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deep bellow of rage roared up from the street below,
loud enough that she heard it above the continued hissing of the collapsing
balloon’s envelope. She looked down and then wished she hadn’t.
    “Angelina Wakefield,” Taos shouted, using her given
name, which was always a really bad sign. “I’m going to warm your backside but
good!”
    Annoyed with him, she held onto the side of the basket
and glared down. She had plenty of things to say to him, too, but not in front
of half the town.
    Before anymore could be said, the gondola landed with
a teeth-jarring thud on the rooftop.
    She yelped and was thrown against the side of the
basket. The massive yellow cloth, with all its netting ropes, covered the
basket. She had a whole new problem to handle now.
    * * *
    Morgan was beyond furious, beyond thinking about
anything but getting to that crazy redhead. He ignored everyone around him as
he dismounted almost before Demon had even stopped. He tossed the reins at the
hitching rail and then tore into the Opera House, heart pounding.
    Flying in a
danged balloon! Didn’t that just beat all.
    He stormed through the partially dark main room,
ignored the few people inside, and took the stairs at the back two at a time.
Taos was right behind him.
    He gritted out, “Hell of a friend you are, wanting me
to marry that idiot sister of yours.”
    Taos merely grunted a response, but Morgan didn’t
think there was much his friend could say at the moment in defense of his
sister. Every man, woman and child in town had to be thinking Whiskey Wakefield
was way short on brains. Still, no matter what he thought of her right now, he
was more than a little worried.
    Damn, damn,
damn .
    He needed to find a window that would give him access
to the roof. He needed to get to that crazy female, drag her out of that
basket, and… Well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do next. Follow through on that
“burning her backside” thing that Taos had mentioned but probably wouldn’t
really do right now sounded good to him.
    Finally, in the trunk and crate filled dusty attic, he
found what he was looking for: a window that opened right onto the main part of
the flat roof. Gut knotted, he stared through the hazy glass pane at the jumble
of basket, yards of netting, and a mess of collapsed balloon.
    Taos swore a blue streak as he gaped at the same
sight. Past that point, Morgan kicked the pane out with his boot heel. Glass
shattered and fell inside and outside the window. He continued kicking until
all the glass was out, then he thrust his leg through
the window. It took some contorting but he squeezed his big body through the
opening, growling, “You can pay for the window. She’s your sister.”
    Taos followed him outside. “Hell if I will! She can
pay for it herself.”
    “A little help here,” Whiskey called out, drawing
their attention.
    Morgan faced the balloon and noted the woman peering
through a corner of the collapsed envelope that she’d managed to shove aside.
From what he could see, she looked the color of a freshly washed sheet. But her
green eyes danced with life, with irritation. Evidently she wasn’t being
rescued fast enough to please her.
    Together he and Taos moved toward the mess. Taos
muttered under his breath about burning the damn balloon, about blistering his
sister’s ears. Morgan was more interested in blistering her butt. He barely
knew her—even though he was going to marry her—and she’d scared a
good dozen years off his life. Maybe more.
    Between the two of them, they pulled the yellow fabric
further to the side and enough to free her.
    She bounced up all wild-haired and wide-eyed. Still, she looked cautiously at her brother. “Thanks.”
    “Angelina Wakefield,” Taos said in a voice rusty with
emotion, “I swear you aren’t going to sit for a month of Sundays.”
    She had the audacity to roll her eyes. “Are you going
to help me out of this contraption?”
    Taos didn’t move he was evidently still