“You’re strange.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He raised one hand.
Slowly.
Enough time for her to stop him.
She did not.
His fingers brushed one loose strand of hair away from her cheek.
The touch was light.
Abigail had expected heat.
Instead it felt gentle.
More dangerous.
“Tell me to move,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Why?”
“So I know.”
Abigail’s breath caught slightly.
Nobody had asked her like that before.
Men had assumed.
Joked.
Grabbed.
Or avoided touching her so obviously that the avoidance became its own insult.
Caleb waited.
She whispered, “Don’t move.”
He didn’t.
For several seconds they simply stood there.
Then Abigail placed one hand on the front of his vest.
Not pushing.
Caleb glanced down.
Back up.
She said, “If you kiss me, you do it because you want me.”
His expression changed.
“Abigail.”
“Not because you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t.”
“Not because I almost left.”
“No.”
“Not because I fed your men.”
“No.”
Her voice became softer.
“Because I’m tired of being somebody’s exception.”
Caleb understood.
She saw the moment he did.
His hand moved from her hair to the side of her face.
“You are not an exception.”
He leaned slightly closer.
“You’re a problem.”
Abigail’s eyes narrowed.
Caleb smiled.
“One I’ve been thinking about all day.”
She laughed.
Then kissed him first.
Not timidly.
Not like someone grateful for being chosen.
Abigail kissed him because she wanted to.
Caleb made a low surprised sound against her mouth.
Then his hands settled carefully at her waist.
Strong.
Warm.
Respectful.
The kiss deepened for several seconds before Abigail pulled back.
Caleb looked slightly stunned.
That pleased her enormously.
“Problem?” she asked.
He breathed out.
“Significant.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
From somewhere near the bunkhouse came a whistle.
Abigail immediately stepped away.
Caleb turned toward the darkness.
“Whoever that was gets latrine duty.”
Laughter exploded from behind a water barrel.
Abigail covered her face.
Caleb shouted, “Tomorrow too!”
Boots ran.
Still laughing.
Abigail looked at him.
“This is your crew.”
“My deepest shame.”
The next morning, thirty men appeared for breakfast ten minutes early.
No one mentioned the kiss.
Because Caleb stood beside the cookhouse door looking prepared to kill anyone who did.
Abigail noticed.
She almost appreciated it.
Almost.
She served biscuits.
Eggs.
Fried potatoes.
The men ate.
Then Harrison Caldwell rode into the ranch yard.
Everyone stopped.
The ranch owner looked exhausted.
His coat was dusty from travel.
His eyes had the hollow expression of someone carrying bad news.