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She stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, her chin jutting out stubbornly. If it would’ve been any other man on the receiving end of her displeasure, he would have laughed out loud.
As it was, it was all he could do to keep the amused smile from his face.
She couldn’t have stood more than an inch over five feet tall. Probably a hundred pounds soaking wet. If he’d wanted to, he could pick her up with one arm and throw her over his shoulder like a sack of feed.
Each time she showed up at his blacksmith shop with that look on her face, the thought became a little more appealing.
“Miss Harcourt.”
She barely inclined her head in his direction. “Mr. Cain.”
Nothing but bravado this one.
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