Read Something Wild for Free Online Page B

breath and blurted out the first thing to come to her. “So, you’re a cowboy, a minister, and now I find out that you’re a healer of sore ankles, too. Is there anything you can’t do?”
    “Can’t sing. Don’t dance too well.” He shrugged. “Other than that, I’m perfect.”
    Beneath his black stubble she could see a dimple at the left of his mouth, a dimple made even more pronounced by his off-kilter grin. His piercing green eyes twinkled. Mike was right—he was close to perfect except, of course, for his streak of bossiness.
    “How much do you really know about fixing twisted ankles?”
    “I’ve delivered foals and calves and patched up more wounded cows and horses than I care to count. One ankle shouldn’t be much of a problem.”
    “I’m not a horse or a cow.”
    His grin widened as he aimed his eyes toward her. “I’ve noticed.”
    Mike’s broad smile and his comment flickered quickly through her mind as the ranch house came into view. He dug his heels into Buck’s flanks and the horse shot off as if he were more than anxious to find a pile of hay and to get rid of the burdens on his back.
    Charity was just as anxious to get her bottom out from between Mike’s legs. It was a feeling she wasn’t the least bit accustomed to.
    It was a feeling she liked too darn much.
    The house was dark except for the light at the back porch. She wished Max or Jack or somebody were awake to help her up the stairs and into bed so she wouldn’t have to put any pressure on her ankle, but it had to be well after
midnight
and she seriously doubted anyone would have climbed out of the warm beds they’d retired to a few hours ago.
    Somehow she’d get to her bedroom on her own. Mike had done enough already, and considering the odd—lustful—feelings she was having about the man, she figured she’d be much better off going upstairs alone.
    Apparently Mike had a differing opinion on how she should get to bed. No sooner had he brought Buck to a halt, but he swung down from the horse and pulled her into his arms.
    “I can walk now,” she protested, but he didn’t loosen his hold.
    “I’ll carry you.”
    “It’s really not necessary.”
    “I’ll be the judge of that.”
    “Look, Mike,” she said as he opened the squeaky screen door, “if you’re doing this because you want to show me how heroic you are ... well, I’ve already seen the moon glinting off your shining armor, and nothing could be brighter than that halo you wear.”
    “I’m not a hero, I don’t have a halo, and the only reason I’m carrying you is so you don’t fall down the stairs and break your neck, just to prove that you can walk all on your own.”
    “Are you always so stubborn?” she asked, giving in to his protests far too easily and wrapping her arms around his neck.
    “Always.”
    He carried her into the mud room, forgetting to catch the screen door before it slammed with a repeated thump, thump, thump.
    “Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips, and then whispered, “There’s no need to wake everyone up. Do you want the whole house—including the kids—to rush into the hallway and see you carrying me to my bedroom?”
    He stopped halfway up the semi dark stairwell. One black brow rose as he stared at her. “All I plan to do is look at your ankle. Did you have something else in mind, something you think we need to hide?”
    “No, but people have a tendency to jump to conclusions.”
    “Let them.”
    He continued his climb and she would have struggled, but she didn’t want to accidentally kick the wall or make any unnecessary noise. She’d been branded a tramp on more than one occasion. The accusations were false, completely and utterly untrue, but she didn’t want her family and newfound friends thinking she was a harlot, to have them think she was leading their preacher down the road to heathenism.
    “Where’s your bedroom?” Mike asked when he reached the landing.
    “Third one on the right.”
    Her heart beat far