Page 14 of Just Imagine
Her bottom began to burn.
“And most of all . . .”
The next two smacks left her bottom on fire.
“. . . don’t cuss at me!” He pushed her off his lap. “Now, do we understand each other or not?”
She sucked in her breath as she landed on the floor. Fury and pain swirled in a haze around her, clouding her vision, so she didn’t see him reaching for her. “You’re going to get out of these clothes.”
His hand clamped her wet shirt. With a howl of rage, she leaped to her feet.
The old, worn fabric ripped in his hand.
After that, everything happened at once. Cool air touched her flesh. She heard the faint patter of buttons skittering across the wooden floor. She looked down and saw her small breasts exposed to his gaze.
“What in the—”
A sense of horror and humiliation suffocated her.
He released her slowly and took a step back. She grabbed for the torn edges of her shirt and tried to pull them together.
Eyes the color of frozen pewter stared down at her. “So. My stable boy isn’t a boy after all.”
She clutched the shirt and tried to hide her humiliation behind belligerence. “What difference does it make? I needed a job.”
“And you got one by passing yourself off as a boy.”
“You’re the one who assumed I was a boy. I never said any such thing.”
“You never said any different, either.” He picked up the blanket and tossed it to her. “Dry yourself off while I get myself a drink.” He moved toward the hallway door. “I’ll expect some answers when I come back, and don’t even think about running away, because that’d be your biggest mistake yet.”
After he disappeared, she flung down the blanket and raced toward the basket of apples to retrieve the revolver. She sat at the table to hide it in her lap. Only then did she gather her tattered shirttails together and tie them in a clumsy knot at her waist.
Cain stalked back just as she realized how unsatisfactory the result was. He’d ripped her undershirt along with her shirt, and a deep V of exposed flesh extended down to the knot.
Cain took a sip of whiskey and stared at the girl. She was sitting at the wooden table, her hands folded out of sight in her lap, the soft fabric of her shirt clearly outlining a pair of small breasts. How could he have believed for a moment that she was a boy? Those delicate bones should have been a giveaway, along with her eyelashes, which were thick enough to sweep the floor.
The dirt had thrown him off. The dirt and the cussing, not to mention that pugnacious attitude. What a scamp.
He wondered how old she was. Fourteen or so? He knew a lot about women, but not about girls. When did they start growing breasts? One thing for sure . . . she was too young to be on her own.
He set down his whiskey tumbler. “Where’s your family?”
“I told you. They’re dead.”
“You don’t have any relatives at all?”
“No.”
Her composure annoyed him. “Look, a child your age can’t run around New York City alone. It isn’t safe.”
“The only person who’s given me trouble since I got here’s been you.”
She had a point, but he ignored it. “Regardless. Tomorrow I’ll take you to some people who’ll be responsible for you until you’re older. They’ll find a place for you to live.”
“Are you talkin’ ’bout an orphanage, Major?”
It irritated him that she seemed amused. “Yes, I’m talking about an orphanage! You sure as hell—heck—aren’t going to stay here. You need some place to live until you’re old enough to look after yourself.”
