, but clearly, he did not." The tears beading up on her lashes were starting to spill onto her cheeks, but she made no effort to wipe them away.
    He heaved a sigh and crossed the room to her. He reached out to her face.
    Ducking to avoid his hand, she swivelled on her heels and yanked open the door, hoping it would smack him in the face. "You, bloody well, better keep your distance from me."
    The door slammed in Slade’s face. His hair ruffled from the force. He bit down hard on the cigarette, the muscles in his jaw jumping. Keep his distance? How the devil was he supposed to do that? She should have asked him to simply stop breathing. It would have been a helluva a lot easier.
    Just seeing her in his kitchen had set his blood on fire. She was the most delectable handful he’d ever encountered. Hell, he even appreciated the wild streak that seemed to run a mile wide in her. He wondered if he purposefully provoked her, just to see that obstinate thrust of her chin. She sassed him so fearlessly, the tears took him by surprise.
    Damn Grady for sending her to Colorado and stirring things up.
    Slade rubbed his hand over his face trying to get a hold of himself. He had a ranch to resurrect. He didn’t have time for a such a sweet distraction. And, he reminded himself, he didn’t deserve one either.

Chapter Three
    Slade waited for Dix’s reaction to the new branding iron.
    "Yeah, this will do it," Dix said. "Your new mark is so damn complicated even Banyon won’t be able to figure out how to alter it."
    "Let’s hope," Slade said as he turned back to his task. He applied vigorous pressure as he oiled the saddle in the tack room. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much to relieve his tension. Every time he thought about the bastards who stole his cattle and blotted the Dalton brand, he wanted to spit fire.
    "I was working the railway stockyard, when Banyon drove in three hundred head of longhorn. After raising them by hand, it was easy to recognize your father’s superior stock. Imagine, he earned a sizeable profit shipping them east." Dix chuckled. "Course, with no outlay, it’s all profit. I suspect, Banyon kept the rest for breeding. I told Grady about it when he came back for one of his rare visits. But you know how the ranch was always his last priority."
    Dix contemplated the iron in the palm of his hand. He frowned. "I wished I could have stayed on to prevent the rustling."
    It was a rare thing to see Dix contrite.
    "Dora couldn’t afford me any longer."
    "Can’t expect a man to work for nothing," Slade responded.
    Slade didn’t feel right