A Mail-Order Haven (Miners to Millionaires Book 9) Read online

  She started toward the house, but before she could brush by him, he gently gripped her upper arm, holding her steady next to him. "I might know the facts of the case, but I don't know everything. I don't know what you went through, what you were exposed to. What I do know is that you're right. Your brother wasn't there for you. He should've stayed, should've taken the blame, protected you. You're innocent, and you should never be ashamed of that."

  Shock pulsed through her. "Do you mean that?"

  His grip tightened a fraction, and he looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he released her. "Yes."

  She nodded, not knowing what else to do. She didn't want to return to the house now, but didn't feel as if she could stay here. She wanted to ask more questions, figure out who he was, but she had no right.

  Seeming to shake off the conversation, he nodded toward the book. "If you want, I'll teach you how to do that. I can also help you learn to shoot, if you desire."

  His offer surprised her. "You would? Why?"

  "Because I'm not always going to be here."

  She swallowed hard. He was right. One day he wouldn't be here, and she'd be on her own. It was what she wanted, but for some reason, that future seemed hollow. "I'd like that."

  Chapter 5

  Juliette lifted her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. "Thank you again for taking me. I knew Owen would have what I needed."

  Devon took in the sweet curves of her cheeks, chin, and nose. The way the sun hit her skin made it look luminescent and incredibly smooth, and his fingers itched to stroke her jaw, see if her skin was as petal-soft as he imagined. Instead of doing just that, he jerked his face away and focused on driving the horses. "No problem. I'm glad he had it."

  They'd gone to Owen Judd's home for books. The man had an extensive library, almost matching the size of Juliette's.

  "With this—" she patted the top of the book "—I'll be able to learn how to shoot."

  He looked at her out of the side of his eye. "There's more to shooting than you can learn in a book."

  "Oh?" She looked as though she didn't believe him. "Everything I've ever learned, has come from a book."

  "Everything?"

  She quietly considered his question and then nodded. "Everything of value, anyway, every skill. Even when my brother taught me how to throw knives, I read a book on it after and refined my technique."

  He snorted. "I believe that."

  Instead of being insulted, she laughed. "I'm not saying practice isn't important. It's very important. But it's critical for me to gather all knowledge available before I begin. I can learn technique that way, tips, and skip a lot of the trial and error which so often comes with jumping in before doing research."

  He nodded reluctantly. He may not believe books were necessary in every situation, but he knew the value of research, the value of preparation, and getting all the information possible for a project. Often, in his line of work, having information ahead of time saved his life. "I understand. I'm glad Mr. Judd had what you were looking for." His lips quirked. "I'm just surprised you didn't already have it."

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. "As much as I wish I owned every book in existence, I don't. Someday—” she sighed with anticipation "—I'll have a house large enough to hold the kind of library I desire."

  "From what I hear about your mine, that will be sooner rather than later." The house came into view over the hill, and he asked, "What will you do once it's paid out? Will you stay here in Promise Creek, maybe head back east?"

  Her shoulders deflated, and he realized it was something she didn't want to talk or think about. "I don't know. I like it here, the people, the town. It's not where I always thought I'd live my life, but it's a good place."

  "What about returning home?"

  She shook her head vehemently. "No matter what, I'll never go back there."

  The hardness in her voice surprised him. "Why?"

  "After what my brother did, people turned on me. People who I thought were my friends, didn't stand by me. I was mocked, ridiculed, an outcast. No amount of money could ever make me return there."

  Public opinion was a hungry beast, and he'd found that once people smelled a scandal, they turn into animals in a frenzy. "What about your family?"

  "My parents passed a while ago, but I have several aunts and uncles. They're good people, but they couldn't weather the scandal, and instead of standing by us, they disowned us."

  He slowed the horses in front of the house, but didn't make to get out of the wagon. "Even you? You hadn't done anything wrong."

  She nodded sadly. "Even me. Although I was cleared of all wrongdoing, I was still tainted. They didn't want that tarnishing their own reputation."

  "I see." As much as he didn't like it, that was human nature. If it was in a person's best interest, they turned away, even from their own kin, if needed. It disgusted him, but he'd seen it often enough it didn’t surprise him anymore.

  He hopped out of the wagon and rounded the horses, nearing Juliette just as she lifted her skirt to step down. Reaching out, he encircled her waist and pulled her down to the ground.

  A soft gasp left her lips, and the sound washed over him, leaving desire in its wake.

  "Thank you." It took her a moment to find her footing, and he realized he'd rattled her. Was she so unaccustomed to being touched? Was it him? It shouldn't matter, but suddenly, he couldn't let the idea go. "I've been meaning to ask, should we expect any visitors at the house?"

  "Visitors?" The change in topic seemed to confuse her. "I can't think of anyone. Why?"

  "I realized I hadn't asked you, and I'd rather be prepared. No one visits you? No friends? Suitors maybe?" Real smooth, MacAllister.

  "Oh." She visibly shook off her discomfort from earlier. "Well, yes, I guess so. People do stop by on occasion. There are few men courting me, and while they've stopped by in the past, it isn't common for them to do so."

  Devon didn't know why the information bothered him so much. She was a single woman in a mining town. It made sense men were pursuing her, but it still unnerved him. He tried to think of it rationally but couldn't come up with a good enough excuse for his feelings. It wasn't just because he was protecting her. People would stop by. She still had to live her life, and he knew he could still protect her. So, what was the problem? "It would be easier to protect you if you were to refrain from courting, for now. Besides, anywhere you went, I would have to go with you. I'm sure your suitors wouldn’t take kindly to my presence."

  She smiled ruefully. "I'm sure they wouldn't. What man would want another man as a chaperone?"

  "Exactly." He was glad she agreed with him, and his jealousy dissipated. He glanced at the house, realizing she'd go to her room and pore over the pages of her new book, but he didn't want her to leave, yet. "I know you like doing research ahead of time, but why don't I teach you the basics of handling the weapon, first?"

  "All right. I'm a little antsy to start, and while I don't think it's as productive to jump right in, it’ll be more fun."

  Her easy agreement surprised him. He thought she'd turn him down, and it pleased him that she hadn't. "All right, then." He pointed away from the wagon to the clearing next to the cluster of trees she'd practiced martial arts in. "Let's set up over there."

  She agreed and marched over, as if her mind were already on the task. It probably was. "What should we start with?" she asked.

  "Let's begin by holding the pistol." He held the weapon out to her. "Take it and see how it fits in your hand. Test the weight."

  She'd held it the day before, but this time, she studied it. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the hammer, trigger, and barrel. There wasn't a part of the weapon she wasn't familiar with, even if she didn't know the proper terminology.

  Her intense study of the weapon heated him. She was focused, determined, and he knew that no matter what she set her mind to, she would be this way. Thinking of another situation they could be in, where she'd study him,
watch him, heated his blood.

  He crushed those feelings as quickly as they'd come. She's my client, he reminded himself sternly. But more than that, she was too good for him. Even if he wanted to be romantically involved, if he decided to settle down, take a wife, it could never be someone like Juliette.

  She'd already been taken advantage of by her brother, and Devon would never do the same. He was soiled from his past, he wasn't good, and she deserved so much better than him. So, even though he was attracted to her, he had to ignore it.

  "What next?" She looked up in question, oblivious to the turmoil and desire mixing within him.

  He cleared his throat, hoping he sounded normal. "I'm going to teach you how to load and hold it. It'll always be loaded and ready, in case you need to defend yourself, but it's always good to know how."

  "I agree. If I become proficient at this, I need to be able to do all of it on my own. Especially when you leave."

  "Exactly." He showed her how to open the chamber, how the bullets fit in. He pointed out the mechanics of the weapon, and explained why, when she pulled the trigger, the bullet shot out.

  "Interesting."

  And he could tell she really was interested. Fascinated might be a better word. The information he'd given her was cut and dry, no embellishments had been added, but she'd been enthralled. He imagined other things he wanted to teach her, imagining that same enthralled look, but with her eyes slightly hooded, her cheeks flushed, as he introduced her to more pleasurable activities. He cursed under his breath.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing." He hoped she believed him, because he would not be explaining himself. He needed to get himself under control. "Would you like to try now?"

  "I should stop and read my book at this point, but I want to shoot it. Since I haven't read up on it yet, please correct my technique. Once I begin, I don't want a habit to form if I'm doing it improperly."

  He wanted to smile, but he didn't. "I'll make sure you're handling it correctly."

  She nodded her thanks as she loaded the weapon as he'd shown her. She cocked the hammer back and took a deep breath. "What am I aiming for?"

  He took a step, so he was behind her, evaluating her options. He lifted his arm over her shoulder pointing in her field of vision. "See that knot in the fallen log? Aim for that."

  "Is it safe?"

  "It'll be fine. Besides, it's going to take you a bit to learn how to aim. Remember, line up your sights like I showed you."

  She nodded, then lifted the pistol without hesitation. She took her time, lining up the shot, and he could see the subtle adjustments she made to the barrel.

  Her first shot went above the post, but it didn't shake her. Instead, she calmly cocked the hammer again and focused. Her second shot landed wide to the right, and he saw the tiny correction she made before she shot again, hitting her target.

  She lowered her weapon, smiling. "That was fun."

  "You're a natural." Not many people took to guns that quickly, or hit targets so soon.

  "You gave me good instructions, probably better than I would've read in the book," she said, ruefully.

  He knew that was the highest of compliments for her. "I'm glad I could help."

  She bit her lip and looked back toward the log. "Can I shoot a few more?"

  He laughed. "It's addicting, isn't it? Go ahead. You have three more bullets, but you can use as many as you'd like."

  She cocked the hammer again and took aim, her shot going wide. She frowned, tried again, but had the same result. She glanced over her shoulder, a question in her eye.

  He stepped up right behind her. "You're doing great. You're just pulling the trigger too hard." He brought his arm around her, placing his hand over hers on the weapon, his index finger over hers. "You want to gently squeeze, not jerk your finger. Like this," he said before demonstrating, pulling the trigger while her finger was beneath his. "You try."

  She shivered against him, and it was then he realized how close he was to her. He could smell her scent, and the tendrils of hair that kissed her neck, tickled his nose. He wasn't touching her, except for his arm and hand, but if he stepped forward even a few more inches, he’d be pressed against her, would feel the curves of her body against him.

  He choked back a groan, just thinking of how she'd feel. He could already feel the heat of her body, and he wanted even more.

  She held still, and he could tell she was holding her breath, waiting to see what he would do. Unable to help himself, he inhaled deeply at her neck, his eyes rolling in the back of his head.

  The hairs on her arms rose, and he wanted to smooth her skin with his hands, giving her the friction she needed. But he couldn't. He shouldn't.

  It took all his will, but he took a step back instead of forward. "You, ah—" he coughed "—you give it another try."

  She took a deep breath, and he could see her shaking off what he'd made her feel. That filled him with satisfaction and loathing. He was playing a dangerous game with her, knowing nothing could ever happen between them.

  Juliette seemed to settle, and then reloaded the weapon. She took her aim again, and squeezed the trigger gently, as he'd shown her. She hit the mark.

  "Great job."

  She finished off the rest of the bullets, and then turned and handed him the gun. "Thanks for teaching me. I think I'll read the book now, and try again a bit later."

  "All right. If you want more practice, just ask. You're welcome to it anytime."

  "Thanks." She offered him a smile, but it faltered slightly when she looked into his eyes. She looked like she wanted to say something more, and he could only guess what. Would she berate him for standing so close to her, for making her aware of him? He deserved it.

  She didn't say anything else. She nodded and walked into the house, looking over her shoulder once before stepping over the threshold.

  He released the breath he’d been holding in a gush. His heart pounded, and he wanted to go to her, wanted to take her into his arms. Just being near her, standing so close to her, breathing her in, had pushed him into a frenzy.

  He raked a hand through his hair. I'm no good for her. How many times did he need to remind himself of that? He heard the way she spoke about her brother, the way she loathed him. If she knew about his past, she'd hate him just as much. Because as much as he wished it weren't true, he was just like her brother.

  Chapter 6

  Juliette slammed her book closed and tossed it next to her on the bed. She'd read the same page three times, and she was giving up. She couldn't focus on what she was doing. Instead, her mind kept wandering. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but it wandered back to one thing. One person.

  Devon MacAllister.

  She put her face in her hands. No, no, no. This was a problem. She shouldn't be thinking of Devon—Mr. MacAllister—at all! But for some reason, she couldn't stop herself.

  The other day, when he'd taught her to use the pistol, something had happened, something she hadn't experienced before. Complete and total chemistry. When he'd stepped up behind her and placed his hand over hers, her body awoke. She'd been courted by several men, but none had ever affected her like that, like her body had been jolted with electricity. It'd taken all her willpower not to lean back and close the distance between them.

  But when he'd breathed deeply by her neck, his soft exhale brushing against tender skin, she'd almost given in. He hadn't even really touched her, but nothing had felt better.

  She was sure he'd noticed the hairs on her arms rising, the way she'd gone still. He was too observant not to, but he didn't say anything.

  Part of her was relieved, honestly. She didn't want to have a conversation about it, about the way he made her feel. It embarrassed her, and she had no desire for him to turn her down, which he most assuredly would. She was nothing more than a job to him, and, as she'd pointed out to herself time and again, he was too much like her brother.

  When she got married, she wanted someone dependa
ble, someone caring and considerate, a nice man who'd keep her safe and never cross certain lines. If that made him a little boring, Juliette didn't care. She wanted boring. She wanted safe. And Devon MacAllister wasn't safe.

  She sighed and rose from her bed. The light outside had dimmed, and she knew Sylvia would be cooking by now. It was also the night Sylvia liked to visit her sister. They'd tried repeatedly to get Sylvia to go early on those nights, assuring her they could cook for themselves, but she never allowed them to do so. The least she could do was help her prepare the food, so she could leave earlier.

  Besides, it would help keep her mind off Devon, and at this point, Juliette was desperate enough to do anything to accomplish that. Because the more she thought of him, the more she didn't seem to care that he was dangerous. Only thoughts of his kindness with Sylvia, the patience he'd shown her when teaching her, and the way he made her feel physically, filled her thoughts.

  He truly was dangerous, and if she were going to survive their time together, she needed to stop thinking of him entirely.

  The house was silent as she made her way down the stairs, and she wondered briefly if Devon was napping. She snorted at the ludicrous thought, and brushed it away. He must be reading or something, because Devon would never sleep this early when he had responsibilities. She didn't know much about him, but that much, she did.

  She made her way down the hall, and heard Sylvia in the kitchen, rustling around. Juliette paused and frowned. Sylvia didn't usually make so much noise.

  Still filled with confusion, and a little worried, she stepped into the kitchen, surprised to find Devon instead of the housekeeper. "What are you doing? Where’s Sylvia?" She looked around, expecting to find the woman coming from the cellar.