Sagebrush Bride (18 page)

Elizabeth sat brooding, oblivious to the many
glances Cutter directed her way. He was quiet too, but his silence had little
to do with anger, or even regret. Foremost in his mind was how to prove himself
to her. Could he persuade Elizabeth to see him as other than the heathen savage
she considered him? From the moment he’d awakened this morning to find her
sleeping so peacefully, curled like an infant on her side, few thoughts other
than those had occupied his mind.

Watching her in those quiet early morning moments,
he’d tried to muster up the desire to get up off his hindquarters and shave his
whiskers, but he couldn’t seem to move. By the time she’d finally gotten round
to waking, it had been too late to do anything more than pack—his
whiskers go hang.

As he’d watched her, he kept remembering her brief
moment of laughter, when she’d told him about Dick Brady’s shenanigans, the
curve of her lips as she’d smiled on the verge of drunkenness. Somehow he had
the impression that she didn’t smile much—didn’t have much to smile
about. And he seemed to crave her smile.

Just couldn’t figure why.

Last night she’d quietly hummed herself to sleep,
the sound as woebegone as the whine of a lost pup, and it left him feeling her
emptiness sharply.

Why was he so drawn to her? he wondered with
another glance her way. When she obviously placed so little worth in him? He’d
never thought himself a sucker for prudish misses. He dismissed the fact that
she turned all dreamy-eyed in his arms. He didn’t fool himself a’tall over
that. Her response to him was nothing less than he’d’ve expected from any
innocent miss.

He hadn’t gotten around to telling her yet that he
didn’t intend to let her hire on anyone else in St. Louis—wasn’t really
sure how to make her see things his way. He only knew that she wasn’t gonna do
it—not if he had anything to say about it. Just the thought of some other
man lying next to her in bed—any bed—burned like rotten whiskey at
his gut.

Hell, maybe that was all there was to it.

Maybe she just didn’t realize that in order to
make it look real, she was gonna have to play the part all the way through,
right down to the last particulars. And that meant sharing the same room—maybe
even the same pillow. Maybe all he needed to do was let her in on that little
fact.

Maybe that was all he needed. To satisfy his
body’s hunger. Maybe once he got her out of his system, he’d quit thinking of
those breasts of hers, the way they’d looked barely concealed by her diaphanous
camisole.

He felt a stirring in his britches and rolled his
eyes. Chrissakes, not again. He glanced at her sharply. Hell, he didn’t even
have to look at her to get himself all worked up.

By the time they called a halt for the day, the
soreness of Elizabeth’s bottom had worked its way into her limbs. Even her fingers
hurt where she’d clutched the reins, but she didn’t dare complain. Flexing
them, she determined to be of some help this time, and after deciding just how,
she set about gathering firewood while Cutter set off to water the horses at
the river.

He returned barely long enough to settle the
horses and then remove his carbine from a special attachment to the saddle. He
asked her, while unsheathing his army-model Colt from his holster, “Know how to
use this?”

Dropping an armload of firewood at her chosen spot,
and brushing her hands free of the filth, Elizabeth gave him an exasperated
glance. “If I can see it,” she muttered, “I can shoot it.”

He handed her the gun. “Good,” he said, and turned
away. “Use it wisely.”

Elizabeth stared at it a moment in offense, then
at Cutter’s retreating back, watching it until it became woolly.

“Trouble is, I can’t see,” she bemoaned, but she
wasn’t about to admit that failing to Cutter. By the time her target was in her
field of vision, it’d more likely than not be too late. Glaring at the revolver
with a measure of anxiety, she decided that she just wouldn’t use the blasted
thing, is all.

Cutter pivoted toward her suddenly. “What did you
say?”

Elizabeth forced a smile. “Nothing,” she replied
hastily. He didn’t look quite convinced, and she gave him an irritated sigh. “I
said, I’d be all right! Don’t worry about me. Good night,” she muttered. She’d
been taking care of herself for most of her life. Her father had been too busy,
and more oft than not, she’d taken care of him. She didn’t need Cutter’s
concern. If that’s what it was. And there was room for doubt.

With a nod and a grin, Cutter turned again. “Just
don’t aim at anythin’ standing upright,” he told her, “unless it speaks first,
and you know for sure it’s not me.”

Elizabeth gasped indignantly.

“If you need me, fire once—skyward, if you
don’t mind. Wouldn’t want to butt heads with a stray bullet.”

He walked away without looking back, and Elizabeth
had the sudden urge to point the gun heavenward and squeeze the trigger with
all her might, startle him out of his too snug britches—the man was just
a little too smug for her liking. They were almost indecent the way they clung
to his hips and thighs! She’d tried to ignore those sinewy muscles of his, but
it was just impossible. Never had she seen a body quite so hard as his!

Blasted man!

Laying the gun aside, carefully, with a little
prayer that she wouldn’t need it, Elizabeth finished gathering the firewood.
She hoped Cutter would find something a little more edible than jerky to
satisfy their hunger. As far as she was concerned, she’d had more than enough
of the dehydrated beef already.

By the time Cutter returned, kill in hand, she’d
managed to set up the wood in a fashion, so that air could flow easily between
the kindling. That way it would go out quickly, as Cutter seemed to prefer. She
was in the process of tending the fire, and the first tiny flame was licking
its way triumphantly into the wooden pyramid she’d built, when Cutter’s shouted
expletive made her leap up, startled.

Whirling toward the sound, she took in his livid
expression and bolted out of his way as he stalked toward her. Astounded, she
turned and watched as he stamped out the small flame she’d worked so hard to
begin.

“If you don’t know how to do something, dammit—ask!”

There was genuine puzzlement in Elizabeth’s
expression. “I know how to start a fire!” she protested.

Cutter’s black eyes speared her, unnerving her
with the hostility they revealed. “You’re not snug at home, Miz Bowcock,” he
said through his teeth, “all bundled up beside your cozy little fireplace.
Without stones or something of the sort to keep the fire from spreading, we’d
start a blaze like nothing you’ve ever seen this side of hell!”

“There’s no need to curse at me! I certainly
didn’t know!” If possible, Elizabeth’s sunburned cheeks became warmer, and her
irritation intensified. Just how was she supposed to have known? “And you
didn’t have to come rushing at me like... like…

“Like a savage out of the wild?” Cutter offered.

Elizabeth’s chin rose a notch, and she took in a
breath, releasing it slowly in an effort to keep her composure.
“I—wasn’t—going—to say that!” Her eyes slitted wrathfully.
“Though now that you mention it—”

Cutter’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Don’t say
it,” he warned.

“You started this!” Elizabeth felt obliged to
point out. “Whatever happened to our truce? Good night, you’d think I was
committing the direst of sins, when I was only trying to help!”

No, just
wheedling her way into his every thought, was all.

Cutter couldn’t even hunt without thinking of her.
What the hell did he care what she liked to eat? “All right, so now you know,”
he said tightly. “Now come on over here and I’ll show you how it’s done
properly.”

Elizabeth didn’t budge.

He began by clearing the surrounding area of
debris. That done, he knelt, unsheathing his knife from his boot, and dug out a
trench two feet long, heaping the soil to one side. Afterward, he gathered
stones and arranged them accordingly.

“It’s easier to build one above ground,” he conceded.
“But this way conserves fuel. Aside from that, we don’t need anyone aware of
us. I’ve been tracking too long to feel comfortable leaving traces.” He glanced
up, gauging Elizabeth’s expression. She’d yet to move forward, though she was
watching him, her expression both curious and affronted. “You wouldn’t believe
how much can be determined by studying an abandoned camp,” he said, in an
attempt to draw her closer.

At his declaration, Elizabeth scanned the area.
Seeing nothing, she returned her attention to Cutter, hands on her hips. “And
just who do you expect is out there?” she asked abruptly, hating the way her
eyes returned not to his face, but to the muscle play in his arms as he worked.
His arms, sinewy and bronzed from the sun, gave testimony to a lifetime of
strenuous labor. Unable to turn away, she stared, mesmerized.

Quit
staring, she admonished herself. Good night, you’d think you ‘d never seen a
man before!

Cutter shrugged, never peering up from his work.
“Take your pick.”

Elizabeth shook off a quiver, shaking her head as
though to dispel her wayward thoughts. “Indians?” she said.

There was horror in her tone, and Cutter winced at
hearing her greatest fear. “Could be,” he said as dispassionately as he was
able. Rising, he slapped at his denims, whisking the dirt from his hands as he
flicked her an annoyed look. With a disgusted shake of his head, he proceeded
to gather up the buffalo chips he’d found while out hunting.

In an unusual display of clumsiness, he’d dropped
them all at the sight of her on her knees by the fire, her pert little fanny
clearly defined as she’d bent over her task. It had taken him a full moment to
recoup himself after that view. One thing was certain, the woman had one
helluva backside.

Once the chips were all recovered, he placed them
in the small pit he’d formed, topping them with the smallest bits of deadwood
Elizabeth had gathered. The rest, he scattered.

Seeing a chip that he’d missed, Elizabeth bent to
retrieve it, dropping it, too, into the pit. “What about the smoke?” she
reminded him tersely.

“It’ll last only long enough to cook with,” he
told her as he removed a scrap of linen and a cartridge from his front pocket.
From it, he produced a match and struck it. He put it to the cloth, and for a
moment, as he watched it catch. He glanced up at her suddenly, his eyes
probing. He didn’t understand how she could look at his sister and not see what
she was... and then she could look at him and see only what he didn’t want her
to see.

He cursed suddenly as the flame singed his thumb.

“Are you all right? Do you want me to look at
that?” she asked him at once.

“No,” he told her. “It’s just fine!” Muttering
another expletive under his breath, he pitched the cloth into the kindling,
casting Elizabeth a swift glance as he returned the cartridge to his pocket.
Damned woman. She was gonna kill him before it was all over!

“What about warmth?” she asked abruptly, watching
as Cutter readjusted several pieces of tinder. “Won’t we need the fire
tonight?”

“No,” Cutter replied. Lifting his head, he gave
her a smile. “We won’t—but it isn’t as though we’re in the middle of
winter, Doc. And we’ve got blankets.”

His eyes held promises Elizabeth didn’t quite
comprehend. Still, she found herself unsettled by them, yet, at the same time,
intrigued. “W-what if it’s not enough?” she worried aloud. “It was cool last
night,” she added plaintively.

Cutter’s eyes held her spellbound. Had her skirt
been on fire, she doubted she could have broken away.

“We’ve got each other,” Cutter said, his lips
curving faintly. “We’ll be warm enough, I reckon.”

There was a sudden wild fluttering in her stomach.
“The blankets will keep us warm enough,” she assured him much too quickly.
“I-I’m certain they will!”

Cutter grinned at her obvious assumption, and her telltale
nervousness, then his expression softened considerably. “Ever eat a puddle
jumper?” he asked conversationally.

“A what?”

“Rattler.”

“Ugghhh! Of course not!” Elizabeth actually took a
step backward, waving him off, as though afraid he would force her. “And I
never plan to,” she declared with certainty.

Cutter grinned suddenly. His smile made
Elizabeth’s toes curl in her shoes.

His eyes darted to the burlap sack that lay
forgotten a few feet away. “Never say never, Doc,” he advised her solemnly. Elizabeth’s
gaze followed, then snapped back suspiciously to Cutter.

Cutter’s grin widened, his teeth flashing white
against his swarthy, unshaven complexion. His chuckle was low and rich when it
came, bringing back that annoying sparkle to his eyes.

Inexplicably, Elizabeth’s heart turned over at the
sight of it.