The Republicans were carpetbaggers and Yankees and had legislated al the reforms and civil rights fol owing the War, while the Democrats had fought them, desperately trying to hang on to the last remnants of the glorious old South. Damn! It was too bad he wasn't a Republican. Her heart started to pound.

People had minds. Minds could change. And somehow, instinctively, she knew she could be instrumental in getting him to change his.

Oh, Lord! Was she being terribly arrogant in thinking she could do that? Because if she could, he would be the perfect person to pit against Sheriff Ford!

"You could reform me," he had said earlier, his tone husky and sensual.

Her cheeks flamed. He hadn't been serious. Not at al . Even though she wasn't an experienced woman, the sexual innuendo had been unmistakable. That was probably the only thing he was serious about!

Stil , hadn't she dedicated her life to the enlightenment of others? If she could ignore, just for the moment, the fact that that handsome rake wanted her, if she could look at him as she would anyone else, she wouldn't hesitate to try and make him understand some fundamental truths.

But he was handsome and he was a terrible rogue and he had asked her to be his mistress. Might that not make him more amenable to her suggestions? And what could it hurt to try? Her heart pounding, Grace hugged her knees to her chest.

She was going to try and reform Rathe Bragg!

Chapter 12.

"Harriet, what do you know about Rathe Bragg?" Grace asked as casual y as possible. It was the next morning. For some reason, al of her senses were as finely tuned as a quivering bowstring. Today she was going to begin her task of taming the lion!

Harriet, who had been refil ing Grace's coffee cup as they sat in the kitchen, paused. Her eyes twinkled. "Wel , what would you like to know?"

Grace blushed. "It's not what you're thinking." Then, growing redder: "Has he come down yet?"

Harriet chuckled. "Down and long since gone. Don't feel bad, Grace. You're not the first gal to have been snared by those dimples."

"No, real y, it's not what you're thinking."

Harriet was eloquent. Grace found out that he had been raised on a west Texas ranch, that he came from a good family, and that he was a very successful businessman. "He's a good man, Grace, don't let his playful ways and his flirting fool you," Harriet advised.

Grace coughed to cover her own pleasure at Harriet's good opinion of him. She would have never believed that he had a responsible bone in his body-but apparently he did. "Just how wel do you know him?"

"I've known him, oh, twelve or thirteen years. Since the War." Seeing Grace's mystification, she continued. "He rode with one of my boys in Walker's regiment."

Grace stared. "Are you tel ing me that Rathe was in the War?"

"Of course he was."

"But he must have been a young boy!"

"Ran away and fol owed his big brother when he was fifteen, that he did. Ask Rathe the story sometime. He doesn't like talking about it; none of them do, but I've heard him tel that episode more than once."

Grace turned away, confused. On the one hand she was dismayed that he had actual y fought for the South and its institutions, for that would make her task even more difficult. At the same time, there was something so endearing about a young boy fol owing his older brother off to war. "Harriet," Grace asked. "Would you mind very much if I hang a seamstress's sign under your post?"

"You going to take in some sewing?"

"I didn't have very much luck yesterday looking for employment."

"I don't mind your putting out a sign, but honey, I don't think you'l take in enough work to pay your rent, much less send something home for your Mama."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Grace said grimly.

At dinner she met with the ladies at Sarah's to organize their first temperance march, which they scheduled for Saturday afternoon-prime time for the saloons. Normal y, this kind of planning and organizing would have absorbed Grace. Today, however, she was preoccupied, for that afternoon she intended to seek out Rathe and begin the task of both reforming him and setting him against Sheriff Ford. For that very reason, she took the long route from Sarah's house, so she could pass the Sheriff's office on Main Street.

She final y found Rathe at the Silver Lady Hotel. It graced the top of the cliffs above Silver Street, looking down over the sluggish waters of the Mississippi. She'd heard Harriet say that he kept a room there. This made no sense, until she found herself standing in the open doorway peering in. The beautiful y appointed room, rich with brocade and silk furnishings and a four-poster bed, Aubusson rugs, and velvet drapes, also contained a massive rosewood desk. The desk was covered with papers, mail, files, and folders. Obviously he had made this suite his office.

He was leaning back in his chair, eyes momentarily wide with surprise, staring.

She began remembering intimate details from last night-his sensual touch, the erotic invasion of his tongue, his mouth on her breast. Now was not the time for reminiscing. She blushed, but did not have the wil to break free of his bright gaze.

He was on his feet, smiling. The smile was intent, even predatory, and she knew he was also recal ing their kiss. She wanted to turn and flee.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"Couldn't stay away?" he teased.

She could hear the loud thumping of her heart, and wondered if he could, too. She found her voice. "I have some business to discuss with you."

His face fel with an exaggerated look of little-boy disappointment. "You didn't miss me?" he asked, huskily.

"Rathe," she said briskly, trying not to look at his mouth, at the finely chiseled lips, and remember how they had felt and tasted. "First of al , let me thank you for supper yesterday, and the boat ride."

He approached, with a slow, deliberate stride. Grace forced herself not to step backward. "Thank me again," he said, his gaze holding hers, piercing hers. His hands closed around her arms; he pul ed her into the room and nudged the door closed with his foot.

Her hands came up to ward him off. But, for some reason, her fingers closed around his wrists, clinging. He was staring at her mouth and Grace found that al she could think about was kissing him. "We have to talk," she gasped, her heart careening madly.

He smiled slightly, and released her. "I suppose talking is second best."

She flushed.

"I was looking for you earlier," he said. She watched him move away, pul a chair to the front of his desk and then gesture to it. Grace let him seat her. She expected him to take his own chair behind the desk. Instead, he lounged carelessly on the edge of the desktop, right in front of her. Once gain she noticed that his breeches were indecently tight, clinging to his strong legs, molding his sex. She quickly looked at the floor.

"You were looking for me?" she asked with her breath caught in her throat.

"Yes, I wanted to take you to dinner. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, at Sarah Bel sley's."

"Oh. You're not here, by any chance," he said hopeful y, "to discuss my offer?"

It took her a moment to gather her wits. "Your offer? To become your mistress? Oh! No, absolutely not!"

"Grace, do you know that I always get what I want?"

She met his gaze. He was not bragging, but making a statement of truth, or at least one he believed to be true. That worried her. Or did it thril her?

"Not this time," she said firmly.

His grin was lightning-quick. "Another chal enge? Don't you ever learn?"

"That's not a chal enge," she said, with more calmness than she felt. "But a mere statement of fact."

He laughed. He slipped to his feet. "Come on. We can discuss your business in a more leisurely manner." He took her arm.

"Where are we going?" she asked, with some consternation and even more excitement, thinking about the hours they had shared yesterday.

"I have a surprise for you," Rathe said cheerful y. "And if you don't like it I promise to bring you right back."

She bit her lip and cast a glance at him as they went downstairs. "What kind of surprise?" She almost felt like a child of six on Christmas Eve.

"If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise." He tapped her sunburned nose. "Does it hurt? I see you're wearing a hat today."

"It's a bit sore."

"We'l get you some salve," Rathe said, taking her hand.

They were walking down the street. "Rathe," Grace whispered, glancing around. "We're in public!"

He smiled. "Aren't I al owed to court the lady of my choice?"

In that one, precise instant, her heart took up winged flight. And in the next moment, it fel tumbling back to her body with vast disappointment. He was playing games. He wasn't courting her. He wanted her to be his mistress; he had made that clear yesterday. She withdrew her hand. He regarded her quizzical y.

They walked out of town in silence. "What's wrong, Gracie?" Rathe final y asked.

"Nothing."

He took her down a quiet street lined with homes until the Mississippi River came into view. The street ended; Rathe took her hand. "Where are we going?"

He didn't answer, just flashed her a charming smile. He didn't release her hand, either, but this time Grace didn't protest. The path to the water's edge was rocky and rough. She was grateful for Rathe's help.

The Mississippi lapped the sandy bank. Grace's eyes widened with surprise, for pul ed up on the shore was a log raft. Another glance found fishing poles and buckets and a basket and blanket. "What's al this?"

"You said it looked like fun." He winked.

She placed her hand over her heart, which was jumping erratical y. "Oh, it does, but Rathe-what can you be thinking of?"

"We're going fishing, of course."

"I can't."

He grinned. "Why not?"

"Why-it just isn't done."

He snorted. "Come on, Gracie, sit down on that log and take off your shoes."

She stared. "What?"

Rathe had already seated himself and was pul ing off his high boots with obvious relish. "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

She didn't move. This was unbelievable! She watched his naked feet and ankles appear. He yanked his breeches right up to his knees. She stared at his legs, at the hard, muscular curve of calf. She blinked.

"Al right," he said, proceeding to remove his jacket and tossing it carelessly on the ground. His vest fol owed. "Leave on your shoes. I don't mind."

He rol ed his shirt-sleeves right up to his elbows and smiled brightly at her. "After you, my lady."

She looked at the raft and the gentle river rol ing past. Oh, it had looked like such fun! But..."Rathe, I just don't know."

"I could always abduct you," he teased.

"Al right," she decided instantly.

He placed al their equipment on the raft, spreading the blanket out on one end. He began pushing it into the water, the muscles of his shoulders and back standing out against his shirt as he forced it over the sand, even his buttocks tightening and straining, until it slid into the river. Grace turned her gaze away, belatedly realizing that she should have done so sooner. The raft floated in place, held by a line tied to a tree on the shore. Rathe waded out.

"Okay," he said, reaching for her.

It was too late when she cried out in protest; she was already high in his arms. "What are you doing?"

"You wouldn't take off your shoes," he said, his mouth against her ear as he sloshed through the water to the raft.

She found herself clinging to him. "I didn't think..."

"Ummm," he said, his lips brushing her temple. "I'm glad you didn't take off your shoes, Grace."

Her hold on him tightened reflexively, her whole being alive with the feel and scent and sound of him. He placed her on the raft; she clutched him as it dipped and swayed.

"Better get on your knees," he said.

She did, hanging on.

His grin was wide and his dimples deep. As he started back to the bank, panic assailed her. "Where are you going?"

"I've got to unmoor us," he said. His breeches were soaking wet, and so was his shirt, clinging to his hard torso. Yet he seemed oblivious of the fact. Grace moved cautiously into a sitting position as he untied the raft and ran splashing back to her. Water sprayed her dress, and she smiled. He was pushing the raft out into the river, and as it caught the current, he hoisted himself on. The float dipped precariously, and for a moment Grace feared she would fal into the river. But then it righted itself and she relaxed. Rathe sat sprawled next to her, so close his bare foot touched her own ankle. Water glistened on his face. "Wel ? What do you think?"

She looked around, and smiled. They were drifting past houses and pastures and livestock. She raised her face to the sun and sniffed. The afternoon was gloriously fresh and fragrant. "What am I smel ing?"

"Cows."

She jabbed him with her elbow, for there was not even the faintest scent of manure, and he laughed.

"No, real y. Tel me."

"Honeysuckle. Have you ever tasted honeysuckle?"