"She was outside in the back yard, seated in the swing Big John Lenahan had made for her when she was eleven, and watching the spring sun shimmer on the lake when she felt masculine hands encircle her waist. "Want a push?" Fulton asked. Emma would never have confessed to the disappointment she felt. She forced a smile to her lips. "No, thanks," she said. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the day." "I couldn't think of a better time to catch you alone." He took hold of the swing's ropes and twisted them so that Emma was facing him. His eyes moved hungrily over her breasts, her trim waist and womanly thighs. "Let's go into the summerhouse, Emma. I'll make you forget that gunslinger once and for all." Emma swallowed and then forced herself to smile. "What gunslinger?" she asked, to prove she'd forgotten Steven Fairfax already."