"You're a dear," she said, "and I don't care whether you like it or
not, I am going to kiss you!"
"Just once," he said, blushing.
She kissed him, and then leaned back, looking at him reprovingly.
"You haven't returned a kiss I have given you!" she said. "And I want
you to!"
"All right," he agreed, and this time the warmth of his response made
her draw a long, deep breath.
Sanderson made his escape as soon as he decently could, and walked to a
corner of the pasture fence where he stood, one arm resting on the top
rail, his gaze on the basin.
At the court in Las Vegas he had discovered that Bransford had made a
will, bequeathing the ranch to his son. The document had been recorded
only a few months before Bransford died, showing that he had at last
forgiven the boy.
Sanderson had intended to take possession of the ranch, in an effort to
forestall any scheme Dale might have, and while in Las Vegas he had
applied to the court for permission to have the title transferred. And
then he had been told it would be necessary for him to file an
affidavit and proof establishing his identity.
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