Sagebrush Bride (20 page)

The
woman was as warm-blooded as they came, Cutter thought with satisfaction as
Elizabeth moved unconsciously with him. Thing was, she just didn’t know it yet.
All she needed was a little shove in that direction. Shuddering with
anticipation, he savored the ache in his pants, and thought of all the ways
he’d make her pay when the time came. He was just arrogant enough to know that
if he pursued it, he could get exactly what he craved tonight... but he didn’t
want any regrets in the morning. He wanted her to come to him on her own. He
wanted her so ready, she wouldn’t be able to deny him if she wanted to. No,
he’d just give her something to think about until next time.

Something to
crave.

His
hand slipped out of her blouse, and drifted across her hips, down to the apex
of her thighs. Stroking her over her skirt, he pressed a little deeper each
time between her clenched thighs.

Moaning
softly, Elizabeth pressed her thighs together more protectively. She whimpered,
trying not to be heard. But it was too late; when Cutter pressed his fingers
between her thighs one last time, and lifted up, she shuddered violently.

He
told himself that he was satisfied. That he’d gotten what he was after. That
for the moment, he was content just to hold her... breathe her into his soul.
But it wasn’t true. Feeling her body’s tiny convulsions, her culmination in
pleasure, it was all he could do not to let himself go. It was too damned much
to bear. One last roll of his hips against her pert little fanny would give him
his own release. He didn’t move. And it was the most difficult thing he ever
didn’t do.

God,
he hurt.

She
suddenly stiffened in his arms, but Cutter held her tightly, knowing that she
was likely as embarrassed as she was confused over what had just happened to
her. She was probably waiting for him to release her so she could scurry away.
But he wasn’t willing to let her go. Somehow, though he didn’t understand it,
she was beginning to weave herself inextricably into his being. Without trying,
she’d managed to wrap her tiny fingers firmly around his rock-solid heart.

Still,
he didn’t move. He knew she had to suspect he was awake. But he also knew that
she was hoping he wasn’t, and it was easier to let her keep believing he still
slept.

It
was a long while later before Elizabeth finally relaxed. When her breathing
finally grew smooth and even, he knew instinctively that she had fallen asleep.
And only then did he allow himself to drift.

Strangely
enough, it was the hush of the morning rather than the glaring sunlight falling
across Elizabeth’s face that drew her from her dreams first. She stretched
lazily, and then froze. Her eyes flew open to find herself facing what had only
recently been the campfire. The pit was filled now, and tamped firmly down, the
stones disbursed, turned blackened side under so that, to the undiscerning
glance, it was impossible to tell that they had once been a part of a blazing
fire.

The
next thing Elizabeth became aware of was that everything was already packed,
including Cutter’s bedroll.

Cutter’s bedroll.

Somewhere
in the back of her mind, something nagged at her. And then it came to her,
unwelcome as the memory was. Her heart did a violent somersault as she
anxiously reexamined the scene before her, hoping against hope.

Merciful
heaven... it wasn’t Cutter’s gear that was neatly rolled and packed away, but
hers!

Desperately,
nipping at her lower lip until it was in danger of splitting, she tried to
recall through her cobwebby thoughts whether she’d crept back to her own bed at
some point during the night. But the view was all wrong—obvious even in
light of her slightly hazed vision—and she knew without a doubt that
she’d not.

Taking
in a shuddering breath, Elizabeth mustered the courage to raise herself up from
Cutter’s bed to face him. She spotted him at once, and thankfully, his back was
to her as he readied their horses for the day’s travel. At least that was what
she imagined he was doing. His movements were somewhat of a blur at this
distance. That was the first thing she’d have to do when she got back to Sioux
Falls—purchase a new pair of spectacles.

She
was still staring when Cutter turned toward her, trying to focus her vision,
and her face went crimson with shame.

What
must he think of her now? After the shameless way she’d...

God, don’t think
of that!

It
didn’t happen.

Besides,
he was sleeping at the time, so why should he remember?

What
explanation could she give for sleeping in his bed? She grasped at several, but
not one seemed fit, so she said nothing.

Cutter
sauntered toward her, grinning as he tossed her his hat.

“Wear
it down low over your face,” he told her solemnly, shaking his head with mock
concern. He barely hid the belligerent smile that lurked behind those sensual
lips of his. “Damn me, if you’re not getting too much sun.” He winked at her.

Elizabeth
gasped, catching the hat as it spun through the air toward her. She gnashed her
teeth at his smug expression. Had she expected a courteous “good morning” from
him? Oh, no, nothing so considerate as that from Cutter McKenzie! He had to
slip right into his provoking demeanor first thing. Come to think of it, like
his boots, she thought he might never even have bothered to step out of it. It
was too much a part of him.

She
rose, crushing the hat vengefully onto her head, and stomped her way to the
river. It was little more than fifty yards from the campsite, sparkling
beautifully in the morning sun, and she mentally scolded herself for not
considering a bath after supper last night.

She’d
yet to put her shoes on this morning, and was glad of that fact, because she
didn’t feel like stooping to pull them off. The inside of her thighs were still
sore from so many hours of riding.

Not
to mention the way she’d clenched her thighs together last night.

Now, why did she
have to go and think of that?

Jerking
her skirt up, she tucked it into her waist, glancing toward camp. Surely Cutter
would know what she was up to and have the good grace not to intrude?

But
she couldn’t be certain of that fact, and so she abandoned the scandalous
notion as quickly as it appeared. The last thing she needed this morning was to
be caught in her drawers again.

As
hastily as she was able, she took care of her personal needs and then, with a
weary sigh, yanked her skirt back out of her waist. With one hand, she held it
out of the water while she waded her feet in the cool river. Stooping, she
splashed a handful into her face to refresh herself and then considered her
rippling reflection in the water.

Mercy,
was she a sight! she thought, aghast, as she ran her tongue along her bottom
lip... and she had the most god-awful taste in her mouth!

She’d
scrubbed her teeth as best she could without asking Cutter for the means. He’d
seemed amused enough with her other personal duties, as it was. But this
morning she was desperate to freshen her mouth. She took in a mouthful of
water, swishing it vigorously, cursing herself for the oversight of a
toothbrush and powder, but to her dismay, it didn’t help all that much. Her
mind toiling, she peered around for something of use... something grainy enough
to scrub her teeth clean.

All
at once, a thought occurred to her, and she felt absolutely brilliant. Sand, of
course! There was plenty of it about... and though it surely wouldn’t be pleasant,
it couldn’t be all that bad either. With the river so low, there were sandbars
everywhere. Moving closer to one of the smaller ones, she scraped up a smidgen
of the cleanest sand she could find, rubbing her fingers together, testing the
consistency of it. Even once she was satisfied with its coarseness, she
continued to stare at it a long moment, examining it for little crawly things.
There were none. Still she was reluctant.

And
she was desperate, she reminded herself. Without giving herself another moment
to reconsider, she promptly thrust it into her mouth, grimacing at the grainy
taste. Though, truthfully, after a moment, it wasn’t so bad. Scooping a handful
of water, she quickly swished out her mouth, to find that it did feel
considerably cleaner... though not quite enough.

Again,
she scooped up a finger full, ignoring the little voice inside that told her
this was very likely the most foolish thing she’d ever done in her life, and
scrubbed her teeth with it, this time more vigorously, reasoning that perhaps
she had even discovered some new method of cleansing one’s mouth—besides
Sanitary, the Perfect Tooth Soap. Perhaps there was even some health benefit to
be had here. Wasn’t mud good for the skin? Conceivably sand might also be good
for the teeth. Her mind raced with the possibilities.

“You
just about through here?”

Startled
from her contemplations, Elizabeth whirled abruptly, her hand releasing her
skirt, and flying to her hat. She was shocked to her toes to find Cutter
standing so close behind her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

Cutter
stared, his face contorting with disgust. “What is that?” he asked.

Feeling
suddenly three times a ninny, and realizing that her mouth was hanging agape,
Elizabeth snapped it shut, covering it immediately with her hands. Her cheeks
flamed.

“Jee-zus,
Lizbeth!” Cutter muttered, sounding repulsed. “There’s plenty o’ jerky left
over if you’re hungry.” Then his eyes took in her soiled index finger, and he
understood.

He
lowered her hands slowly from her face, needing another look in order to
believe that she was actually brushing her teeth with sand.

His
lips twisted as his gaze dropped to her hem, which was soaking up the river. He
shook his head, clearing his throat. “Never mind,” he said abruptly, “don’t
wanna know. Just don’t get any on my hat.”

He
pivoted on his heels, his shoulders shaking as he walked away from her.

It
wasn’t until he was a safe distance away that Elizabeth was able to move again.

Coming
as close as she ever had to blaspheming, she spat the offensive sand out of her
mouth and then swished again with water, spurting it out with a vengeance. It
was then that she noticed the rising wet stain on her ruined skirt, and her
color rose higher, though out of rage.

How
was it that she forgot everything—everything—in Cutter’s presence?

When
she returned to camp, she was slightly more composed, though still tingling
with indignity. How dare he make light of her personal hygiene! Surely he had
many of the same needs to consider? Avoiding his gaze, she quickly gathered her
remaining effects. There was barely enough time to brush the dust from her
skirts before Cutter was hoisting her into the saddle.

Hauling
himself into his own saddle, he turned to her suddenly, his grin engaging, his
teeth striking against his swarthy complexion. His eyes twinkled with mischief.
“By the way,” he remarked casually, “next time... just ask. You’re more’n
welcome to use one of my own brushes... and powder.” And then he had the
audacity to chuckle with good humor. Turning, he gently whipped the reins,
leaving Elizabeth to stare daggers at his back.

Did
he never miss an opportunity to needle her? she wondered. Yet, despite of her
anger, he’d planted a seed, and as irrational as it was, she couldn’t quite
banish the suggestive image of her using his toothbrush. It should have
disgusted her, but instead, it gave her a strange quivering sensation deep down.