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With very little money she agrees to escort a young boy to Montana She needed his help, but he wanted her surrender. Upon accepting a job to escort a young boy to his father's house, Amanda Lennox could never have expected quite how life changing that decision would Montana Wildfire.


Rebecca Sinclair. Amanda met his horrified glare with a furious one of her own. You will if you want your breakfast anytime soon. Shaking his head with even more force, he picked up another rock. As he'd done before, he bounced it in his palm. Take your time getting out of there, Miss Lennox, but see if you can't get free before lunch.

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Father won't be pleased when I tell him you made me skip meals. He isn't paying you good money to starve me, you know. He isn't paying me to thrash you to within an inch of your miserable life, either , she thought harshly, glaring at him , but I'm considering doing that, too. Your father be damned! The boy's eyes looked too round, his brow too smooth for her liking. Her palm itched to slap him. Odd, that. She wasn't a violent person. Quite the opposite, in fact. And she loved children: but other children, not this one. The little monster perched on the riverbank brought out the worst in her.

The brat should thank his lucky stars she was stuck, Amanda thought, because she was dangerously close to losing what little patience she'd ever had with him. He'd been pushing her hard for the past two months, and she'd just about reached her limit with him. She knew that if he came close enough to reach she wouldn't hesitate to grab him by the collar and yank him down into the cold water and mud with her. Lord knows, he deserved all that and more! A good spanking would not be out of order. The rock clinked atop the pile when Roger set it aside. Balancing his elbows atop his thighs, he leaned forward but, true to form, was careful not to get too close to her.

He was a monster, yes, but he was a smart monster. Roger knew when he'd pushed a body too far, and the angry glint in Amanda Lennox's pretty green eyes said he'd pushed her too far weeks ago. However, since she was admittedly stuck—and he was obviously free to run—he didn't fear retribution. Not right away at least, and Roger never worried about any punishment that wasn't immediate. A spark of mischief shimmered in his clear blue eyes as he lifted his feet out of the water.

He lowered them fast and hard, making a resounding splash. Amanda saw his aggravating grin—a split second before she could see nothing at all. Frigid water pelted her face and eyes, blurring her vision. Roger's splash plastered her damp hair coldly to her scalp. Spitting water from her mouth, and sputtering angrily, she swiped the wet hair back from her face. Her glare was cold enough to make Roger's feet freeze, poised in the act of a repeat performance. Shivering, she hugged her arms around her middle for warmth.

Gooseflesh puckered the skin on her forearms. A chill iced down her spine. Her right leg, she noticed worriedly, no longer hurt as much as it had. That in itself was a major concern. Go ahead, she snapped through chattering teeth. Splash me again. Just remember, brat, I won't be stuck here forever. And when I get free She let the threat hang between them, knowing it was more frightening because it hadn't been finished.

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To the best of Roger's recollection, this was the first time anyone had ever called him a brat to his face. Added to that was the fact that this was the first time Miss Lennox had threatened him. Worse—much worse—she looked as though she meant it.

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Roger swallowed hard. Shock that the woman—an employee! He dipped his feet into the water slowly, with nary a ripple. Amanda eyed the boy cautiously. To her surprise, he looked genuinely concerned. She swallowed back a grin, deciding to press her advantage while she still had it.

Montana Wildfire (A Historical Western Romance)

Lord knows, she'd never gotten this much of his attention, this quickly, before. Forcing her teeth not to chatter, she fixed him with a stern glare. Very good, Roger. Now I want you to get out of the water and put your shoes and stockings back on. Then, you are going to go out there, she jabbed a shivering, water-wrinkled index finger at the pine trees that formed a natural wall to the clearing behind him, and find someone who can help get me out of here.

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The tip of her rigid index finger swerved, pointing now at his narrow chest. Did you hear me? Warily, he nodded.

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Well, what are you waiting for? Don't just sit there She arched one golden brow as he scrambled to his feet in record time. Good God, the child was actually obeying her! This was a pleasant first, she thought, and made a mental note to threaten him with bodily harm hourly from this moment on.

The apprehension hadn't faded from Roger's eyes when, two minutes later, he stood on the sandy bank shifting from foot to expensively shod foot. There's—um—no one to get, ma'am, he said, his voice unnaturally high, unnaturally nervous. I wasn't the one who scared off the guard your father hired to escort us. You did that all by yourself, young man, and because it's your fault our guard isn't here to offer assistance, I think it only fair you take on the responsibility of finding someone else who can.

Although he didn't, she noticed, look too guilty. I mean it, Roger. I don't want you to come back here unless you've found someone who can help me. Then don't come back, she snapped through gritted teeth.

Amanda meant every word. At least, she meant them when she said them. It took a good fifteen minutes for her anger to cool, and for regret to sink in.

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Dear God, what had she done? What if Roger couldn't find help? It was more than possible. They hadn't passed a soul in days; the chance of him finding someone today—someone strong enough to get her out of here—wasn't promising.