Despite the coming night’s warmth, Jayne shivered. The banker’s decisive manner appeared intrinsic to his nature. It seemed foolish to hope his bold declaration had been vainly uttered. Yet hope she did, clinging to the possibility that good sense had prevailed over his rash statements, and he intended to leave her in peace.
She let the curtains slip through her fingers and turned. The sturdy dresser blocking her locked bedchamber door had required relentless pushing and prodding to budge.
Burke Youngblood had scarcely entered her life, and he’d already caused her a great deal of trouble. It was as Aunt Euphemia said. A man might appear in the guise of offering help, but he usually ended up becoming a burden.
Jayne surveyed her barricaded domain and, pronouncing it impregnable against any invasion, went to the bed and picked up an unwieldy drawer. Because she’d gone to all this work to keep him out, he probably wouldn’t come. That was one of life’s ironies. Expected calamities rarely occurred, while ones that couldn’t be foreseen arrived with bass drums.
Burke stood on the boardwalk across the street from Jayne Stoneworthy’s ill-fated school. He’d seen the curtains flutter moments ago and recognized her profile at the bedchamber window. The vagueness of her outline frustrated him. He wanted to prove that she wasn’t the elusive creature who’d been teasing the edges of his thoughts. She was real. And damned if he didn’t want to unravel the mystery of her effect upon him.
He took a slow drag on his cheroot and contemplated the second-story window. What on earth had possessed him to carry her upstairs and throw her on that bed? When he’d stepped inside the building, his purpose had been clear, to teach her that she couldn’t take up residence in a former brothel and open her door to any man who knocked.
Somewhere along the line, he’d crossed the edge of reason and pushed things beyond the bounds of decency. He wanted to blame her for the fiasco. His decision to treat her like a saloon girl had been sound. By all rights, she should have been terrified for her safety. When he’d backed off, she should have been grateful for the time and effort he’d taken to demonstrate her precarious situation and humbly thanked him. Then she should have cheerfully agreed to vacate the premises.
He hadn’t backed off....
Burke scowled. He would have, if she’d played her part correctly. As twilight deepened, so did the grimness of his mood. For better or for worse, he’d issued an ultimatum. Unless a demand was enforced, it was worthless. The question of the hour was, did he intend to back up his words?
A primitive quickening surged. He couldn’t believe how much he wanted to barge into her bedchamber and insist she follow the wise course he’d charted for her. It wasn’t his nature to act impetuously. That this woman made him want to abandon caution did more than surprise him. He was shocked by his desire to stretch out his arm and use the considerable resources at his command to bend her to his will.
No, not bend. He wanted her to admit her folly and yield to his superior wisdom, so he could rescue her and her fledgling school from ruin.
And then?
He chose not to think that far ahead. The memory of sharing a bed with her soft body twisting beneath him was too raw to permit long-range planning. He would proceed one step at a time. First, she had to be dislodged from the Wet Beaver.
Burke studied the second-story window. Beneath it, a narrow ledge spanned the building. He guessed the plank’s width to be twelve inches. The conversation he’d had with Gideon several months ago returned. At the time, Burke had thought his friend had lost his mind to engage in such hotheaded theatrics as scaling a wall during a rainstorm.
Even in his youth, Burke hadn’t been hotheaded. His thirtieth birthday was behind him. It was a little late to entertain rash thoughts about climbing buildings and traipsing across narrow ledges.
His gaze lowered to the smoldering tip of his cheroot. He definitely wasn’t hotheaded. The same couldn’t be said about the blood flowing through his veins. Imagining Jayne Stoneworthy in an old-fashioned nightgown with her incredibly kissable lips tilted toward him made him hot all over.
He flicked the thin cigar to the boardwalk and ground out the flame. Evidently the certainty that he was about to make an even more colossal fool of himself wasn’t sufficient reason to prevent him from proceeding.
He strode determinedly across the street. Some things couldn’t be stopped. He was going to find out what it was about Miss Stoneworthy that agitated his restlessness and prodded a streak of protectiveness he hadn’t known he’d possessed. He didn’t delude himself that the answer would come easily.
He did delude himself that he could navigate the skinny ledge without breaking his neck. No way was his cemetery headstone going to read “Here lies Burke Youngblood, cut down in his prime as a cathouse he did climb.”
Jayne had a passionate aversion to people who failed to keep their word. She balefully regarded the dresser wedged against the door. It had taken a lot of hard work to put it there. The least Burke could do was show up, pound futilely to gain admittance and then crawl away with his tail between his legs—fitting retribution for terrorizing her this afternoon.
A blur of movement drew her glance to the open window where a man’s booted foot suddenly appeared. Before she could react, the rest of him emerged through the opening. He uncurled to full prominence. Burke Youngblood!
As if her thoughts had delivered him to her bedchamber, he loomed tall and foreboding—scowling, dust-covered and holding a long-haired gray cat in the crook of his arm. The hardness of his expression was so at odds with the soft feline he cradled that she was struck momentarily speechless.
His gaze went to the dresser blocking the entry to her room. “That’s the first predictable thing you’ve done since I met you.”
“How dare you invade my bedchamber!”
“Save the maidenly outrage for later.”
That sounded ominous. “I don’t foresee there being a later between us.”
“Then you’re shortsighted.” He shoved the bundle of gray fur toward her. “Is this yours?”
She automatically accepted the bedraggled feline. “I don’t have any pets.” The cat, a big one, was surprisingly relaxed and limp-boned at being held by a stranger. “Did you climb all the way up here, carrying him? He must weigh ten pounds.”
Burke’s lips turned downward in obvious disgust. “I didn’t start out with him. He joined me on the way up and used my back for a ladder.”
“Uh, well, that’s interesting.” She tried to hand the animal back to him. “Since he isn’t mine, you can take him and go.”
“I’m not taking him anywhere, and when I leave it’s going to be through that door with you beside me.”
Claws dug warningly into Jayne’s’ arm. She realized she was squeezing the cat and eased her grip. “I thought that by now you would have come to your senses where I’m concerned.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Did you?”
Needing the freedom of her hands to express herself, she sat her furry burden on the rumpled bed. “If you’ll look at the situation logically, you’ll see that my problems are none of your concern. This afternoon, in heat of our debate, things got out of control. We both made some imprudent statements.”
“Did we?”
His enigmatic expression revealed nothing about what he was thinking.
“As a practical, coolheaded businessman, you must agree I’m right.”
“Which would make me...wrong?”
“Umm...” It had been her observation that men didn’t like admitting when they were wrong. “Let’s just say that you were overzealous this afternoon in seeing to my