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character."
    "Really," he'd never known a cat to care about anything save its own comfort.
    "Oh, my, yes," Hannah went on. "She didn't like Blake Wolcott at all. The very first time she saw him she arched her back and hissed like a demon."
    Jonas glanced at the cat again. He had no idea who this Wolcott fellow was, but at the moment, he envied him. "Look, Hannah," he said, inching backward as far as the saddle would allow, because it seemed important to keep as much distance as possible between them. "Why don't you forget about this marrying nonsense, tell me where your folks are, and one of my hands will take you there?"
    "I can't," she told him flatly. "The decision's been made. The die cast. Set in stone. Laid out clearly before us both—"
    "I get it," he interrupted wearily.
    "Besides," she added, "I don't have any folks. Except for Aunt Eudora, of course, and she's in Massachusetts.
    Jonas was getting tired of talking in circles. The damned woman had an answer for everything, even if it wasn't really an answer at all. And he was beginning to suspect she wasn't really as crazy as she appeared to be.
    Besides the beauty in those eyes of hers, he saw a rare and sharp intelligence sparkling there. But she was wasting her time on him. He had no intention to marrying. Not again. Sure, she made his insides sit up and take notice, but that was lust, pure and simple. That he knew how to deal with, and marriage didn't have a thing to do with it.
    Reining in the flash of impatience nudging him, Jonas shot a quick look at the darkening sky. Then, calmly, deliberately, he tried again. "Where are you staying in Wyoming?"
    "With you, of course," she said and gave him a look that clearly said she thought he was the one whose train had slipped its track.
    He bit back an oath as lightning flashed.
    Hannah's smile didn't falter. Not even when he drew his head back and stared at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted horns.
    Of course he was surprised, she told herself. He simply needed a little time to get used to the idea. After all, Eudora had always told her that no man wants to get married. Why should the Mackenzie be any different?
    However, she hadn't expected a warlock from a family as distinguished as his to be quite so surly.
    "Hannah," he said finally in a tone that was almost a growl. "You are not staying here."
    "Oh, you'll find me good to have around, I assure you. I'm an excellent cook and I've won first prize the county fair three years running for my quilts."
    "That's real nice," he said, giving her a smile barely touched his eyes. "But it doesn't change a thing. You can't—"
    "Isn't it a glorious day?" she asked, tipping her head back to enjoy the deep, clear blue of the sky and was surprised to see banks of clouds scudding across its surface. She didn't think she'd ever seen a storm blow in so quickly.
    "Storm coming," he said shortly.
    "I see that. She watched him and could have sworn she saw the storm reflected in his eyes.
    She patted the arm he had wrapped around her middle and absently noted the muscular strength of him. Her stomach did an odd little flip-flop and she sucked in a deep breath to steady it. "You'll see, Mackenzie. We'll be good together."
    Oh, she would be the first to admit that she hadn't much cared for the idea of marrying a man she didn't know. But now that she'd had a good look at the Mackenzie, she felt much better about the whole thing.
    His black hair was a bit too long; it curled atop his shirt collar and poked out from beneath his dirt-brown hat. But his sapphire-blue eyes glittered with intelligence and his hard, whisker-shadowed jaw looked as strong as the arm he kept tight around her.
    She could almost feel the power that surrounded him. Surely this was the man who could defeat Blake Wolcott and protect her, Eudora, and the members of the Crafters' Guild. Once they were married and back in Massachusetts, everything would be as it should be.
    Besides, hadn't Hepzibah taken an immediate