by Ivy McAdams
“What I meant was you look like you’d know how to wear a gown like that, that they wear to the beautiful parties.”
“Anyone can wear a dress.”
The pair of pants began to drift away, and he lunged for them. She watched as his body stretched and muscles moved and bunched.
“Oh, Miss Bridget, I’m sorry. I―”
“It’s Bridget.”
He coughed and frowned. “What?”
“My name’s Bridget. You don’t have to call me Miss. We’re friends now, right?”
He blinked slowly as he sat back straight with the pants limp in his fingers. Then a smile spread over his face. “Yes, ma’am. I think we could be good friends, you and I.”
Something about the way the words rolled off his tongue made the hair on the back of her neck tremble. A wave of nerves moved down her arms, and she smiled behind the curtain of her hair.
“I think you’re right,” she said matter-of-factly.
They set to work again, draping clean clothes over the rocks in the sunlight. They each cleaned another two pieces, basking in the warmth of one another’s company. The clothes were nearly exhausted when she spoke out.
“Do you live around here, Mr. Kent?”
He lifted a brow high at her. “Mister?”
She paused, realizing what she’d said, and nodded. “Sorry. Mason.”
His smile took out any sting over being reprimanded. "I do. I actually live not too far off from here."
“How lovely. The scenery around here is beautiful. I feel like I could sit and watch the animals and the greenery all day.”
He’d stopped to watch her as she spoke. Instead of allowing it to make her feel self-conscious, she drove forward.
“There aren’t trees and creatures like this in the city. I love it out here.”
She may have been overstepping the truth a little. She wanted to love it that much out there. It was calming, and finding time to step away from Oscar and his gang was always a good thing. Sitting among the wilderness was a peace she craved.
But Mason didn’t need to know all of that.
“I enjoy sitting out in the wild myself,” he said. “I’ve certainly made a habit of it lately.”
“It’s too bad you enjoyed it by sitting and not walking or we may have run into one another sooner.”
That same stoic wave came over his face, solid lines replacing his smile and eyes locking in on her so strongly that it created a nervous tickle in her stomach.
“That’s true,” he said. “I suppose I should have been taking walks a long time ago.”
The truth was that she and her group had only been there a few days. Their permanent camp was miles away. It wasn’t likely Mason would have ever happened upon her, but the fantasy was still uplifting. And his eyes were still an odd sort of exciting.
The flutter in her stomach pulled her away, and she glanced in the basket between them.
“Thanks for helping me, Mason,” she said. “You made my chores go by much faster. I’ll need to head home soon.”
He looked at the empty basket and the soapy shirt in his hand. “You mean you’re only out here to do the laundry?”
She nodded. “An afternoon break for laundry. I have some other things to do after―”
He slid the clean, wet shirt from her hands and pressed it into the soapy one he held. She reached for the shirt with a gaping mouth, but he held them out of her reach.
“I just rinsed that one,” she protested.
“We can rinse it again. It won’t take long.”
She frowned at him. Was he crazy?
A wicked grin spread over his face as he dropped both the shirts onto the silty bank beside him, then crushed them into the ground.
She gasped when he held up the muddy garments.
“Though this may take a little longer.” He held the shirts near her, and she reached to take them, but he pulled them back just enough to whip them in the air, splattering mud over two other drying pieces of clothing.
“Mason,” she yelped, eyeing him in surprise.
His grin never faltered. “Looks like you’ll have to spend more of the afternoon with me.”
She couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped her or her hand that reached out and pushed his shoulder for playing her. Nor the way her stomach tightened when his eyes twinkled at her.
Chapter 3
The sun lowered into the treeline behind them as Bridget and Mason sat and talked through the afternoon. She learned that he’d grown up with two brothers and had good parents. He wasn’t married and had no children. She wasn’t sure what he was doing living out in the forest by himself when he could be staying with his family back home. When she’d asked, he hadn’t elaborated. Just said he liked the freedom.
When he’d asked about her past, she’d told him just enough. That she’d hopped on a train out to Wyoming to look for some of the new adventures on the frontier she’d heard about. That part was true. She’d left out the part about answering a mail order bride ad and what awaited her when she arrived. As well as the awful conditions she’d been living in since. All in all, the frontier hadn’t ended up being what she’d imagined.
They’d spoken freely of other things, however, like their favorite foods―he loved roasted pheasant and she could eat cherry pies until she popped―and their favorite pastimes―he enjoyed fishing while she preferred calligraphy―and their shared favorite animal―horses. Mason had offered to introduce her to his horse one day, and she’d flashed a genuine smile and said she’d like that.
The visit was warm and casual, and Bridget hoped it would never end. They’d lingered long after the last of the clothes were washed and set out to dry, and she’d lost track of time.
When the sound of someone else approaching reached her, her heart stopped.
“I must be going,” she gasped, snatching up half-dried clothes and throwing them into the basket.
Mason had been talking of going to pick wild raspberries and blinked at her in surprise. “Well, it doesn’t have to be raspberries. Do you prefer huckleberries?”
“No, no. I love raspberries,” she whispered, nudging him in the shoulder and handing him his shirt.
It wasn’t completely dry, but she didn’t care if he slipped it back on or not. He had to leave. If someone caught her down there with him, they’d both be in so much trouble.
Mason frowned as she pulled her shoes back on. When she leapt to her feet, he stood up and looked around. Then he paused another beat to gaze at her standing next to him, a moment of confusion passing through his eyes.
He was just taller than six feet. She could tell right away when she looked him directly in the eye.
She’d been teased relentlessly as a child for her height, and when she’d become a woman, men had often avoided her. She took a long breath, waiting for Mason to frown or back away in surprise, but he did neither. His eyes stayed with her, and there was no judgment on his face.
Then his gaze moved again, checking the area around them as his voice dropped to a whisper. “What is it?”
“I need to go back, and you need to leave,” she said, giving him a further nudge.
His hand rested on her arm, and she paused for a moment. It felt good. Warm, strong. “Is everything okay?”
His gaze was diving deep into her once again. Between his eyes and his hand on her, she nearly forgot what the big deal was anyway.
But she couldn’t. They were in danger.
“Everything is fine, but I really need you to go that way so I can go this way. Please, trust me.”
He dropped his hand, resting it on his belt, but he didn’t move. Even the most subtle disappointed dip in his brow was enough to make her chest ache.
“I’ll be here again tomorrow. Same time,” she offered in a hushed tone. His gaze locked hard to hers. “If you’re out for a walk or something.”
The edge of his lips twitched, and the warmth that had drained away from her chest in her panic r
eturned. She smiled at him, excited by the notion of seeing him again.
He nodded, giving her a jerk of his chin as he backed away. “Then I’ll be sure to get some exercise tomorrow.”
The footsteps behind her were much too close now, but she still managed to give him one last smile before hurrying up the ridge. As she stepped over it, she found Linda striding toward her. The woman’s eyes were on the ground in front of her, not paying the least bit of attention to anything happening down at the stream.
Bridget let out a breath, peering back down the bank before she was too far away. Mason was disappearing into the treeline on the opposite side of the stream, shirt slung over his shoulder and hanging down the smooth, thick muscles of his back.
“Took you long enough,” Linda said with a snarky scowl. “You’ve been washing that same basket of clothes for like two hours.”
Bridget gave a sheepish shrug, keeping her eyes down. “I washed them more than once like you suggested.”
"Well, after two or three times you just gotta accept that shit ain't coming out," Linda scoffed.
“I didn’t have anything else to do,” Bridget mumbled, and it was true.
She led the way back toward the campsite, and Linda brought up the rear.
A pair of tents and a shoddy lean-to made up their temporary camp. A small fire blazed in the middle of them, and a skinny fellow with thick sideburns leaned over it, poking at coals with a stick.
“You washed them clothes again?” he asked. “They weren’t all that dirty. Could have worn ‘em today.”
“Hush it, Squirrel,” Linda said. “Nobody wants to see you walking around covered in blood. Or smell you. Least we could do was rinse ‘em out.”
He perked a brow with a curled lip. “I suppose. But I miss my clothes when you got ‘em all stolen away.”
Bridget fished into her basket and pulled out the man’s outfit from the day prior.
Squirrel, as Linda had dubbed him long ago, took the clothes with a crooked, mostly-toothless smile.
“About time,” he said as he clutched the garments to him.
“Bridget here?” Oscar’s booming voice called.
Everything in Bridget’s body seized up, and she stood still as a log. A stocky man in grungy black clothes popped out of a tent. His short, dark hair ran into a full beard on his face, and his eyes were sharp and searching. They moved over Bridget with odd jerking motions.
“I-I’m here,” she stammered.
“Good. I was starting to think you’d forgotten all about us. We need some supper.”
Bridget looked down at the empty pot sitting next to the fire and bit back the heavy sigh that burned her lungs.
"I want fresh-cut onions this time," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Squirrel leaned into him with a wry chuckle. Oscar held up a hand to quiet him, even though the edge of his lip twitched.
Bridget clenched her teeth to keep from rolling her eyes. The men teased her relentlessly, and they were a dull bunch of toddlers at best. But she preferred the cooking and cleaning tenfold to acting as his mistress.
“Not the big chunks like last time,” Oscar said with a curled lip. His dull, dark eyes narrowed as he held up his big, meaty fingers and demonstrated with a pinch. “Little diced ones.”
Squirrel laughed again, and Oscar joined in.
Bridget gave them a forced smile. “Of course. I’ll get on them.”
She set the clothes aside and gathered the pot and spoon from the grass. They’d brought a bag of dried food on their excursion away from their normal campsite. It had a few vegetables and wraps up jerky. They’d have the same simple stew she’d prepared the night before. Old pork jerky with carrots and onions.
“Don’t forget the hot sauce this time,” Linda laughed.
Bridget’s shoulders hunched as she moved away from them. Even Linda joined in with the men on torturing her. The woman was far rougher around the edges than any she knew back in Boston. The frontier had made her hard. Or living with a gang of outlaws had.
Bridget grimaced. It was doing a number on her too, though she refused to let them break her like that. No matter how many times Oscar tried to convince her that she was living the good life, paired up with one of the highest-ranked men in the gang, it was a reality she refused to accept.
The sneer on her face vanished when her arm was jerked backward. She gasped and blinked wide, frightened eyes up into Oscar’s face as he bared down on her.
“Did you hear me?” he growled.
His breath smelled of tobacco and fish. Her eyes fluttered as she resisted the forceful urge to vomit.
His fingers tightened on her bicep until she wanted to cry out, but she held her tongue. He liked it when she screamed.
“I didn’t,” she bit out through her teeth.
His sneer deepened. “I said add the eggs and hot sauce this time. Do your ears work?”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. That dark gleam in his eye always happened just before he turned into a raging beast.
She swallowed a fit of nerves and clenched her trembling teeth together. Then she quickly formed words on a shaking tongue.
“Yes. I’ll get your eggs and hot sauce.”
His eyes narrowed. “Be sure that you do. I ain’t eatin’ that same shit again tonight.”
She nodded quickly, and he shoved her away.
She stayed lower to the ground, so he wouldn’t have to look up at her―he hated that―and waited for him to turn back to the campfire before she hurried away.
Her arm hurt where his fingers had pinched in, but it was a minimal injury. It would go away in an hour or so, unlike a few other scars on her body.
As she set to dicing her vegetables and throwing food into the pot, her mind wandered back to the stranger she’d met in the forest. She couldn’t help the smile that played over her lips. If only she had the freedom to wander through the peaceful trees without a care in the world like the handsome Mason Kent.
Chapter 4
Bridget balanced the three large wool blankets under her arm and across her shoulders. The itchy red and black checkered fabrics irritated her skin, but she held tight as she marched across the grassy knoll toward the forest.
She’d lain awake for hours the night before thinking about the strange man she’d met in the forest. How he’d called her an angel, but in all the sense she could make of the situation, he was the angel. He’d come along to keep her company in one of the hardest times of her life. She’d never needed help from anyone back in Boston. Life had been easy.
Things were nothing like she'd imagined them being out there on the frontier. Noone had mentioned how answering an ad for a bride out West could backfire so badly.
But she’d forgotten most of her troubles while talking with Mason. The friendly gleam in his eye and the saucy smile on his handsome face had kept her mind awake. She’d recalled their conversations and the way his eyes lit up and his body shook when he laughed. She was even still awake when Oscar crawled into their tent and lay down behind her.
Normally she would be asleep when he came in from drinking with the other men, though he didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol that night. He had to be up with the sun for their next mission. All the more reason for her to fake sleep like her life depended on it so he’d leave her alone.
She was relieved to find him gone already in the morning when she woke.
Waiting for the afternoon had been the longest five hours of her life, and as soon as the sun hit the midpoint of the sky, she’d bundled up the blankets from the tents and set off for the stream.
“What the hell are you doin’?” Linda called from behind her.
Bridget froze. She’d forgotten about her warden.
“Taking the blankets down to the stream for a wash,” she said over her shoulder.
Linda scoffed. “Blankets? What for?”
“I, uh, heard some awful racket last night. I think Squirrel might have gotten sick. His blank
et reeks.”
She turned just in time to see Linda gag. “Are you serious? That’s disgusting.”
Bridget shrugged, shifting the blankets about. "Yeah. They all smell pretty bad, so I'm going to wash them."
“You smashed Jonas’s and my blanket in with his?” Linda’s fist clenched and she glared. “It wasn’t dirty before.”
"It's fine," Bridget said, backpedaling away as if the stream was drawing her with a power she couldn't control. "I'll be sure to wash it twice. Three times!"
Linda didn’t respond, and Bridget was relieved to ditch her. She turned and all but ran across the knoll.
Jonas was second in command on their outing, following Oscar’s orders and keeping Squirrel in line. They were three of the many men in a larger gang the townsfolk called the Croakers. The men themselves typically just referred to the group as Ethan’s Boys. They had a more permanent campsite near the city of St. Aspen. Most of their thieving and tricks were done in the alleys of the city.
Oscar was one of the better thieves, and murderers, in the group. When he’d gotten some information on four separate big money opportunities outside of town, the leader had granted him leave. So he’d scooped up his buddy Jonas, Jonas’s girl Linda, and Squirrel and set up a small temporary camp outside of a small town twenty miles down the road called Emerald Falls.
Bridget had gone by default, being Oscar’s current bedmate.
Going along was another thing that hadn’t exactly been her choice, but there wasn’t much she could do to change it.
She wasn’t sure how Linda had fallen into the gang, but she was much too rough and wild for Bridget’s taste. She’d tried to build a rapport with the woman, perhaps find a kindred spirit in her nightmare, but Linda was settled into the gang’s lifestyle. She was no comfort to Bridget as she did her best to adjust to not only a new location and way of living but being a man’s companion, both physically and emotionally, against her will. Especially when that man was a blood-thirsty outlaw.
Bridget shuddered at the thought as she reached the top of the ridge and looked down at the stream in the shadow of the trees below. No one was around except for a deer drinking at the water. It looked up, large ears perked high on its head.