Dancing With the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page B

hell was wrong with him? His life had been ticking along just fine until that blasted day when he’d met Colin and his firecracker of a sister. Next thing he knew, Rhea had kicked his whole world sideways.
    Nothing had been right since.
    A slow smile spread across his mouth. Rhea had done more than kick things sideways; she’d given him a reason to keep coming back. She wasn’t afraid of anything, least of all him, and she’d just as soon shoot him than cower or bend to his will. His throbbing shoulder was ample proof of that.He squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the sounds of early morning creeping between the cracks in the cabin walls.
    The air in the room shifted slightly, and Deacon heaved a long sigh. He should have expected her.
    Not Rhea.
    Kit .
    “I hate when you do that,” he grumbled, opening one eye at a time to find his younger sister standing over him.
    “Yet you didn’t think twice about doing the same thing to Lucille.”
    The mere mention of their other sister made Deacon groan and chuckle at the same time. He couldn’t deny what Kit said; he used to pop in on Lucille all the time, and she’d hated it just as much as he did now.
    “Where’s this ‘Colin’?”
    “In the other room.”
    “And the woman?”
    “She’s spending the night in town.”
    With a quick snap of her fingers, Kit sent a flame dancing against the lamp’s wick. Deacon squinted through the light, then stared open mouthed at his sister.
    “What are you wearing?” he gaped.
    His sister’s whole face lit up. “Wonderful, isn’t it? I wish I’d done this years ago.”
    Kit’s red hair grew wild around her head, her cat-green eyes took in everything around her and her mouth was set in its usual smirk. The lower half of her body was clothed not in a skirt or dress—as it certainly should have been—but in men’s trousers.
    Denim trousers!
    And to make it worse, she was wearing a faded flannel shirt, every bit as ugly as the ones Colin had hanging on the nail in his room.
    Her feet were stuffed into brown leather boots, and a red-checked bandana hung half out of her front pocket. If Deacon didn’t know better, he’d swear she was a regular old cowhand.
    “You can’t be serious,” he said. It was bad enough he’d been forced to borrow one of Colin’s shirts, but to wear such things willingly…ugh.
    “Oh yes, I am.” She lifted her hands in the air and turned in a slow pirouette. “I’m never wearing a corset again.”
    Deacon shook his head slowly. Typical Kit—she did what she wanted, when she wanted, and to hell with everyone else.
    He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched out the kinks. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that you’re here.”
    “No,” she said, “I suppose it shouldn’t.”
    A slow breath seeped out of Deacon’s lungs. Even though his father had kicked him out of Hell, Deacon knew better than to think he was actually free.
    “Here.” Kit reached into the pocket of her denim pants, pulled out a huge wad of paper bills and dumped it on the table. “You look like you could use a trip to the nearest clothier, Mr. Vanity.”
    “Honestly, Kit, if I didn’t know better,” he said, “I might think you were being charitable.”
    “And if I didn’t know better,” she retorted, “I might think you were planning on staying here with the humans.”
    “That’s why he sent you?” Deacon eyed his sister carefully. “To make sure I don’t get too comfortable here?”
    Kit shrugged indifferently.
    “I’m not Lucille,” he grumbled. “I have absolutely no hope or expectation of ever being free, so you’re wasting your time.”
    “That’s all right.” Kit tipped her head to the right a little and smiled brightly. “It would seem I have plenty of time to waste.”
    She twisted one of the chairs away from the table and plunked herself down. “Besides, I had to see for myself what all the fuss was about. Did you really let that woman shoot you?”
    “I