"Sir George?" Jocelyn asked the next man to come out of the wideopen doors.

"Red Rob's getting him, Your Grace."

"How bad is it?"

"The loft's caught already."

She panicked, hearing that. Sir George was going to be terrified, so much so that no one would be able to control him enough to get him out.

She was running inside before anyone thought to stop her. Smoke was rolling above her head in great waves, the smell of it so overwhelming the kerchief she held to her nose couldn't keep it out. She was coughing before she reached Sir George's large stall.

Robbie was indeed there, trying in vain to get hold of the stallion's mane to lead him out. Even as she watched, Sir George reared up with a scream and the Scot was knocked backward. Nor did Robbie get up immediately. He'd been struck hard on the shoulder.

"Are you all right, Robbie?"

"Good God, woman, what are you—"

"Not now!" she shouted as she tore off her blouse, the only thing handy, to wrap around the stallion's eyes. "If you'll get up and get on him, I'll have the three of us out of here in a trice."

She was already pulling herself up onto the animal's back, the horse having calmed somewhat at the sound of her voice and the total darkness. Robbie didn't hesitate to follow suit. Moments later, Sir George burst through the doors almost at a full gal-lop. Jocelyn managed to bring him about by using her blouse as substitute reins, no mean feat with her di-rections coming from the top of his head rather than from a bit at his mouth.

She hailed Sir Dudley. "The rest of the animals?"

"All accounted for, Your Grace."

She sagged back against Red Rob's wide chest, but caught herself almost instantly and straightened.

Si-multaneously, they both remembered the unorthodox way he had addressed her back in the stable.

The countess found them laughing when she approached.

"I'll have you know you scared the life out of me, and here you are having a good time."

Jocelyn sobered at that scolding, but not com-pletely. She was still grinning as she offered, "I'm sorry, Vana, but I had a feeling this great skittish beast wouldn't let anyone near him, and I was right. I believe your fiance's shoulder will need some immediate attention. You know Sir George is never gen-tle with his kicks."

The countess's temper turned to quick concern. "Is anything broken, darling?"

"Just dislocated, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about."

Jocelyn almost groaned, hearing them coo at each other. "I'll just give him a ride to the house, Vana, while you find someone to set his shoulder. I'm feeling a bit of a chill myself."

"And no wonder—"

Jocelyn didn't wait around for more scolding, embarrassment mounting at being caught out in no more than a skimpy white camisole to cover her chest. She nudged Sir George toward the house and left him there with Robbie as she ran up the stairs to repair her state of undress before she went out to inspect the rest of the animals for any injuries. But she didn't get back outside. Waiting in her room, casually reclining on her bed as if it belonged to him, was her nemesis, John Longnose.

She was surprised enough not to scream, then wise enough not to when she noticed the gun he had pointed at her head. The horrid man was grinning. Well, why not? He'd won, after all. Vanessa had been right. He'd set the fire in the stable to draw everyone out of the house so he could then sneak into it. And the bastard had no care for the animals, that some of them could have died. Jocelyn's temper rose before fear had a chance to.


"Shut the door, Your Grace," he fairly purred. "We don't want to be disturbed."

"Shut it yourself!"

He sat up, his gray eyes darkening with annoyance that she wasn't immediately cowed. "I don't think you realize—"

"No, you don't seem to realize that I'm fed up to here with you!" She hit her chin with the back of her fingers to show him just where. "So go ahead and shoot me, you miserable little worm. But I promise you, you won't get out of this house alive!"

"I don't intend to shoot you," he growled angrily.

"No? Then give me your gun. I have no such qualms."

"You bloody bitch!" His face was turning quite red in his frustration that she was ruining the way he'd fantasized this meeting. "Remember you said that when I get my hands around your neck!"

"Well, come along then and I'll scratch your eyes out while you're trying!"

But when he did rise with a snarl of rage, she realized she'd forgotten how tall he was. Slim, but not worth risking a physical struggle with. She wasn't stupid, after all.

She darted out the door, racing toward the stairs. She thought she could almost feel his breath down her neck, but hoped it was just her imagination running wild. It was, almost. He was three feet behind her when she abruptly halted at the top of the stairs. Colt was there, halfway up them. He stopped too. So did Longnose, who thought to turn the gun still in his hand on Colt. It was the last thing he ever did.

Even as he was pulling the trigger, Colt was firing his own gun. Longnose's bullet whisked past his ear to embed in the wall behind him. Colt's bullet took 41 the Englishman in the chest. He fell slowly, knees

!hitting the floor first, mumbling something about bloody hell, then toppling the rest of the way over.

Jocelyn sat down on the top step with a shuddering sigh. "This is one time I don't mind at all your habit of dropping men at my feet."

"Are you all right?"

"Certainly. I'm becoming an old hand at this sort of thing." Yet her voice sounded anything but calm.

His eyes narrowed on her. "You look like you could use a shot of whiskey."

"Make that brandy and I quite agree. I have some in the parlor."

"Then go ahead. I'll join you after I dispose of the trash."

He joined her sooner than that. Her people came running into the house from all directions to investigate the shot. He left the cleanup to them. The countess almost beat him to the parlor, however, but not quite.

"She's all right, Vanessa," Colt told her in a quiet but firm voice. "Leave her to me."


The countess was too shocked at hearing him call her by name to say anything at first. And then the door was closed in her face, so she'd missed her chance.

"Well, I never," Vanessa gasped.

"I thought you were hoping he would show up," Robbie said behind her.

"I must have been temporarily crazy. I'd forgotten what he's like."

"As long as she doesn't mind, sweetheart, why should you?"

She started to frown, but ended up smiling. "How right you are. / won't have to live with him, after all."

Inside the parlor, Jocelyn drained the brandy from her glass before saying, "That wasn't very nice of you."

"Wasn't I polite enough?"

She quirked a brow at his innocent expression, not sure whether he was serious or not. Not that she cared. She was more interested in what he was doing here.

He had dropped his coat on the rack in the hall before the shouting had drawn him upstairs. She noted the absence of buckskins and braids. Only his moccasins were familiar. The rest of his attire, the dark pants and open-necked blue shirt, the red bandanna and Western hat, was pretty much what the average cowboy sported.

He was taking in her dress, in particular her thin camisole, so incongruous with her heavy wool skirt. She could feel the color mounting and it annoyed her.

Good Lord, after all they had been through, how could he still make her blush?

She decided her doubting look was answer enough to his question and asked one of her own. "What are you doing here, Colt?"

"I'd heard you planned to shoot Longnose yourself."

"And you thought to dissuade me from that notion?"

" Something like that."

She remembered saying that to him once and couldn't help smiling, even if she was disappointed by his answer. "Your timing was on the mark — as ever. I don't suppose I'll ever learn his real name now."

"Does it matter?"

"No, he was a Longnose to the end, following my scent across yet another country. I'm liable to miss him, you know. He added an element of excitement to my life."

"You'll have to find something else, then — that can excite you."

Those words didn't do too bad a job. She could feel her heartbeat accelerate. And the way he was looking at her.

She moved over to the window so she could watch the activity at the stable and get her pulse under control. The animals were already being taken into the old barn, which fortunately hadn't been torn down yet. She didn't see much more than that, however, once Colt moved up behind her. He had a way of claiming her full attention even when she wasn't looking at him.

"Will you marry me?"

Jocelyn's forehead dropped against the window. It was a wonder her legs didn't give out. She felt such unbelievable relief on hearing those words, and such ecstasy washing over her — and he'd made her suffer for three weeks while he made up his mind.

"I don't know," she said in a perfectly normal tone, though she didn't know how she managed it. "The countess says one shouldn't marry her lover. Ruins the romance, you know."

"And I'm not suitable except to be your lover?"

She swung around, her eyes large with temper. "Suitable? There you go belittling yourself again! I thought I'd warned you—"

He grabbed her to shut her up. "Am I still your lover?"

"If you are, you've been a very inattentive one."