Her Sheriff Bodyguard Read Online Free PDF Page A

ears, señora .”
    â€œAy, that is true.” There was a long pause and then the Mexican woman’s soft voice spoke again. “I have learned to listen, señor .”
    Hawk didn’t sleep. He didn’t even try, just lay awake with his thoughts and his doubts and his fears. Not for himself, but for the spirited, headstrong crusader who slept a short distance away from him. She was a damn fool of a woman, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
    But he’d agreed to protect her, and he would. Stealthily he moved his bedroll as close to hers as he could get without waking her.
    Tomorrow he’d teach her how to shoot his revolver.
    * * *
    â€œ Señora , can you fire a pistol?”
    â€œSí.”
    â€œA pistol!” Caroline spluttered.
    â€œ Sí. I carry a pistola always in my pocket.”
    â€œWhat?” Her voice rose an octave. “Fernanda, you never told me that.”
    â€œYou never ask, mi corazón . Besides, I never tell you lots of things.”
    Caroline struggled to her feet and immediately regretted it. Her legs felt stiff as new sofa springs. Nevertheless, she marched over to Fernanda, who sat placidly beside the fire pit eating the last of the biscuits. Before she could confront the Mexican woman, Rivera laid his big hand on Caroline’s shoulder and spun her toward him so fast it made her dizzy.
    â€œThere’s something I want to show you before we get started.”
    â€œOh? And what is that, Mr. Rivera? How to take off my boots, perhaps?”
    A smile flickered. The first hint of any humor in the taciturn sheriff and a welcome change from that smoldering anger in his green eyes and the perpetual frown he wore. My goodness, what a sourpuss he was. He’d be nice-looking if his face were not so scrunched up.
    â€œNothing to do with boots,” he said in that maddeningly calm voice of his. Didn’t he ever get excited about anything? Even Fernanda’s impromptu fandango last night hadn’t cracked his impassive expression. He must have been a superb soldier in the War, imperturbable as a sphinx under fire.
    She sniffed. “Well, what is it? Show me and let us be on our way. I have a speaking engagement in Gillette Springs this evening.”
    He shot her a look. “I want you to learn to use a revolver.”
    She sucked in a breath. “I beg your pardon? What on earth for?” The very thought of putting her hand on a firearm sent a shudder up her spine. Did women out West actually do such brazen things?
    â€œFor protection.”
    â€œYours or mine? No well-bred lady handles firearms.”
    â€œNo well-bred lady travels out West lighting fires under half the population without knowing how to protect herself.”
    â€œLighting fires? Well, I should hope so. For your information, Mr. Rivera, ‘lighting fires’ is going to be the salvation of womankind.”
    He said nothing, just took hold of her upper arm and propelled her away from the fire. Fernanda fled to the stream with the empty tin cups and the coffeepot.
    He slid his revolver out of the holster on his hip, spilled the chambered bullets into his palm and thrust the weapon at her, holding it by the blued steel barrel. She knocked it out of his hand onto the ground.
    His eyes narrowed into glittery emerald slits. “Pick it up,” he ordered.
    â€œI can’t. I am too stiff to bend over.”
    â€œThen you shouldn’t have dropped the gun. I said pick it up.” He put one hand at her waist and the other at her back and jackknifed her body. She groaned through gritted teeth.
    â€œPick it up,” he repeated.
    She scrabbled on the ground and managed to grab the long barrel, but it was heavier than she expected. She couldn’t lift it with one hand.
    â€œUse two hands,” he ordered.
    She pushed the weapon toward her other hand and grasped the handle.
    â€œNow straighten up.” He bit the words out like