The Barefoot Bride

by Paisley, Rebecca

"He'll probably bite my nose off."

  "Yore nose is long. Wouldn't hurt yore looks nary a bit to git a smidgeon of it nipped off."

  "Are you saying my nose is ugly?"

  "Does it differ? What you got is what you got."

  "At least I've got a nose. With that tiny thing you've got, it's a wonder you can breathe."

  "I can breathe jist fine. Now, are you gwine git down thar on the ground with Khan, or are we gwine stand here all day a-talkin' about noses?"

  He thought maybe talking about noses was a hell of a lot safer than coming nose to nose with a wolf. Taking a deep breath, he bent to the ground directly in front of Khan. He made sure his head was lower than that of the wolf, and when it was, he raised his eyes to meet Khan's curious gaze.

  They stared at each other for several minutes before Khan yawned again and went to relieve himself on a nearby tree.

  "Well, reckon that's what he thanks about you, Saxon," Chickadee said.

  Still on his hands and knees, Saxon laughed out loud.

  As they continued the trek through the woods. Chickadee began walking a bit slower. "It's jist a feelin'. Don't go a-gittin' all excited. I ain't seed or heared nothin yet."

  But Saxon was excited. He was beginning to understand the thrill hunters experienced tracking wild animals. Risky, to be sure, but when man was pitted against nature, the atmosphere itself took on an air of stimulating expectation.

  "Look here, Saxon," Chickadee said in a low voice while she pointed to a rotten stump. "Bahr tracks. This here stump's so soft with rot, the bahr sank right inter it when it got up on it. And look up thar," she said softly, gesturing at a low-hanging branch. "See how them leaves is turned wrong side out? The bahr was a-grabbin' onter that branch when it was up on the stump."

  She walked ahead, her keen hunter's eyes noting each thing in her surroundings. Saxon followed closely, his own eyes wide with anticipation.

  "It ain't too fur away."

  "How do you know? Did you hear it?"

  She pointed to some moss on the ground. "Thar's one o' its tracks. See how the moss is all crushed? Well, iffen the bahr was long gone, that moss woulda had time to puff back up agin. But it's still smashed real good."

  "Where's the bear though?"

  "Yore a-rushin' thangs agin."

  They soon came to a gigantic oak tree, and she froze. Absorbed in watching everything around him, Saxon ran right into her.

  "Dang it, Saxon!" she whispered loudly. "Are you plumb bereft? Watch whar yore gwine! You ain't never gwine be nothin' but a outlander lessen you pay attention to what yore a-doin'!"

  He swallowed his laughter.

  But she saw his tight grin. "Somethin' a-ticklin' you real good, ain't it? Well, a-seein' as how you thank all this is real funny, go show that bahr over thar how big you can smile. Maybe you can even git it to smile back."

  The smirk on his face faded immediately. He looked all around but didn't see anything.

  Chickadee saw how tightly he held his rifle, and it was her turn to grin. "In the tree."

  Sure enough, there in the branches of the oak tree a short distance away was a big black bear. "Aren't we going to shoot it?" Saxon asked. "It knows we're here."

  "As much racket as you been a-makin', it'd have to be deaf not to know we're here."

  The bear moved, and Saxon cocked his rifle.

  "Why you gwine shoot it?"

  He lowered his rifle. "Wasn't that the reason for this hunting expedition?"

  "Naw, we got plenty o' bahr meat at home. I jist wanted to show you how to track one."

  "But won't it attack us?"

  "Nope. Least not right now."

  "How do you know that for certain? We could turn around, and it might jump out of that tree, and it might—"

  "When a bahr's up in a tree, watch its head. Iffen it don't look at you, it ain't a-comin' down. But iffen it swangs its head around and looks like it's a-countin' how many hairs you got a-hangin' outen yore nose, then you know it's gwine come down after you."

  Saxon noticed the bear wasn't paying them the slightest bit of attention. Damn! His first opportunity to take a shot at one of those vicious beasts, and this one had to be unaggressive!

  "I know you was a-itchin' to take a shot at that ole bahr, Saxon," Chickadee said as they returned to the ivy-hedged path. "But she might have babies somewhar. Respect. Ever' plant, stream, rock, and animule here deserves respect. You take what you got to have, but iffen you take more'n that, one day you ain't gwine have nothin'."

  Saxon stopped walking, smiled, and ruffled her hair. When he started to take his hand away, the expression in her eyes told him she liked it and hoped he wouldn't stop. Gently, he slipped his fingers through her tangled mane and kept them there, waiting to see what she would do.

  His touch sent a ribbon of heat curling through her—as if he were made of fire. Unbidden, the memory of the one kiss T.J. Howe once gave her came to mind. It had been quick and wet, and her and T.J.'s teeth had clinked together. Would it be that way with Saxon? Probably not. Outlanders did everything differently than mountain folks.

  "You ever wonder what it'd be like to kiss me, Saxon Blackwell?" Quickly she bent her head. She knew she was too blunt. Betty Jane told her that often. But, well, sometimes being bold was the only way to get what you wanted in this world.

  Saxon tilted her chin up. "I've wondered, Keely."

  A reply eluded her. Dumbstruck, she could only look at him, her mind whirling with unspoken thoughts, her voice refusing to put sound to them.

  But he didn't need to hear them: he could see them. He might not know much about mountain life, but he knew about women, and as he gazed into Chickadee's ever-changing eyes, he realized no matter where or how women lived, most of them had something in common.

  Passion.

  Some were shy about it, others were quite open. Chickadee was open in many ways, sometimes painfully so. But now, right now, she was timid. This mountain ridge might belong to her, but the invisible aura surrounding them now was his dominion, and he knew it well.

  He dropped his rifle and slowly pulled her toward him. He saw her swallow and smiled down at her. Tremulously, she smiled back, her slight grin vanishing when she saw his lips descending.

  She knew a moment of panic, but some age-old instinct forced her to keep still. Saxon's arms went around her, and once again his touch burned her. His hard chest pressed against her breasts; her nipples hardened. Somewhere, deep within her, a sweet ache began, and of their own accord her arms stole around his waist, her fingers still wrapped around her rifle.

  Saxon lowered his mouth to hers. Her inexperience was obvious in the way she kept her lips tightly pursed. He set about correcting that matter immediately. Slowly, gently, his tongue teased her lips open. When they parted, his kiss deepened slightly, and he savored the taste of her. She trembled against him at his unexpected action.

  This was nothing like T.J. Howe's kiss. This kiss somehow removed all the bones from her body and left her with nothing but flimsy skin. Indeed, it was an effort to stay standing, and she wondered whether she would fall without Saxon holding her so securely.

  Saxon took his time. This was her first real kiss, and he could well remember the feelings that accompanied the first encounter with desire. But as he continued to kiss her, he became a little wobbly-kneed himself. Strange. He liked kissing well enough and most assuredly enjoyed what could follow it, but he'd never reacted this way before. Wanting a stronger dose of the magical essence that could cause such an unusual sensation in him, he deepened the kiss again and enjoyed the warm rush of emotion for a long time before he reluctantly ended it.

  But though the kiss was over, the thrill he'd experienced from it remained. He hadn't felt this way over a kiss in years! Maybe it was Chickadee's enthusiasm for life that had affected him, he mused. Her zest was certainly contagious.

  He smiled wistfully when he thought about how Desdemona might respond to the cheeky girl in his arms. And his grin spli
t his entire face when he thought of what Araminta's reaction would be.

  He stared down into Chickadee's glazed eyes, his own eyes narrowed in sudden excitement. Araminta Blackwell. She undoubtedly had a long list of suitable-for-marriage ladies, all refined Boston beauties. Women so completely opposite from Chickadee, that the comparison was absurd.

  Absurd? Outmaneuvering Araminta was absurd?

  With rising exhilaration, he realized that Araminta had made a grave mistake in her latest scheme. She'd stated nothing in her new will about whom he had to marry and had given him leave to choose his own bride.

  Chickadee with Araminta. Chickadee with Desdemona.

  Chickadee McBride Blackwell.

  Saxon's laugh of victory rang out over the smoky blue hills.

  Chapter 4

  Chickadee pushed him away with all the might she possessed. Saxon, taken off guard, fell to the ground and felt her rifle barrel digging into his chest.

  "I know you've kissed girls who kiss back a sight better'n I do, but you ain't got no call to laugh at me. Say yore sorry or I'm gwine shoot that smile plumb offen your face."

  Certain she was bluffing, he grinned and reached up to move her gun. A bullet whizzed by his ear.

  "Don't thank I'll do it, do you? Say yore sorry."

  "I wasn't laughing at you."

  "Yore a dang liar. You was—"

  "I was laughing at the circumstances. I've never kissed a woman with a wild bear so near by. The thought struck my sense of humor." He pushed her rifle away and got to his feet.

  "Oh. Well I'm sorry I got so riled. I didn't hurt you none when I pushed you down, did I?"

  His eyes flashed blue fire. "Dammit, Keely, I'm a man! A fall to the ground ain't—isn't going to injure me!" He stepped so close to her she was forced to bend her head way back to see his face looming above her. "I realize you are the way you are because you've had little contact with other people, but there's one thing about the sexes you need to understand. Men are stronger than women. You're capable in many respects, but I am a man, and you are a woman. There's a big difference. One you'd do well to remember!"

  "I ain't seed you do nothin' I cain't do 'cept write! And you said yoresef I can larn how to write too. As fur as I can see, thur ain't no difference in a man and a woman but what's betwixt thur legs!"

  She flounced away then. Saxon picked up his rifle and stormed after her. His eyes centered on her back, he didn't notice how wildly the laurel thicket was moving. It wasn't until a bear cub meandered out of the brush that he realized the danger.

  Though the cub was behind her. Chickadee felt fear replace the marrow in her bones. She whirled to face the little animal, her mind swarming with prayers the bear wouldn't whine. She motioned for Saxon to circle around the cub. "Don't even look at it," she whispered. "Git around it quick but stay fur away from it."

  But the path was narrow, hedged with the thick ivy. Though he did his best to give the cub a wide berth, it wasn't wide enough to suit the small beast. The cub opened its mouth and called for its mother.

  "Lord o' mercy!" Chickadee ran to Saxon and grabbed his hand. But they ran only a short distance before Saxon stepped into a tangle of vines. He tried to yank his hand out of Chickadee's, but her hold on his wrist was unbreakable. Their fall sent Chickadee's rifle sliding into the thicket beside them. She tried to reach for it, but Saxon lay atop her, preventing her from moving.

  "Git offen me!"

  The worst sound he ever heard froze him in mid-action. The mother bear came thrashing out of the brush, black eyes shining with fury, huge mouth open wide. Khan bared his teeth and lunged at it, but with one vicious swipe, the bear threw the wolf into the laurel.

  Every muscle in his body taut, Saxon knelt, put the stock of his rifle to his shoulder, took aim, and fired. The bear screamed but continued to run toward them. Again he cocked his weapon, sure he'd only wounded the bear, but before he had time to pull the trigger, the monster swayed and then crashed to the ground, its enormous head mere inches from Chickadee's feet.

  He stared at it briefly before he remembered Khan. "Khan!" Much to his relief, the wolf came slinking out of the thicket, apparently unharmed.

  Chickadee hugged her pet when he came and licked her face. "Whar'd you larn to shoot like that, Saxon? You got that bahr directly in the heart, and that ain't easy. 'Specially when the bahr's a-runnin'."

  "While you may find this hard to believe, you aren't the only person in the world who can handle a gun," he said smugly.

  "Don't recollect a-sayin' I was. Jist didn't know a outlander could shoot like that."

  He stood and pulled her to her feet. "Are you hurt?"

  She started to tell him in no uncertain that a little fall to the ground wasn't something that would hurt her when she remembered she'd asked him the same question a short while ago when he'd fallen. Suddenly she understood what he'd been trying to tell her.

  It was pride that made men different from women. Her own was hurting, and now she realized what Saxon had been going through these past weeks with her.

  "Reckon I'm a mite bruised," she lied, rubbing her bottom. Instinct told her that was the right thing to say.

  Saxon nearly burst with self-satisfaction. But when he saw the merriment dancing in Chickadee's eyes, his anger returned with a vengeance. "Why don't you reach out and pat me on the head, Keely? That action would certainly complement your patronizing thoughts!"

  His abrupt fury confused her. "Dang it, Saxon! When I do thangs you thank only menfolks can do, it riles you. And when I try and make you feel more like a man, yore still riled! Jist how the hell do you want me to act? I ain't never tried to be nobody but who I am, but I'm a-tryin' to git along with you, and—"

  "Just stop patronizing me!"

  "I ain't never heared that word in my life, but iffen it riles you when I do it, I'm gwine do it ever' second, ever' minute, ever' day!" She glared at him, her eyes traveling rapidly over his face. "What is patronizin'? Reckon I need to know what it is afore I can do it to you."

  His anger was doused by a sudden stream of amusement, and his laughter echoed as deep as the mountain ravines. When he got control of himself again he saw Chickadee staring at him as if he'd lost has mind. But he felt perfectly sane.

  Suddenly, he knew he was going to make the wisp of a girl who stood before him his bride.

  *

  Covered with blood from head to toe, Saxon literally tore the shirt from his back and kicked off his boots so frantically they flew into the nearby bushes. His breeches soon followed, and he took a headlong dive into the clean stream. The soap smelled strong, and ordinarily he might have wondered if it would eat through his skin, but at this moment the only thing he could concentrate on was working it into a lather as swiftly as possible.

  Chickadee sauntered to the edge of the stream. "Did you lose yore supper?"

  He threw her a nasty look and soaped up his hair.

  "Reckon you ain't never seen bahr innards afore, have you, outlander? Turn yore stomach, did it?"

  Saxon scooped up water and threw it at her. She deftly avoided the shower and laughed at him.

  "When you have to shoot somethin', the leastest thang you can do fer it is make use of it. We couldn't leave that bahr thar to rot, Saxon. Had to skin it and make it ready to eat. It's gwine meat us fer a month."

  "I'll never eat bear meat again in my life."

  "You'll eat it. Bahr meat don't differ from any other kind o' meat, the way I see it. Yore jist not used to a-havin' to skin—"

  "Nor will I help you skin anything again, Keely. If you enjoy being up to your elbows in blood and guts, by all means indulge yourself. But I'm not doing that again!" He scrubbed his arms until they reddened.

  "Thought you was a man." She backed up and sat on a good-sized rock, waiting for him to rise to her challenge. She was well aware of how her statement would make him feel, but she no longer cared about his pride. He'd made her mad that afternoon, and he wasn't going to get away with it. S
he still wasn't exactly sure what patronize was, but she suspected it had something to do with upsetting his pride.

  Saxon glowered at her. "I'm in no mood to argue about my masculinity. If my dislike for skinning a bahr makes me less manly in your eyes, so be it. Think exactly what makes you happy."

  She propped her rifle upright and leaned on the stock. "You still got blood on yore cheek."

  Saxon washed his face and promptly got soap in his eyes. "Oh hell! What's in this soap anyway?"

  "I ain't much fer soap makin'."

  "I don't give a damn about what you're much for! I asked you what was in this soap!"

  "Reckon Betty Jane uses wood ashes and animule fat jist like ever'one else."

  Wonderful. He was cleaning himself with ashes. Belatedly he remembered he still had a bar of bay rum scented soap in his saddlebag. Now he was going to smell like the inside of a fireplace. What the hell else was going to happen to him today? "Do you have a good reason for coming out here to watch me bathe?" he snarled. "Perhaps you think I might drown?"

  "You embarrassed?"

  He squeezed the soap so hard it flew out of his hand. As he watched it descend, he knew if he failed to catch it, Chickadee would laugh at him. She was taking great delight in making fun of him, and he knew she was now doing it on purpose.

  The soap, as if guided by heaven, landed directly in his palms. He threw her a smug look but was maddened anew when he saw her condescending smirk.

  "You ashamed o' yore body, Saxon? Is that why yore allus a-runnin' fer cover when you ain't got no clothes on?"

  "I do not run for cover!"

  "Yes you do."

  "No I—" Dammit to hell! Why was he arguing with her? Who cared what she thought anyway? Still, it was just a little too much to bear. "You're not married, and you've had little intimate contact with men, Keely. So how is it you are so well-acquainted with the sight of a nude male?"

  She picked up a handful of small pebbles, and one by one threw them his way. "Me and T.J. Howe used to go a-swimmin' buck-naked. Our mamas never knowed."

  "Have you done that recently?"

  "Nope. Don't seem right now that I'm growed."