The Texan's Bride by Geralyn Dawson Page A

here!”
    “In the flesh,” he replied, never taking his gaze off Katie.
    Her pulse hummed like honeybees swarming a sunflower. The very last person she had expected to see today was Branch Kincaid.
    He wore his blue chambray shirt beneath a fleece-lined vest. Her stare snagged on the tin star pinned to the leather, and her stomach sank as hopes she hadn’t realized she harbored were dashed. He had gone to work for the sheriff. What was he doing here today? Why did he come back?
    Katie forced herself to meet Branch’s gaze. His topaz eyes gleamed as he drawled, “Howdy, Sprite. Daniel.”
    He shouldn’t have come here. Not now. Not when she’d been working so hard to forget him. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, paying careful attention to the dust she brushed from her skirt. “What brings you to Gallagher’s,” she paused and emphasized snidely, “ Deputy ?”
    He frowned down at the star on his vest, then back at Katie. He opened his mouth to reply when Daniel interrupted, “Wow, a turkey!”
    She hadn’t noticed the bird dangling at Branch’s side. His hands were not what attracted her attention. “Yes, Daniel,” she said cattily, “it is a turkey, and it looks as though he’s brought dinner with him.”
    Branch retaliated with that slow, wicked grin. He laid his free hand against his chest, batted his eyelashes, and chirped, “Why, Miz Starr, you do say the sweetest things to a man.”
    Her throat was as dry as the West Texas wind. “Pluck it, Kincaid.”
    “Only if you have me for dinner,” he shot back. He held the bird out. “Now, Kate, I’ve hauled my turkey a far piece to visit with y’all, and I’m lookin’ for an invitation.”
    Sometimes silence was a speech. Eventually Branch’s expectant expression faded. He shoved his burden into Daniel’s hands and took a step toward Katie. “Come on, Kate. Let me stay.”
    “We don’t serve Regulators here.”
    “I should hope not. They’re a whole lot tougher than turkey.”
    “You’re disgusting, Mr. Kincaid,” she said, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. “I thought we’d seen the last of you. What brings you back?”
    He grimaced. “Careful, now, you’ll hurt my feelings. I’m a tender sort of man, you know. Anyway, to answer your oh-so-sweet question, the talk in town is all about this place y’all are buildin’ out here. I wanted to see it for myself. You see, I once worked for Finian Trahern. He’s a right nice fella.”
    “You know Mr. Trahern?” Katie asked, her pique forgotten at his words.
    “Yep, right well, if I say so myself. You gonna cook for me, Kate?”
    She wanted to, she really did, and she hated herself for it. Nodding slowly, she said, “Yes, I’ll roast your turkey for you. It’ll be my pleasure. Excuse me now, I have work to do.” She brushed past him out of the room, aware that he moved to lean against the doorway and watch her descend the stairs. She exaggerated the swing to her hips for good measure.
    They sniped at each other all afternoon. After John gave Branch the grand tour of the new inn, the deputy appointed himself kitchen assistant and nearly drove Katie mad. He made an art of innuendo and a science of innocent touches. She considered shoving a drumstick down his throat and taking a carving knife to roaming hands.
    He made her feel so alive.
    By the time they sat down for dinner, Katie had mellowed just enough to call a truce. Her curiosity had yet to be satisfied. As she passed him the platter piled high with roasted turkey, she commented, “Earlier you mentioned Mr. Trahern. Tell us what you know of him, won’t you?”
    John Gallagher’s brows lifted. “You know Trahern?”
    Branch nodded and took a long draw on his tankard of ale. “Prince of a man. I worked for him awhile. He’s got a huge place down near Refugio in South Texas. Cotton mostly, some sugarcane. Racehorses are his passion.”
    “He must be a saint,” John replied, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a