The Reluctant Hero Read Online Free PDF Page A

you’re late, you lose the chance to follow me around.”
    Her eyes grew big and round, her lips parting slightly. Like a woman on the verge of having pleasure roll through her.
    â€œYou mean when it comes up overhead, like at noon?”
    â€œI mean when the sun first starts to push back the night.”
    â€œDawn?” she asked, clearly horrified.
    â€œYes, ma’am. Before the rooster crows or you’re too late, and you’ve lost your opportunity.”
    He walked out of the restaurant, feeling triumphant. He wouldn’t see her tomorrow unless it was seeing her climb into a stagecoach at noon.

Three

    He was a man to be reckoned with, and she was just the one to do the reckoning.
    â€”From Tex Knight Meets His Match
by Andrea Jackson

    Before going to bed the night before, Andrea had considered searching out every rooster and wringing its neck. Then there would be no crowing roosters, and she wouldn’t have the sheriff’s unreasonable deadline to meet. But since eliminating the sun was a bigger problem, she’d left the roosters alone. She wasn’t accustomed to starting her day at the crack of dawn, since she usually favored working by lamplight late into the night. It was when she did what she considered her best writing.
    Last night had been no exception. With a kerosene lamp to provide the light in her room, she’d alternately hit the keys on her typewriter and stared out the window at a town encased by shadows. Her hero was beginning to take shape. And he strongly resembled the sheriff. Even if the man didn’t want a book written about him, she could still write it. Change his name, the color of his eyes, the strong shape of his jaw. Remove the mustache. Although she couldn’t quite envision him without it. She thought removing it from his face might be like removing the leaves from the trees. In winter they always looked to her as though something else was needed. She thought he might appear the same.
    No, she would describe her hero so he was Matthew Knight in her mind. Her description of him would ensure that she would remember him after she left. Although she thought it unlikely that she’d ever forget him . . . or the manner in which he’d looked at her lips as though he were contemplating devouring them with more enthusiasm than he had his meal. She was certain the feral intensity of his gaze had made her blush. She’d never had a man look at her with his thoughts so blatantly revealed.
    Memories of the sheriff’s gaze had been quite exhilarating. She’d been unable to sleep, because every time she closed her eyes, she saw the hunger. And so she’d written until, while looking out her window, she’d seen someone passing through the town, extinguishing the flames in the few streetlights. Only then had she realized that the sun would no doubt soon be peering over the horizon.
    She’d forced herself away from the typewriter, and perhaps that was the most exhilarating feeling of all. It had been too long since she’d anticipated writing a story, too long since she’d greeted moments away from her work with impatience.
    While she washed up, fixed her hair, and put on a fresh dress, she was surprised that she wasn’t yawning and looking at her bed with undisguised longing. As much as she didn’t want to be away from her typewriter, she wanted to be with the sheriff. Spending the day with him, observing him. What if he were involved in another gunfight? She’d be right there, able to witness it. He might arrest any number of people. Today she would gather fodder for her novel.
    Tonight she would write with even more enthusiasm and direction.
    Making certain that she had plenty of paper for writing down her experiences throughout the day, she walked out of her room, locked the door, and took the stairs down to the lobby. Only an occasional lamp guided her way. Shadows lurked at the edges of all the rooms. A