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Lifting a steaming mug of welcome black coffee to his lips, Frank Paynter smiled across the rustic table at the voluptuous brunette, his clear, brown eyes lingering, liking what he saw, as he lied glibly.
“My horse went lame on me.”
“Had you run Toby in the snow?” Charlotte Harding asked. She knew that the roan gelding wasn’t lame. Having just helped her hunting lodge guest to unsaddle the big red horse, she would have noticed anything wrong with Toby when she had put him in his stall.
“No,” he answered then offered another excuse. “It’s a lousy day for hunting. Too much snow …”
“It’s easier to track the game … elk especially.”
“The fact is that I wanted to come back,” Frank admitted.
Charlotte looked at him quizzically, an eyebrow going up slightly above grey-green eyes, kindling with interest at this new gambit, as she asked, “Oh …?”
Running a nervous hand through his jet-black hair, which had just begun to show a few silvery strands at the temples, he laughed, “I didn’t feel like shooting defenseless animals.” Then, he was plucking a cigarette from the package in his heavy wool shirt pocket and lighting it in the silence. “Actually,” he went on, after a moment, “I’m more inclined to indoor sports!”
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.