Sagebrush Bride (8 page)

Right as rain.

Elizabeth
snuggled against him, burying her face in the space between his arm and ribs.
He could feel the shape of her lips through his shirt, and the pounding in his
chest intensified.

“Mmm,”
she said, a ghost of a smile touching her lips, and Cutter found himself
wondering with a scowl who she thought she was with.

“Too
dark,” she whimpered. “Please...”

Almost
tenderly, as he would with a child, he smoothed the hair from her face. “Please
what?”

She
moaned something unintelligible, then whimpered again, the sound mournful. It
twisted his gut.

He
shook her, though not enough to wake her, just enough to prod her into speaking
again, wanting to be sure she was all right. “Lizbeth?”

“Hum—to—me...”

Hum?

Cutter
furrowed his brow. She wanted him to hum? Shaking his head in puzzlement, he
shrugged, thinking that anything that kept her quiet was worth a try. She
settled back against him, as though she’d somehow felt that affirmative gesture
in her sleep. And for the first time in years, Cutter put sound to the melody
he’d first heard from his mother’s lips as a toddler. As he hummed, he looked
down every little while to verify she was still asleep.

Jo
had warned him she would be mad.

Just
how mad would she be?

With
a smile, he decided that he rather liked the brightness of her eyes when she
was angry and he couldn’t wait to see her expression when she awoke.

He
continued to hum softly, remembering and interjecting Cheyenne words, a phrase
here, a phrase there, and Elizabeth was soon completely subdued by the vibrations
that came from deep within his chest.

As
absorbed as Cutter was with his thoughts of the woman lying loosely over his
lap, he never anticipated the jab of her elbow to his crotch. It had been a
halfhearted movement, with little enough strength behind it, but it impacted
just right...

Or
just wrong.

For
the briefest second his jaw dropped, as though he couldn’t quite believe what
she’d done, then snapped shut, jarring his teeth into his skull. Resisting the
urge to jump from the saddle, he clenched his jaw over the pain that shot
through his jewels, and he barely heard her grumbled words.

“Shcoot
over... not ’nough room.”

Oblivious
to the pain she’d caused him, and without waiting to see that he
shcooted
, she sighed in her sleep,
wiggling to make herself more comfortable.

Crushing
the urge to howl out in agony, somehow Cutter managed to hold on to the reins
as he seized her arm and gently lifted her off his belongings. Even the
slightest movement worsened his predicament. Holding his breath against the
pain, he managed to lift himself somewhat in the stirrups and hunker over,
desperately seeking a tolerable position.

Couldn’t
wake her—damn, damn, couldn’t wake her—couldn’t throw her either!

His
hands were otherwise occupied, or he would have shielded himself at once. Were
Elizabeth not on the horse, he’d have reined in and hurled himself into the
ground—praying for a swift death.

Hell,
if the blasted woman hadn’t been in his lap to begin with, he wouldn’t have
this friggin’ crisis to deal with!

Sweat
beaded his brow, his palms turning clammy as he held Elizabeth steady so she
wouldn’t slip. Just before he turned blue from lack of oxygen, he blew out a
breath, gulping in the sweet night air.

Unable
to hold his position any longer, he sat again, white-faced, clenching his thigh
muscles against the loping movement of his Palouse. And with arms that felt
suddenly sapped of strength, he managed to shift Elizabeth so that she was
sitting astride, the back of her head nestling cozily against his chest.

Incredibly,
she slept on, oblivious to his crisis. In spite of the jerky maneuvers it had
taken to sit her upright. In spite of the knuckle-whitening pain that lingered
in his rocks.

Damn,
but it’d be a good idea to get her her own mount as soon as possible.

Every
bump and bounce served to urge Elizabeth toward a wretched state of
wakefulness.

She
didn’t want to wake up. Deep down, something warned her against it. She prayed
for mercy, but the movement continued, rocking her, prodding her, until she
could no longer ignore it.

Her
head felt as though it had been trampled by a herd of buffalo, she thought
sourly. Peeping through her lashes, she grimaced at the bright light that
stabbed at her pupils, making her head throb all the more.

Just
where in creation was she?

No
sooner had she asked herself that question when she became aware of the fact
that her arms were being squeezed, her calves prodded and poked, her ribs
probed.

Was
she dead and gone to blazes?

Certainly
she felt tortured.

And
she wasn’t at home snug in her bed, that much was clear. The realization sent a
flash of alarm bolting through her.

The
last thing she recalled, she’d been sitting in Jo’s office... with her
impossibly arrogant brother.

Her
eyes flew open to find herself sitting astride a horse in the dewy predawn
light, her bulky skirts bunched up around her legs, a firm hand exploring her
ribs. Her heartbeat quickened and her breathing arrested, her aches and pains
overshadowed for the moment.

Whoever
it was, he was tall. That much, she knew because his chin was resting on the
crown of her head, and she could tell that he was leaning, to boot.

He
stiffened, as though sensing that she’d awakened, and a wave of panic rushed
through her.

Elizabeth
didn’t quite think things through. All she could think was that she was on a
strange horse—with a strange man sitting astride behind her.

Drawing
in a shaky breath for courage, she elbowed the monster. He grunted, releasing
her, and she tried to fling herself from the trotting horse.

But
her leg was too slow in coming around, and by the time it did, an arm had
caught her firmly about the waist.

Struggling
against his hold, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she twisted wildly in his
arms.

Ignoring
the blow to his ribs, Cutter managed to keep his hold on Elizabeth until she
reached back, boxing his right ear with a small, bony fist. With a hoarse cry,
he let go of her just enough for her to slip into a precarious position.

The
woman was buggy!

What
the hell did she think she doing throwing herself off a moving horse?

“Son
of a—” She was falling, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it!
The least he could do was try to keep her from landing under the hooves though
he’d probably break his damned neck in the process. Hurling himself down with
her, he propelled them both away from the spooked horse, and he hit the ground
with a groan.

Damn
her, anyway—loony female!

Like
a spitting, clawing wildcat, she was still struggling to get free of him.
Didn’t the little fool realize that he was trying to help her? That they were
in danger of becoming hoof bait? Apparently not, he concluded when she promptly
boxed him again.

He
rolled to the right, trying to skirt the Palouse’s hooves, his arms locked
protectively about her. Above them, the horse reared up on its hind legs and
came crashing down mere inches from the back of Cutter’s head. He rolled again,
his maneuver more instinct than design, as the Palouse steadied itself and
moved off to the right of them. The force of his thrust sent Elizabeth headlong
into the hard-packed earth. The side of her face smacked the ground, and she
gave a little yelp of pain.

“Awww
sh—” He never finished the expletive. The breath was knocked from his
lungs as he rolled, landing atop her.

“You?”
she snarled. “Get off me, you dog!”

Torn
between wanting to laugh with relief at the grass blades that were clinging to
and moving with her lips, and the anger he felt over her crazy stunt, Cutter
settled for lust. For all her friggin’ layers of clothing, he’d never been more
aware of a woman’s body beneath his own, every curve, every soft, tantalizing
swell.

Damn,
how had he ever thought her skinny?

And
her eyes, they weren’t gold a’tall. It had been a trick of the candlelight, no
doubt, because they were brown now. But not just any brown—a soft brown
with flecks of amber gold radiating from dark pupils. Against his will, his
breathing became labored as he stared at those gorgeous eyes... those lips,
remembering the way they had tasted.

Elizabeth
found it difficult to breathe, but it had little to do with Cutter’s weight
bearing down upon her, because he’d lifted himself up just enough so that it
was no longer an issue. Though she could still feel every inch of his
body—his broad chest, his solid limbs; one leg resting outside her right
thigh, the other just inside her left... and something in between.

Her
face colored brightly; because she knew exactly what that something was. She
was a doctor, after all, and had seen
those
things
on rare occasions. Yet it was the intense look on his face that
stole her breath.

His
jaw was taut, his pupils dilated, his nostrils flaring.

“I—said—get—off!”

He
did, and Elizabeth scooted backward, giving herself a safe distance from the
infuriating man. She sat upright, glaring at him, and spat the offensive grass
out of her mouth. She used her hands to swipe off the pieces that wouldn’t
quite come loose. Her lip throbbed, and what was worse, she thought she tasted
blood!

Examining
her hand, she inhaled sharply when she spotted a streak of ruby red across her
forefinger. She gave a startled little cry and her gaze flew up to meet
Cutter’s, but she said nothing because she could tell by his expression that
he’d spotted it, too, and his black look told her that she didn’t want to hear
any of what he had to say.

Standing
over her, thumb hooked into his waistband, he shook his head at her, as though
she were dim witted.

“What
the hell were you trying to do? Kill us both?”

“
Me
?” She snorted inelegantly, squinting
her eyes to ward away the pain that shot through her head. Her hand trembled as
it moved to her temple in an effort to still the hazy picture her eyes were
presenting.