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heel on the packed dirt, she wanted to scream. The unmitigated insolence in the sound was unmistakable. With a numbing sense of unreality, she concentrated on that uneven rhythm. Step, shuffle—step, shuffle. A slight limp, perhaps? Though it seemed inconceivable that a man so fierce might have a physical flaw, she couldn't discard the notion.
    The acrid smell of manure and musty hay burning her nostrils, she peered ahead into the gloom. It was so dark back there. So horribly dark and forbidding. Keegan had made his intentions clear, and she had no doubt he was scoundrel enough to carry through on them. Never in all her life had she seen such fierce, glittering eyes.
    By the time he curled a hand over her shoulder to steer her into a middle stall, she was trembling violently. If he sensed it, he gave no indication. She regarded him with growing apprehension as he hung the lantern on a nail. No trace of remorse. No hesitancy whatsoever. It made her wonder if he made a habit of doing things like this.
    The lantern hung lower now than it had at the front of the barn, revealing his face in minute detail. A shock of black hair had escaped from beneath his Stetson to trail in a lazy wave over his high forehead. Deep set beneath bold eyebrows, his chocolate brown eyes were lined with thick, sooty lashes. Only a full, sensual mouth saved his chiseled features and square jaw from severity.
    Enhancing his dangerous edge, he had a heavy shadow of beard, a straight but slightly off-center nose, and the jagged scar along his left cheekbone, which appeared to be more prominent than his right, indicative of a badly mended break. That explained the twist of his lips when he smiled, she thought dazedly. The nerves and muscles on the left side of his face had apparently been damaged.
    Caitlin imagined him brawling in a rowdy saloon and getting his cheekbone shattered by some burly drunkard's fist. Her sympathies all lay with the drunkard.
    At the left corner of his mouth, he'd thrust a piece of straw, which he held clenched between strong, white teeth. As a consequence, the right side of his mouth seemed more mobile when he spoke. "Well," he said slowly.
    Seeing that piece of straw was nearly her undoing. Not that there was anything particularly sinister about straw; she'd nibbled on a piece herself plenty of times. While watching the sun go down. Or while taking a break out in the fields. But never at a time like this. His doing so was harshly eloquent of his contempt.
    When she failed to respond to his drawled prompting, he added, "If you plan to stand there staring at me all night, I have a hanging to supervise, Miss O'Shannessy. The choice is yours."
    Caitlin didn't need to be told what he expected of her. She hugged her waist to hide the violent trembling of her hands. “W—would you at least turn out the lamp?"
    "I don't think it's too much to ask that I be allowed to see the merchandise."
    The merchandise? She squeezed her eyes closed for an instant on a scalding wave of humiliation. "What kind of man are you?"
    "The kind with a long memory. Start stripping or renege on our bargain, I don't give a damn which. But don't test my patience. I can assure you that at this point, I have none."
    She saw the truth of that. Indeed, judging by his relentless expression, he would settle for nothing less than complete nudity. With the lamp pulsating brightly a mere two feet away, Caitlin couldn't imagine anything worse.
    Why she was incredulous, she didn't know. Except for Patrick and Doc Halloway, No Name's only physician, practically every man she'd ever met, including her father, had been a lowdown skunk. It stood to reason that Keegan would be as well. Of course he wouldn't be satisfied with merely using her. Oh, no. He wanted to degrade her while he was at it.
    Looking over his shoulder toward the front of the barn, she could see shadows still dancing in stark relief against the weathered walls. A silhouette of the empty noose swung slowly to