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Having been raised within the bowel of hell. Harrison Bainbridge should have been injured to life's disappointments.

It irritated the devil out of him that he was not.

With a jaundiced eye, he gazed around the interior of the dreary saloon. It in no way resembled the gentleman's clubs he had frequented in London. But then nothing in this godforsaken town reminded him of England, and he readily welcomed the opportunity to leave.

Whether she realized it or not, the woman sitting across from him held the key to his salvation. Out of the comer of her mouth, Jessye Kane blew a quick burst of air, which sent into motion the radiant red curls that had escaped from her braid.

"Now don't take this personal," she said in a voice that reminded Harrison of wispy smoke curling over a log before the fire finally caught and consumed it.

"But I don't trust you any farther than I can throw you."

Her words flayed his heart, but Harrison knew his face didn't reflect the unexpected pain. As a lad, he'd drowned his emotions in a bottomless well, a maneuver that now gave him an edge when playing games of chance because no one--not even his trusted friends Christian Montgomery and Grayson Rhodes--could ever determine his exact thoughts.

"On the contrary," he quipped, lifting his glass of whiskey in a silent salute. "I am indeed honored. You always struck me as a woman who was adept at throwing men great distances."

He took no pleasure in the blush that flamed her checks, obliterating the smattering of freckles. But self-preservation was a vicious tutor, and he had learned thelessons well.

She darted a glance at Christian Montgomery, who sat beside him, before she settled her unwavering gaze on Harrison. Her eyes were the green of spring, when the first buds began to emerge. Her chin came up a notch. He knew her well enough to recognize that slight gesture as an ominous warning.

She unfolded a sheet of paper. "I'm interested in taking part in this cattle venture you two are making noise about. I'm willing to fund the whole thing just like we discussed, but the partnership will be between me and Kit. We'll split the profits fifty-fifty. I've written up an agreement that I'll need signed before I hand over any money."

Her unwillingness to accept him as a partner was yet another stroke of the lash, but his admiration for her shrewd business sense increased. It seemed she had also learned well the lessons of survival.

"Now, hold on a minute," Kit began.

Harrison held up a hand to silence his friend. He steepled his fingers and pressed them against his bearded chin. "Is there a particular reason you feel this action is warranted?"

"Yep. From what I can tell, Kit has done all the planning and made all the arrangements, The hardest work I've ever seen you do is to take a long squint at the sun and a short squat in the shade."

The lash cut more deeply.

"This is ludicrous," Kit said. "Harry carries his share--"

"And the paper?" Harrison interrupted.

"Spells out everything so we've got no misunderstandings at the end of the drive as to who gets what."

In the three months since Harrison had first met Jessye, they had developed a tentative friendship. She served drinks in her father's saloon, on occasion played poker with Harrison, and always made it well known that she had no interest whatsoever in accompanying him to a bedroom at the top of the stairs.

Not that he blamed her. Until recently, he had worked in a field like a common laborer. As he had picked the cotton, the sun had beaten him unmercifully, his hands had bled, and his back had ached in agony. Perhaps she would have admired his efforts to a greater degree if he had complained.

He and Kit had agreed that a simpler way to make their fortunes was at hand. Cattle. The northern states were desperate for the beef denied them during the war. Unfortunately, taking the cattle to market required time and money. Time was not the problem. Harrison possessed it in abundance.

The obstacle was money-or more accurately, its absence. For reasons Kit would not divulge, very little of his remained available. Harrison had gambled away the money he'd earned working the cotton fields. Yet despite his folly, he was now determined to succeed where his father deemed he would fail.

But to succeed, he needed capital, arid Jessye had it. Not a great deal, but enough. Dreamin' money, she called it.

He'd played poker with her often enough to know she wasn't bluffing. She was their last hope for an investor, and well she knew it. He gave a curt nod. "Kit, sign the paper."

"But it says that you'll get nothing--"

"He'll get a hundred dollars at the end of the drive just like the other men we hire," Jessye said.

"Unacceptable," Kit said. "He is a full partner--"

"The conditions are acceptable to me," Harrison stated quietly. "Sign the paper."

"I bloody well will not."

"Sign the damn paper." Harrison ground out.

His gaze riveted on Jessye, Harrison heard Kit scratch the pen across the parchment. She squirmed slightly in her chair. Good. A bit of unease would serve her well and lessen the sting to his pride.

Kit shoved the paper toward her. "There, although I will split my earnings evenly with Harry."

"You can do whatever you want with your share," she told him.

"Thank God. I feared you intended to issue another mandate."