“Well, you certainly ain’t from around here,” the man stated as he unfastened her bustle, throwing it aside. “Women don’t bother too much with these contraptions ’round these parts.” Then he stopped. “Don’t move,” he commanded, and she obeyed as she felt something crawling on her flesh under the left leg of her pantaloons.
She watched with utter mortification as the stranger’s hand slowly slid beneath the cloth of her pantaloons and toward her knee. His hand clamped around something, and he quickly withdrew it.
“Sorry little cuss!” he mumbled as he threw something to the ground and drew a large knife from his boot.
She then witnessed him smash a large, sandy-colored scorpion into the dirt with his well-worn boot. When she looked up again, it was in time to see him cut the palm of his hand with the knife and begin sucking on the wound. He did this several times, spitting his own blood from his mouth each time.
“That sorry little cuss stung me,” he mumbled. “They don’t usually kill you, unless you’re allergic or somethin’. But they make you awful sick, and the sting gets terrible sore.” He looked at her oddly for a moment. “You feel like you’re gonna faint or somethin’?” he asked.
She swallowed hard and shook her head to dispel the awful dizziness in it. The man slipped the knife back into his boot and pulled her up to a sitting position again.
“Well, least you had sense enough to nearly drop dead ’round here,” he muttered.
She watched as he pulled an odd-shaped plant from the ground and broke open a few of the strange-looking leaves. He squeezed out a slimy substance and began to apply it to her face. It smelled unpleasant but felt very cool and soothing.
When he finished, he wiped his hand on his dusty trousers and said, “Now, let’s see if you can sit a horse.”
He pulled her to her feet, but her knees buckled, and her mind began swimming. He caught her and sat her down again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wishing she could cry.
“Hang on there a minute,” he said, with a hint more of kindness in his voice.
She watched, perfectly alarmed, as he actually proceeded to remove his shirt and wet it with water from the canteen. Even more disgraceful was the fact that he wore no form of undergarment beneath—none whatsoever! He was standing there bare from the waist up. And judging from the bronze color of his torso, he paraded around in such a state often.
When he looked at her again, she covered her eyes with her sore hands.
He chuckled. “I believe you’re blushin’ under that sunburn, girl. You’re definitely from somewhere else.”
He draped the wet shirt over her head and shoulders and pulled her to her feet yet again. She still needed a great deal of support to stand. She tried to push herself away when her hands touched his bare chest as they searched for support.
“Tarnation, girl,” he grumbled, taking her hands in his. “This is no time for propriety.” She thought the word sounded a little out of character with his odd, rather Southern-sounding accent.
He proceeded to run her hands from his shoulders slowly down and over his solid stomach. “See, don’t feel any different than your baby brother. You must be an unmarried one as well.” He steadied her again. “Now, let’s get you home to Mama so she can see the damage.” He then lifted her onto the horse, which sneezed and stomped his foreleg several times.
“Settle down, Bill. She’s with me.” He mounted behind her and pulled her tightly against his body. “Try not to fall off. It ain’t far.”
She was still too shocked by her recent lesson in anatomy to take much notice of the shameful way she sat astride the horse. But somehow she knew that until that moment, she had always ridden sidesaddle. A great wave of fatigue was overtaking her, and she couldn’t help but let her head fall back against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I think I’m going to faint.” She felt his arm tighten around her waist and the heat of his breath on her face as he spoke in her ear.
“It ain’t far, girl. Now listen here. I’m Jackson McCall. This here feller you’re on is Bill. He don’t care much for nobody but me…so you sit real still and hang on tight.”
She could smell leather, bacon, and perspiration, but it was somehow a pleasant and comforting combination. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, trying to keep her eyes open.
“Yes, sir?” he repeated in an astonished whisper. “Where are you from, girl?”
She tried and tried to pull an answer from her fevered brain. But she truly couldn’t.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, just before she gave into the need to be unconscious.
My everlasting admiration, gratitude and love…
To my husband, Kevin…
My inspiration…
My heart’s desire…
The man of my every dream!
About the Author
Marcia Lynn McClure’s intoxicating succession of novels, novellas, and e-books—including The Visions of Ransom Lake, A Crimson Frost, The Rogue Knight, and most recently The Pirate Ruse—has established her as one of the most favored and engaging authors of true romance. Her unprecedented forte in weaving captivating stories of western, medieval, regency, and contemporary amour void of brusque intimacy has earned her the title “The Queen of Kissing.”
Marcia, who was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, has spent her life intrigued with people, history, love, and romance. A wife, mother, grandmother, family historian, poet, and author, Marcia Lynn McClure spins her tales of splendor for the sake of offering respite through the beauty, mirth, and delight of a worthwhile and wonderful story.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine
A Better Reason to Fall in Love
The Bewitching of Amoretta Ipswich
Born for Thorton’s Sake
The Chimney Sweep Charm
A Crimson Frost
Daydreams
Desert Fire
Divine Deception
Dusty Britches
The Fragrance of her Name
The Haunting of Autumn Lake
The Heavenly Surrender
The Highwayman of Tanglewood
Kiss in the Dark
Kissing Cousins
The Light of the Lovers’ Moon
Love Me
The McCall Trilogy
Midnight Masquerade
An Old-Fashioned Romance
One Classic Latin Lover, Please
The Pirate Ruse
The Prairie Prince
The Rogue Knight
Romantic Vignettes-The Anthology of Premiere Novellas
Saphyre Snow
Shackles of Honor
Sudden Storms
Sweet Cherry Ray
Take a Walk With Me
The Tide of the Mermaid Tears
The Time of Aspen Falls
To Echo the Past
The Touch of Sage
The Trove of the Passion Room
Untethered
The Visions of Ransom Lake
Weathered Too Young
The Whispered Kiss
The Windswept Flame
Sweet Cherry Ray Page 19