Wild Sierra Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page B

memory.
    Then, even if it cost his life, he would have a purpose beyond stud.
    â€œI know what you want, bruja.” He slapped at the umbrella. “Help aboard. You’ve got your own hombre for that.”
    â€œObviously you misunderstand. I said—Oh, never mind!” The umbrella tip receded. Swiveling on the ball of her buttoned shoes, Margaret stomped up and into the car. “And don’t call me an old hag.”
    â€œBruja has two definitions.”
    â€œDon’t call me witch, either. Miss McLoughlin will do.”
    â€œYou don’t say . . . Margaret .”
    She gave an ooh of aggravation before disappearing past the conductor. Her man shrugged at Rafe, then followed, and Rafe took another puff from the thin cigar before tossing it onto the rails. Something about Tex Jones struck him as peculiar, and his feeling had nothing to do with jealousy over realizing Margaret’s fiancé wasn’t in jeopardy of going gray.
    An hour ago, Rafe—a few minutes late by Margaret’s timepiece; early by his own standards—had met the happy couple at the San Antonio rail station. During those sixty minutes, Rafe had noticed something besides the wet behind a couple of ears. The ox of a straw-haired hombre hadn’t cast so much as a yearning gaze at his woman.
    Well, who gave a damn? Rafe climbed aboard. Ambling down the aisle, he saw the lovebirds sitting on facing seats. And Tex Jones had his eye on the strawberry blonde. It shouldn’t have mattered to Rafe, Jones’s inattention to his bride-to-be. To Rafe, she was nothing but a witch and a chingaquedita , the last a vulgar term for an irritating female. But any woman, no matter how unpleasant, ought to have her man’s undivided attention.
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    Blondes. They ought to be burned at the stake. Men were fools for them, Margaret bemoaned inwardly, as Tex took his turn ogling that floozy and acting touched in the head. Rafe had already done his stumbling over her. The worst part of the situation? Over the past two days Margaret had been unable to stop herself from recalling the sight of Rafe’s bare chest. Or of that golden cross snuggled in those jet black swirls of chest hair. Or of that hard flat stomach. Sin looked like heaven . . .
    He wasn’t a burly or strapping man, Rafe. Though his shoulders were muscular and broad, there was a litheness to him, typical of those in his former profession. It took agility to get out of the way of more than a ton of fire-snorting beef on the hoof.
    â€œAin’t she purty,” came a whisper.
    â€œIf you don’t put your tongue back in your mouth,” Margaret threatened Tex in her own whisper, “I’m going to snip it with my embroidery scissors.”
    Tex nodded absently. “That’s nice.”
    Oh dear. She did have a job ahead of her! Rafe Delgado might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t an imbecile, and if a certain fair-haired young man didn’t behave himself, Rafe would suspect Tex Jones was more, or perhaps less, than he was supposed to be.
    And Rafe kept an eye on the man who might be hers. Garbed in leather and suede and enough cheap cologne to suffocate a Longhorn bull, Rafe strode toward her. What he lacked in height he made up for in presence and nimbleness, which must have been handy in the bullring. Once, Charity had commented on Rafe’s catlike grace; Margaret had laughed until her stomach ached at the prosaic reference. She was no longer laughing. And it pleased her they met on equal ground when standing.
    Margaret liked looking men dead in the eye. She preferred to look down at them.
    Rafe leaned toward her. “You’re staring.”
    Her line of sight flew downward, but it bounced like a ball. Knowing his character, she knew any woman would have her hands full, trying to keep the upper hand with Rafael Delgado.
    He took a seat across the aisle, parallel to Tex Jones. Before unbuckling his gun belt and placing