Sagebrush Bride (3 page)

Despite the fact that Cutter’s mood soured over
the turn of his thoughts, his expression revealed none of it as he pushed the
brim of his John B. up out of his eyes and made his way toward the bunch. The
discussion being carried on was such a heated one that no one even noticed him
until he had slipped his arm cozily about Liz’s waist.

She stiffened.

He stifled a chuckle as he bent to conform her
body to his. “Mmmm, mmm,” he murmured, embracing her as though she were his
long-lost kissin’ cuz. “You’re looking better than ever, gal.”

Elizabeth’s heart jolted violently at the deep,
unfamiliar voice. Warm lips kissed her cheek in a familiar way, taking just a
fraction too long to leave her flushed skin, lingering at her lobe. She
swallowed convulsively.

He whispered in her ear. “Gotta loosen up, Doc, if
you want this to look good... Come on now,” he coaxed, forcing her weight
against him.

His husky voice set Elizabeth’s pulse to pounding,
and her body into sudden paralysis. Powerless to fight him, she let him adjust
her at will. Her legs felt wobbly, her body no more than mush in his hands.

“That’s it, bright eyes; now turn real slow,” he
whispered, his lips scalding against her face, “act like you’re damned glad to
see me.”

Elizabeth suppressed a helpless shudder as she
worked up the courage to turn, fully intending to slap the britches off the
fool who’d dared to be so intimate with her. But the man who faced her left her
momentarily dazed, her throat too thick to speak.

Good night, but he was tall! Her eyes refused to
lower, but neither would they move up to his face. She forced them, and found
dark hair flowing from beneath a dun-colored hat.

He cocked a brow at her, amusement flickering in
his black eyes. He winked and she felt her knees go instantly weak... yet she
couldn’t tear her gaze away even as they buckled.

He reached out to steady her, but Elizabeth
continued to gape, helpless to do anything else. The longer she looked, the
more she swore he didn’t have pupils, his eyes were so blessed dark... his face
too tawny... his cheekbones too high. But it was those lips of his that
unnerved her so: insolent, smug, kicked up only slightly at the corners, as
though he couldn’t quite stifle his humor at her expense. His gaze roved,
lazily assessing her, sliding down over her body slowly, seductively, then
returning to her face to bore into her with silent expectation.

He anticipated some reaction from her, Elizabeth
thought dimly, but couldn’t think what—couldn’t think, period. Staring as
though transfixed, she tried to decipher his stony features but found her brain
as useless as her limbs. But it occurred to her in that muddled moment that
maybe he had appraised her with more than a mild interest, and her pulse
quickened at that prospect. No one had ever looked at her in quite that way.

Not anyone.

Those dark eyes still piercing her, he raised two
fingers to his brim, tipping his hat in greeting as the remnants of a smile
turned the corners of his mouth. “Howdy, Liz,” he said huskily. “It’s been a
mighty long time, gal.”

Long time?

Elizabeth shook her head, denying it, for if she’d
ever set eyes on the man before now, she would have remembered. He wasn’t the
type to be forgotten. Unconsciously she lifted a finger to her cheek, to the
spot where he’d kissed her. Her throat constricted, seeming suddenly parched,
and she licked her lips desperately as they parted to speak.

To her mortification, no words came.

For the first time in her life, Elizabeth Bowcock
found herself dumbstruck. In spite of the man’s amused expression, he wore an
air of menace about him like a second skin, and a tremor shook her as she
averted her gaze to his boots. Dangerous, she thought abruptly.

The man was
dangerous.

She hadn’t missed the fact that he had the most
vicious-looking revolver she’d ever spied jammed into his gun belt, but she’d
only just spotted the ink black knife hilt peeking over his faded leather
boots.

And those boots of his told a tale in themselves,
for they were unmistakably U.S. Cavalry, and ominously inconsistent with his
buckskin dress. There was little comfort in that he didn’t wear his weapons as
Dick Brady did, like cheap jewelry. The fact that he kept his blade concealed
and wore his gun casually, as though it were not there at all, told her all she
needed to know. He was no gun-strutting cowpuncher. He was the real thing. As
for the boots, she could think of a dozen reasons he should be outfitted so,
not one of them reassuring.

A quick, wide-eyed glance to Jo told her that she
was in no immediate danger, however. Jo’s lips lifted at the corners, and she,
too, was on the verge of a smile, her kindly cinnamon eyes warm with humor.

Not really understanding why she felt compelled
to, Elizabeth decided to play along. “Uh... um... ”

Mercy’s sake, she didn’t even know his name! How
was she going to pretend to know him if she didn’t know his blessed name? In
panic, her gaze skidded to Jo.

“Cutter!” Jo supplied with a laugh, seeming to
read Elizabeth’s thoughts. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “I believe you have
her tongue-tied, brother dear. Reckon she thought she’d never see you again.”
Seeing Elizabeth’s confused expression, she laughed softly. “Isn’t that right,
Liz?”

“Right?” Elizabeth nodded woodenly. Jo’s brother?
“Oh—yes! I did think I’d never see you again!” She nodded dutifully for
the benefit of their audience.

All eyes reverted suspiciously to Cutter, leaving
her somewhat doubtful of her performance. Her brow furrowed.

Warmth invaded his eyes as he gently chucked her
under the chin, much as a brother would a cherished younger sister.

Elizabeth felt suddenly too warm, almost as though
she were being roasted over a slow fire. And the heat of his fingers...
lingered upon her chin long after he’d withdrawn his hand. Mortified that he
could affect her so, she averted her gaze to Brady. He was watching her with
unflinching eyes.

His eyes narrowing to shadowy slits, Cutter turned
to Brady and his men, sending them each an unspoken challenge. Brady fidgeted,
flinging Elizabeth a doubtful look before turning away. The rest of his outfit
followed immediately, slapping one another consolingly on the shoulder.

Elizabeth’s brows rose as she watched the
exchange, astounded at the ease with which Cutter had handled Brady and his
men. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her throat like a
spoonful of dry sugar. The man was just too smug for his own good. He’d had no
right to be so familiar with her, but she did owe him her gratitude, no matter
how reluctant it came. “I suppose I should thank you,” she said.

Cutter grinned. “Anytime, Doc.”

Elizabeth smiled through clenched teeth, nodding.
His assurance sounded so self-satisfied. And the way he spoke the word
Doc—as though he doubted her claim to the title—struck a chord of
dissent. As did everything else about him.

Jo jerked Elizabeth by the hand suddenly, leading
her into the back room. Without being asked, Cutter followed, his footsteps
amazingly lithe behind them.

Like a thief on the prowl, Elizabeth thought
grudgingly. She supposed it was his Indian heritage that gave him such stealth.
She peered anxiously over her shoulder. He really didn’t look much like an
Indian, except for his dark coloring. But neither did Jo, for that matter, yet
she knew they were. Jo had told her so.

“Now,” Jo asked, once she’d closed the door to her
office, “what in thunder do you need a man for, Liz?”

Elizabeth’s gaze never left the other occupant of
the sparsely furnished room. He sauntered over and sprawled backward into a
large leather chair, dwarfing it beneath him. Hooking the curved toe of his
boot about the leg of a nearby stool, he drew it closer, propping his scuffed
leather boots upon it. The longer she watched him, the more his arrogant
presence provoked her.

With a slow gesture, Cutter adjusted his hat so
that it shaded his eyes—more out of habit than necessity, because the
light in the room was too dim to be glaring. “Don’t mind me,” he said
presently. Lifting a dark brow and one corner of his mouth, he returned
Elizabeth’s regard, his infuriating smile locked insolently in place.

Caught in the act of staring, Elizabeth felt her
breath snag. What was it about him that she found so discomfiting? Musing over
that, she fanned herself, not realizing what that gesture revealed. Her eyes
narrowed as she faced Jo. “He’s not really your brother?” she asked
skeptically.

Jo nodded. Pursing her lips to keep from grinning,
she said, “My baby brother, actually.”

“Why haven’t I met him before now?” Elizabeth
persisted.

Jo’s eyes twinkled with mirth, and Elizabeth could
suddenly see a clear and maddening resemblance between the two.

“Why do you think you should have? I didn’t happen
into Sioux Falls until about two years ago. Cutter was only here long enough to
help me open the Oasis. Since then... well... there’s been a war goin’ on, you
know.’’ Jo tilted a sly look toward her brother, conceding with a sigh, “Though
he has managed to steal in a time or two... to check up on me. Isn’t that so,
brother dear?”

Cutter lifted his hat brim just enough so that Elizabeth
glimpsed the lack of compunction in his jet black gaze. He obviously didn’t
give a fig that anyone knew of his solicitousness, and didn’t bother even to
deny as much to his sister—who seemed to take offense over it, if
Elizabeth read her tone right.

“Now, mind you, he won’t admit it,” Jo continued,
frowning benevolently. “Claims he’s only checking on the Oasis. You see, it’s
his place, really, not mine, but he swears he hasn’t the patience to run it and
kindly leaves that burden to me.” She gave her brother a conspiratorial wink.
“Fact is, he’s just too generous, even if he is overprotective.” She sighed
with resignation. “I keep tellin’ him I can take care of myself just fine
without him, but he doesn’t seem to want to believe it’s so.”

Cutter said nothing to his sister’s allegations,
but his smile turned crooked. Wry amusement played upon his sensuous lips, and
somehow that arrogant grin made Elizabeth feel as awkward as a kettle-bellied
mule, especially since it was still directed at her. More than anything, she
wanted to strike it from his face. Though she was supposed to be grateful, she
reminded herself. And yet despite his cocksure expression, she found she
couldn’t quite tear her gaze away.

“Enough about that,” Jo said. “What I’d like to
know, Liz girl, is what you think you need a man for?”

Elizabeth nodded in Cutter’s direction. It was
just too difficult to remain coherent with the man staring at her so intently.
“He doesn’t need to hear this, does he?”

Jo regarded Elizabeth impishly. “Well, sugar, I’ll
put it to you this way. He could go... if you could persuade him to leave his
own office. But even if he did, there aren’t any secrets between us. He’d
more’n likely find out anyhow. So you might as well tell us both before I die
of curiosity—why on earth do you need a man?”

The last two words were emphasized, as though it
were a ridiculous notion. Elizabeth tried not to take exception.

“And what could be so bloomin’ important,” Jo
continued, “that you would risk life and limb coming into the Oasis at this
time o’ the night? You know better’n that!” she chided.

Warmth crept higher into Elizabeth’s cheeks as she
glanced again at Cutter. He was still watching her, his expression unreadable
but for the mocking smile upon his lips. She felt suddenly so conspicuous that
she longed for the floor to open up and suck her down into it—anything to
escape his bold scrutiny.

To Elizabeth’s dismay, that scoundrel’s smile
spread clear to his fathomless eyes. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and
averted her face, feeling his gaze rake her like a hot southern gust over a
thirsting man in the middle of the desert; it was nearly her undoing. God grant
her strength, she just knew that any moment she would burst into tears, and she
refused to weep in front of the cad.

She decided it was best to ignore him.

If he wouldn’t go... then she would just make
believe he wasn’t in the room with her—sitting little more than six feet
away... give or take a few inches.

She forced her attention to remain on Jo.

“Well, I received a letter today,” Elizabeth
began, her voice catching. She swallowed convulsively. “From my sister’s
father-in-law. Katherine... K-Katherine,” she tried again, but her voice failed
her. The words were just too difficult to speak. “She and her husband were...
well, they were killed. He didn’t say how.” She tried to keep the emotion from
her tone and merely recite the facts, but her lips trembled traitorously. “It
seems they left their four-year-old daughter to my care.”

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth tried to steady
herself, feeling suddenly as though she would swoon. But she’d never fainted
before, and now wasn’t the time to begin.

Not in front
of him.

But then, he wasn’t really there, she reminded
herself sternly.

Ignore him.

Jo placed a reassuring arm about Elizabeth’s
waist. “You poor thing! I’m so sorry!” she declared. “Here now, sit yourself
down in my chair.”

Elizabeth sank numbly into the buttery-soft
leather chair behind the tiny desk, grateful for the barrier it provided
between herself and Jo’s brother. Except that now she was forced to face him.
Her limbs felt weak at the realization.

“You gonna be all right?” Jo asked.

Elizabeth nodded, and her gaze was again drawn to
Cutter’s. Like a hapless moth to a killing flame, she thought petulantly.

His smile was gone now, replaced with what seemed
a disapproving scowl. He probably thought her a blubbering idiot, she thought
grimly—and what was worse, she felt like one, too.