Stella Bagwell - Taming a Dark Horse

He studied her through drooped lids and for the first time in Nevada’s life she felt her whole body react to a man in a purely sexual way. Heat filled her cheeks and she felt as though her whole body was soon going to be glowing like a firefly.

“What does a nurse know about cooking?”

Nevada drew in a bracing breath and told herself not to look at him. She couldn’t look at him if she expected to get her senses back under control.

“Probably about as much as a cowboy does,” she muttered.

He caught her off guard by releasing a low chuckle. “You might be surprised at what I know how to do in the kitchen.”

Nevada couldn’t keep her gaze from latching on to him and the minute it did her stomach did a nervous jump. Was he talking about cooking, she wondered, or something altogether different?

“Really. Then maybe you could teach me a few things,” she ventured.

The amusement on his face disappeared like a cloud slipping past the sun and his gaze traveled from her face to her bosom and back again. “I’m sure you’ve already learned everything there is to know.”

Something about Linc’s words struck Nevada hard and deep. And for the next few minutes she didn’t say anything as she finished bandaging his fingers then went to work on his left arm to repeat the same process.

She really didn’t know why his remark had bothered her so. Maybe it was the note of disgust she’d picked up in his voice or maybe it was the lewd way he’d looked at her. Either way, it didn’t matter, she told herself. Linc Ketchum wouldn’t be the first person to think she was a promiscuous young woman. Some of her so-called friends had also accused her of sleeping with a long list of boyfriends. But in reality nothing could be further from the truth. Nevada was a virgin. And so far she hadn’t met one man who would make her want to change that fact.

Even so, she wasn’t going to explain any of this to Linc Ketchum. Her sexual habits were none of his business. Pure and simple.

Later that evening, after she’d finished dressing Linc’s burns, Nevada went outside to explore the rugged landscape of the yard. She was at the back of the house enjoying the sight of the far-distant San Juans when she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.

Carefully picking her way through the rocks and clumps of blooming sage, she skirted the end of the building to see Marina climbing out of an old red pickup truck.

“Marina! Hello!” she called to the housekeeper.

The large Mexican lady with a heavy braid pinned to the back of her head, turned in the direction of Nevada’s voice and smiled broadly when she spotted her.

Nevada waved and hurried over to the woman. Without uttering a word of welcome, she hugged Marina tightly. Nevada didn’t get to see her old friend that often. Yet somehow from the very first time Victoria had introduced Nevada to the housekeeper, Marina had felt like the mother that Nevada had always wanted.

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