15

Her expression grew somber, though her gaze softened further as she stared at him. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Shepard. You've done a lot of good too, I'm sure of it."

Shepard licked his lips and shook his head. "Good deeds don't cancel out the bad. Your beau Thomas said just last night that there's a fine line between murdering and bounty hunting. Most days, I'm not so certain I fall on the right side of it."

"Well, you are a good man," she said fiercely, taking his whiskered face in her hands. "And Thomas Carr isn't my beau. I oughta paddle your bottom for daring to suggest such a thing."

"According to the territorial gleam in that boy's beady eyes when I brung you to the hotel, he believes otherwise. Even Jeremiah mentioned it."

Even as Hazel rolled her eyes, she couldn't stop herself from caressing his stubbled jaw. "I've already rejected his suit five times in three weeks—one just yesterday morning. I don't know how much more plainly I can make it."

Shepard let out a low whistle, unconsciously moving closer to Hazel. "Five?"

"Mmm-hm," She nodded. "And what's worse, the second and third were in the same day," she grumbled, distracted when his left hand settled at her waist and pulled her toward him. "I even threatened him with bodily harm by way of my cast iron skillet if he asked me again."

Shepard laughed. "Sounds like your warning couldn't penetrate through that thick cloud of hair he's got."

"He does possess an obscene amount, doesn't he?" Hazel murmured with a chuckle, finally realizing how close they stood.

Not even a whisper of space fit between their bodies the way they leaned into one another. She stared at him, allowing her hands to drop to his chest. "Shepard?"

Shepard hmm'd, his eyes burning with emotions that warmed her heart. He bumped the brim of his hat up with a knuckle, allowing the sun to more fully bathe his handsome face in its radiance.

Hazel's breath caught in her throat. Even for all the scrapes and bruises marring his rugged features, her heart pounded with joy at being the focus of his heated gaze. "You're looking at me that way again...."

"What way is that, Jonesy?" he whispered with a crooked, boyish smile that caused a sharp ache to settle in Hazel's chest.

"Like we're back in Mildred's kitchen the day you gave me my locket and thought about stealing a kiss or two."

His smile grew into a full grin, and he chuckled, brushing his right thumb across the fullness of her bottom lip, "Oh, that way."

"Yes,... that way... thank you for finding and returning it to me once more."

"You're most welcome, Jonesy," he began, speaking so softly the words all but floated in the air like dandelion fluff. "What would you say if I admitted you're not wrong?" He stared at Hazel, "I've wanted to kiss you for a long while now."

"Have you?" She breathed, unable to tear her gaze away from his.

He nodded.

Hazel forced a swallow. The thought of kissing him sent a wave of panic through her. It would be complete and utter madness to allow such a moment to transpire between them. She'd be flirting with danger and heartbreak, but no matter how hard she willed her feet to move away from him, she couldn't do it.

"You really are a terrible tease."

"I ain't teasing, sugar," Shepard grinned. "Do you have a sweetheart, Jonesy?"

"Not since you last asked me a half-hour ago," she answered without thinking and bit back a curse, wishing she'd told him yes. It would have been the easiest way to dissuade him.

Shepard watched her for a minute, "Why are you frowning? You worried you'll catch something if I kiss you?" He leaned in close and winked, "I promise I'm free of any cooties, had myself checked just last month."

Hazel threw back her head and laughed. "That worry never crossed my mind."

"You afraid I won't be able to control myself?" He quietly teased as he brushed a wisp of hair off her left cheek.

Hazel scoffed and smoothed her hands across his broad shoulders and chest. What would he do if she confessed her fears centered on not being able to control herself instead? He'd be shocked, of that she had no doubt.

"Truth is," Shepard whispered, "maybe I won't."

"You won't?" Her stomach began flipping somersaults. He smiled, and Hazel's heart slammed even harder against her ribs. "Is that a warning or a threat?"

"As Jeremiah likes to say," he murmured with a wolfish grin, "whichever one compels you to comply."

Hazel licked her lips as her panicked mind became desperate to find a way to dissuade him. The intense look in his eyes made it plain that subtlety wouldn't work. "You don't want to kiss me, Shepard."

Both of his eyebrows shot to his hairline, "I don't?"

Hazel shook her head and tried to act firm and convincing. "No, you don't."

"Why not?"

"Because..." she slowly started, hoping the right excuse would fall from her lips. It took all of a few seconds to realize it wasn't going to happen. "Because you don't. You wouldn't like it."

"I wouldn't?"

"Nope, I'm certain of it."

"Why not? Is there something wrong you haven't told me?"

Hazel swallowed. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "No,... I just..."

"You just what?"

"I'm not good at it?" She cringed as the words left her mouth, but if telling Shepard the opposite kept him from wanting to kiss her and breaking her heart in the process, it was worth the blow to her vanity.

Silence, and then, "I see." His eyes narrowed, and Hazel feared he knew precisely what she was up to.

"Well," Shepard murmured after appearing to give some additional thought on the matter. "Since I'm not wanting to kiss you, and you're so certain I won't enjoy it... how about I settle for just one? See, then I'll know if I want more or if you were correct, and the once will suffice."

Shepard drank in the sight of her standing there, noticeably flustered by his logic, and marveled at the way the sunlight filtered through her eyes to make them resemble pools of liquid honey. He shuddered with desire—something he'd never experienced before and believed only happened in his mother's gothic novels.

The need to press his lips to Hazel's became a simple matter of survival. A rather melodramatic realization, and one he would have rolled his eyes at if he'd heard anyone else make such a ridiculous declaration.

But at that moment, Shepard knew if he did not kiss Hazel right now, he would perish. "Just one kiss," he whispered, barely able to keep a pleading tone from his voice.

Hazel's heart kicked violently as Shepard's calloused hands tenderly encircled her throat below her jaw, his thumbs nudging her chin upward. But, in the end, the temptation proved far too strong for her to continue her failed pretense.

"All right," she said after a moment. She took a quick, fortifying breath as a foreign recklessness took hold and threw caution to the wind, "But only one."

"Didn't mean to twist your arm."

Hazel rolled her eyes, "Would you kiss me for once before I change my mind?"

"Don't have to tell me twice," he chuckled, snaking his left arm around her waist to pull her flush against him in a tight embrace. He brushed his right thumb back and forth against her jawbone. "Now hush, Hazel. I'm settling in to steal a kiss."

She stared at him, wanting more than anything to unleash a sassy retort—something along the lines of, "Better make it a good one," came to mind.

But her mouth refused to move and allow the words their freedom, leaving her defenseless against Shepard's allure and desperate to soak up the feeling of being in his arms.

He leaned down, whispering her name again, and she nearly collapsed at his feet in a pool of liquid desire. The single, ordinary word fell from Shepard's lips like a benediction and sank into her skin, warming her through to her heart. The only other two times she remembered hearing him call her Hazel instead of Jonesy was last night.

She stood there, entranced, unable to move or speak for fear it would shatter the moment. Her eyes fluttered closed with a sigh of delight as Shepard brushed his whiskered jawbone against her left cheek in a tender caress, then alternated to her right and did it again.

Hazel's entire body quivered with wanting and anticipation when the corner of his mouth briefly met hers as though preparing and luring her to turn and receive his kiss.

She tried to breathe normally and keep a clear head, she'd been kissed several times before by other attractive men, and not one of them had unsettled her so profoundly before the real kissing even began. But when his lips settled fully upon hers, she was lost to the blissful sensations. It started as a soft, almost cautious kiss, followed by another lingering one.

Shepard was tender, knowing deep in his gut he needed to proceed slowly or risk frightening her away. She'd granted him a single kiss, and technically he supposed what had transpired so far more than fulfilled the quota.

But if he wanted the opportunity to have another, Shepard was damn well going to make sure this was a good long one.

His thumbs moved from beneath her chin to below her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth to part. She slid her hands from his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his neck, and succumbed, her knees buckling as she melted against him when his gentle kiss gave way to a more driven, possessive one.

Threading her left hand through his hair, she knocked the hat from his head with her right as she brought his mouth more fully against hers. His hands moved to her waist, his fingers digging into her lower ribs as he crushed his mouth against hers, sending every nerve in her body into euphoric oblivion.

Hazel clutched the front of his shirt in her right fist, wanting him closer as desperately as a person needed water, food, and air to live.

And as though he'd somehow read her mind, he molded her to him, his arms banding around her shoulders and waist, tucking her tight to his chest, his mouth never leaving hers. His hands, broad and strong, seemed to span half her back as the heat of his kiss seared deep into her soul.

She'd dreamed of this moment practically every night for the past six years, pined for it with desperate wanting, and now there was nothing she desired more in the entire world than to remain in his arms forever.

And so, she kissed him with all the tender emotions she'd kept locked deep inside, everything she would never be able to tell him. It was her declaration of love, her attempt to latch onto bliss while she could before reality tore it all away.

Several long minutes later, Shepard gathered the fragile remnants of his self-control and ended the kiss. They both gasped for air, their hearts thundering against their ribs as they clenched their eyes shut and pressed their foreheads together.

But he couldn't release her.

He tried to loosen his hold, to command his arms to fall to his sides, his spine to straighten, and his feet to move—if only to put some desperately needed space between them before he picked up where they'd left off.

Shepard attempted the feat three times without success. Finally, it wasn't until Hazel, her right hand still softly caressing his whiskered jaw, cleared her throat and pressed against his chest that he reluctantly released her from the prison of his arms and took a step back. A Herculean effort if ever there was one.

"We oughta check on Jeremiah," he murmured, feeling he needed to say something unrelated to what he preferred doing to help motivate his stubborn body to move. Away. From Hazel.

She nodded.

Her cheeks flushed as she absently brushed wisps of hair out of her face. Shepard looked very much like he might pull her back into his embrace and kiss her senseless all over again.

Which she could not allow to happen, she silently reminded herself.

No matter how desperately she longed for it—which only served as proof that giving in and allowing him to kiss her had to be one of the worst mistakes she'd made since arriving in Sheridan.

Raking a hand through his hair, Shepard frowned. He could have sworn he'd been wearing his hat up until a few minutes ago. Finding it in the grass, he sighed and settled it firmly atop his head.

"You feeling all right?" He asked as they started walking toward her shop. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. "You've gone a little pale all of a sudden."

Hazel silently cursed and kept her gaze focused on the path. But, unfortunately, Shepard was far too observant for her own good. She could only hope he wouldn't press the issue further.

Telling him their kiss was a mistake—albeit a wondrous and euphoric one that she would forever cherish—was not a discussion she wanted to have. At all. Unless it became absolutely necessary. And even then, she'd rather not.

So, Hazel nodded and remained quiet. She needed to keep her hands busy before she gave in and did something stupid like touching him and demanding he kiss her once more, so she gathered her damp hair over her right shoulder and started braiding.

Shepard glanced at Hazel out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. He hated the awkwardness that had descended between them. It grew worse with every step they took toward town and prodded him to say the first thing that came to mind.

"Guess it's a good thing you won our card game last night." He inwardly groaned as soon as the words left his mouth. Really? That was the best his love-addled brain could come up with?

Hazel's brow puckered in a frown as she looked at him then back to the path. "Why is that?"

"You have plenty of money to fix your shop," he said, as though the answer should have been obvious. "Hell, you could tear it down and build a new one, or move to a different town altogether and start fresh if you wanted."

"Why would I leave when everything I want is here?" She winced and bit her tongue to keep from saying more, fearing she'd already revealed too much.

Did he realize the exact truthfulness of what she'd just said, or would he assume she referred only to the scenery and her shop as she hoped?

Regardless of the events of last night, she'd never spoken truer words. With Shepard at her side and the memory of his kiss still fresh upon her lips—it was everything she could have ever hoped to dream for her future.

But, her mind cruelly reminded her heart, a dream was all the daughter of a prostitute could ever have with him.

"Well, either way," he muttered, wishing he hadn't brought up the subject, to begin with, and irritated by her response for reasons he didn't want to examine or understand right then. "You have the means to replace what you lost in the fire."

Air lodged in Hazel's throat, and she blinked against a sudden rush of tears at the remembrance of her mother's picture being destroyed. How had she forgotten so quickly? What did it say about her as a person, let alone as a daughter?

She swallowed against the lump of emotion and focused on the weathered boards of the back of her shop as it came into view.

Only a fraction of the damage at the front was visible from her current position, looking so insignificant she might have been fooled into believing Shepard was right.

If she didn't know better.

But with each step bringing Hazel closer, the lingering smell of smoke grew more potent, and the loss hit her anew, bringing her to an immediate halt on the path.

Her vision blurred, and before she could stop it, a sob escaped her. Then, without a second thought, she turned on her heel and started back the way they'd just come, unable to face the wreckage. She'd lost too much throughout her life, most of it ripped from her against her will.

Up until her mother's death, before Hazel found the accursed letters or knew of their existence, she'd never realized the magnitude of what she'd lost. She'd grown up believing her mother was a famous actress and songstress, treading the boards of all the great music halls and theaters, beloved by everyone—or at least every man—she met.

Hazel's father, Ayden Saunders, had perished before her birth—or so her mother had led her to believe. Theirs had been a grand love story with a tragic ending, and according to the letters she found after Amalia's murder, Hazel realized that was perhaps the only truth she'd ever been told where her father was concerned.

Shortly after they had arrived in San Luis, Hazel became aware her mother wasn't an illustrious actress or songstress but a prostitute—though, at the time, she hadn't understood the whole meaning of the word. However, she figured it was terrible from the spiteful way Lyle Haney spat it, and the pitying looks the townsfolk gave her.

Over the following years, Hazel learned that her parentage was enough to condemn and spoil her worth in society, no matter how forgiving the townspeople claimed themselves to be. It was one of the main reasons she'd decided to pose as a widow upon settling in Sheridan.

Widows were forgiven of their peculiarities, whereas the daughter of a whore with those same oddities was little better than a sweet roll covered in manure.

"Jonesy? Hold up," Shepard called out, jogging to catch up to her.