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Carmichael.”
    “Was there something you wanted?”
    “Coffee, if you’ve got it.”
    Caitlyn smiled as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Ranch kitchens always have a pot of coffee warming on the back burner,” she told him as she took a cup from the shelf.
    Rafe nodded as he swung a leg over a chair, his eyes watching her every move. He smiled his thanks as she handed him a cup filled with hot black coffee.
    There was an awkward silence as Rafe took a sip. Caitlyn turned back to the counter, aware that her hands were trembling. Rafe’s presence seemed to fill the kitchen.
    “We’re having apple pie for dessert,” she said, breaking the silence between them. “I hope you like it.”
    “I do,” Rafe replied, “though I haven’t had any in quite awhile.”
    Caitlyn laughed softly. “I guess the Indians don’t make pie, do they?”
    “No.”
    “Did you like living with the Indians, Mr. Gallegher?”
    “Why don’t you call me Rafe?”
    “All right. Rafe.” She liked the way his name sounded when she said it. Picking up a knife, she began to peel a large green apple. “You didn’t answer my question.”
    “I liked it.”
    His reply was curt, almost rude, and Caitlyn slid a glance in his direction, wondering if she were bringing up a subject he didn’t wish to discuss. Her intuition told her to change the subject. Her curiosity wouldn’t let her.
    “How long did you live with them?”
    “Six years.”
    Caitlyn’s eyes widened at that bit of information. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that it had been such a long time. “Why did you leave?”
    Rafe shrugged, and his eyes grew dark. “Things happen,” he answered succinctly.
    “And you’d rather not talk about it?”
    “Right.”
    He drained the last of the coffee from the cup, his eyes cool and assessing as he watched her deftly peel one apple after another.
    Caitlyn worked quickly, conscious of his steady gaze. She felt her cheeks bloom with color and in her haste to finish her task, she grew careless. She yelped as the knife sliced through the apple and into her finger. A huge drop of blood splattered on the counter top.
    Rafe was on his feet instantly. Taking the knife from her hand, he reached for the towel draped over the back of a chair and wrapped one corner of the cloth around her finger.
    “I’m all right,” Caitlyn said, feeling foolish because she had been so clumsy. “It’s nothing.”
    “Let me look.”
    He was standing so close she could see the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes, smell his musky male scent. Her heart began to pound wildly as he removed the towel and studied the injury.
    “Have you got something to use for a bandage?”
    “Yes, I’ll get it.”
    “Better get some disinfectant, too.”
    Caitlyn nodded and Rafe stepped away from her. She continued to stare up at him, flustered by his nearness. His eyes, intent upon her face, trapped her gaze. The heat from his eyes warmed her to her toes, and she found herself staring at his mouth, wondering, always wondering, what it would be like if he kissed her.
    Rafe felt his pulse quicken at Caitlyn’s nearness. Her eyes were as green as spring grass, wide and innocent—and scared. Definitely scared of him, of the attraction she felt toward him and tried so hard to hide. He wondered if she had admitted to herself how she felt, or if she denied her feelings for him because he was an Indian, a man to be hated, not desired.
    There was a faint smudge of flour on her cheek and he was sorely tempted to slide his tongue across the faint white smear, to press his mouth to hers and watch her eyes grow cloudy with passion.
    Muttering an oath, he drew his gaze from hers. “You’d best get that bandage before you bleed all over the floor,” he suggested, his voice strangely thick and uneven.
    “What? Oh, yes,” Caitlyn agreed absently, the shallow cut in her finger all but forgotten. With an effort, she pulled her gaze from his face and left the