“Yes, I know I have, and I can’t afford to. I certainly hate a thief.”
“So do I,” Rock murmured. “Still, I don’t hate you.”
“Me?” she uttered in astonishment. Her head went up imperiously. “What do you mean?”
“You steal hearts.” Rock said calmly. “You admitted it. You told me you did, only, of course, you said you didn’t mean to.”
The blood leaped to her cheeks. It was the first time he saw her momentarily at a loss for words, embarrassed by an imputation.
“It worries me a little,” Rock continued meditatively. “You may steal mine. Of course, you don’t intend to. You hate to do it, as the fellow said when he took the town marshal’s gun away from him. But, on the other hand, you don’t care a boot if you find you’ve got the darned thing. You’re immune. And mine is an innocent, inexperienced sort of a heart. It’s useful to me. I’d be mighty uncomfortable without it. Maybe I’d better pull out while the going is good.”
“You want to quit now?” she asked. “There won’t be any more trouble, I think,” she said stiffly. “And I’m just getting used to you. I hate strange men around. Can’t you think of me as your boss instead of as a woman? Oh, dear, it’s always like this!”
Her distress was so comical, yet so genuine, that Rock laughed out loud.
“Good Lord, Nona—everybody calls you Nona, so it comes natural—I’m the world’s crudest josher, I guess,” he declared. “Say, you couldn’t drive me off this range now. I promised you, didn’t I, that if my admiration for you did get powerful strong I wouldn’t annoy you with it? Don’t you give me credit for fully intending to keep my word?”