Courting the Corporal

by Heather McCorkle

  Catriona swallowed hard. A crushed foot out here could be a death sentence. It would be so much easier to dislike this man if he’d stop being so damn chivalrous. She distracted herself by fetching Galiha, who was coming out of the water behind her. The gelding lingered at the water’s edge and didn’t shy away at her approach. If anything, he seemed to be waiting for her. Lincoln danced alongside the horse, wagging his tail and bouncing on his hind legs as if to splash the horse on purpose. Still, the horse didn’t move. Catriona shook her head at the big painted gelding as she took hold of his reins.

  “You are quite unlike my thoroughbreds, creature,” she told him.

  He snorted and shook water from his mane, splashing it all over her and Lincoln. With a bark, Lincoln took off in Rick’s direction. Laughing, she held an arm up to ward off the worst of it as the horse continued to shake.

  “He is, at that. But ’tis not the only reason he lingers. He likes you,” came Rick’s slight baritone voice from directly behind her.

  The sound stirred her blood and tightened parts of her that were already too tight considering current company. But then, if they weren’t in their current company, that would mean they’d be alone together which would make it far more inappropriate. With more effort than she was comfortable with, she reined in her desire. It angered her that a man could stir her in this way. After her husband, she never wanted to be attracted to a man again. She took hold of that anger, focused on it, let it strengthen her resolve.

  “Unlike his owner,” she snapped as she cast him a reproachful look over her shoulder.

  That one glimpse nearly undid her resolve. Breeches wet up to the waist clung to Rick’s fit legs and outlined the bulge at his groin. Her backward glance became a stare as the sight captivated her. For a moment, she couldn’t remember what she’d been mad about. It came rushing back when her eyes made it up to Rick’s face and found him grinning like a cat on milking day. In a huff that ended in a frustrated grunt, she turned back to her horse and began to swing up into the saddle. Once mounted, she found Rick’s gaze still locked on her. The large grin on his face made her realize she had given him an eyeful, considering how her wet breeches clung to her behind.

  “Never said I didn’t like you,” Rick said with a shrug of one shoulder.

  Focusing a little too hard on wringing the water from her clothing, she urged Galiha forward. He jumped into an uncharacteristic trot all too quickly. The surprised grunt that issued from her along with the scramble for her saddle horn had Rick laughing with abandon. She mumbled a few curse words in Gaelic under her breath—something she hadn’t done in years.

  Rick’s eyes shot open wide. He glanced in the direction of the two wagons working their way onto the trail just ahead. “I didn’t realize you knew Gaelic,” he said in a soft tone.

  She grinned. “I learned it as a lass to defy my parents. Later, I even kept up on the study of writing and reading it to further aggravate my husband.” The memory of defying her parents’ wishes to wipe the language from her memory so she’d fit in better delighted her to no end. On the other hand, the one of defying her husband brought all manner of painful things back.

  “But your husband was Irish as well. I would think he’d want you to remember your heritage, even if your parents didn’t,” Rick said.

  Though she kept her head held high, she suddenly found herself wishing she’d held her tongue instead. “He believed it made us seem low class.” It both surprised and pleased her to find that she remembered it. Defying him, even after death, felt good.

  Blowing air out between his pursed lips, Rick shook his head as he swung up onto his horse. “That’s a load of shite. No disrespect to the deceased intended. Forgetting our heritage is forgetting all our ancestors did to get us this far,” he said.

  The words sent a swelling of pride through her that made it impossible to respond. It was best she didn’t anyway. To agree would be to sound low born, and to disagree would be a lie. She wasn’t willing to do either just yet. Rick’s ability to speak his mind so freely, to openly believe what he wanted, and to not care what others thought was enviable beyond measure. Enviable, and admirable. But she was no rogue free to do and say as she pleased. She was the widow O’Brian, head of the organization of the Widows of the 69th. A woman of station such as herself had to watch her every move and her every word. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that, not even out here in the wilds of America.

  The bearded man from the nearest wagon waved and called out to them. “You’re welcome to break bread with us if you wish. We’d be happy to have you as thanks for your help.”

  Rick waved back. “Thank you, kindly, but we’ll have to pass. The missus and I plan to get atop the hill by nightfall. You folks take care, now, and safe travels to you,” he called back.

  Rather than ride up to and past them, Rick steered his horse off the rutted trail and onto the tall green grass of the hill beside it instead. After a good shake that sent puppy-scented droplets flying everywhere, Lincoln trotted next to him. The urge to protest had Catriona chewing her bottom lip. As much as she would enjoy a leisurely stroll alongside the wagons, they couldn’t afford to take the time. They’d cross double the ground or more on their own. A squeeze of her legs and shift of the reins steered the paint after Rick’s buckskin.

  The people from the wagon called out farewells and Catriona and Rick returned them in kind. Before them loomed the green, flower-spotted expanse of California Hill. Truly, it didn’t look as intimidating as she had imagined it. People described it as an arduous climb that left wagons broken and horses dead exhausted. To her it merely looked like a good day’s hack across the countryside. She knew she may not feel that way after the mile and half or so of traversing its two-hundred-plus-foot incline.

  Once they were well away from the wagons, she looked to Rick. A slight smile pulled at his lips as his eyes cast out across the expanse of perfect blue sky.

  “Missus, huh?” Catriona teased.

  “Can’t have them thinking ill of you,” Rick answered in an honest tone.

  “Thank you for that.” She shook her head. “You’re a puzzle, Mr. Fergusson. Not quite the rogue I initially thought you were.”

  Rick’s dark brows rose into his long bangs. “You think me a rogue?”

  The way all that dark hair framed his eyes made them stand out brilliantly. The scruff of beard he sported certainly lent to the roguish look, one that was quite handsome if she was being honest with herself. She found honesty overrated in this instance. Frustrated at how easily he distracted her, she forced her eyes back to the hill before them.

  “Well, you certainly look the part, and your lack of interest in all things proper supported the belief,” she said in as detached a tone as she could fake.

  “But you don’t think me a rogue now?” he pressed.

  She could hear the smile in his voice, but she refused to look at him to see if it actually pulled up his full lips. Just thinking about it was enough to make her jaw—and other muscles—clench. “I didn’t say that. But I am starting to realize there’s more to you than that,” she admitted.

  “Sound like maybe you don’t entirely dislike me, either.”

  That drew her gaze, and a smile. “Not entirely,” she said.

  Something flashed in his eyes—concern, fear, maybe? But what on Earth could this man have to fear from her? Her horse suddenly lurched beneath her, pitching her forward in the saddle. Grabbing hold of the horn, she just barely managed to stop herself from going over his head. After a few limping steps, she reined him to a stop.

  She called up to Rick, who had traveled a few paces ahead. “Hold up, something is wrong with Galiha.”

  Not waiting for him, she dismounted. A touch at the back of Galiha’s left foreleg made him lift it for her. She took a pick from her pocket and began to clean the dirt and grass from his hoof. The horseshoe moved when sh
e knocked the pick against it.

  “Oh no, he’s about to throw a shoe,” she said.

  Leather creaked, and suddenly Rick’s shadow fell over her. She looked up to find him hovering over her with a small hammer in one hand and horseshoe nails in poking through the fingers of another.

  “No worries, I’ll get him right as rain.”

  Her brows rose into her hair. “You can shoe a horse?” She blew out a sharp breath. “Of course you can.” Was there anything this man couldn’t do? Damn. A capable man was oh-so-attractive. As if he needed anything to make him more attractive.

  She let go of Galiha’s hoof and stepped back to give Rick room to work. Rick cleaned the hoof out a bit more, inspected it, and set to work putting new nails in. Galiha stood patiently for all of it. A flick of his tail on the last tap of the hammer caught Rick in the face. Laughter burst from Catriona before she could stop it. Inside, she cringed at the mistake. But Rick only laughed along with her. It was a stark reminder that not all men were like her late husband.

  Rick shook his head and patted Galiha on the shoulder. “That ought to hold you ’til we get to the next outpost, lad,” he said.

  He turned to her and offered her his hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it. Solid as a rock, he steadied her as she began to climb into the saddle. Galiha took a step back and into her, sending her sprawling backward. A solid body slowed her fall. Arms caught her and pulled her against a hard chest. They fell to the ground in an undignified heap, but Rick absorbed all the impact and provided a soft landing for her. She ended up on his lap, wrapped in his arms. The warmth of his groin against her buttocks was scorching in a wonderful way that sent heat all through her. Only inches away, his emerald eyes drew her in. This close, she realized they had lovely swirls of a darker green running through them. But that wasn’t all. A desire to match her own filled them.

  Heart thudding faster with each breath, she forced her gaze from his. Her good intentions backfired as her gaze snagged on his lips. Though stubble surrounded them, it couldn’t hide how soft and full they looked. She forced herself to look farther down still. His tunic gaped open, revealing muscles defined by hard work. He began to lean down toward her. Caught like a rabbit in a trap she didn’t want to get out of, she looked back up at him. Those luscious lips came for her, and damn if she didn’t lift her chin to meet him halfway.

  Before their lips could meet, his body tensed, and they were suddenly moving. He lifted her in his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. As he carried her to Galiha, his head remained bowed low, his face only inches from hers. The grin tugging at his lips, and the playfulness dancing in his eyes just about drove her out of her mind. Her mouth fell open, preparing to deliver a scathing remark, but words failed her.

  This time Galiha stood motionless as he lifted her onto his back. Rick tucked her foot into the stirrup, his hand lingering on her calf, sending tingles straight up to her middle. Slowly, he drew his hand away and patted the horse on the flank. He gave her a crooked smile that was lazy and content with the look of a man who knew the effect he had on a woman. She wanted to curse him for the look, but instead, her lips turned up into a smile that she had to work hard to stifle.

  “Sorry about that. He never pulls stunts like that,” Rick said.

  His gaze held hers, and he licked his lips as if savoring an imaginary taste. Forcing herself to look to up the hill, she made a “harrumphing” sound. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you both planned it,” she said. While she’d meant for it to come out with a tone of indignity, instead it sounded breathy with anticipation.

  Rick wiggled his eyebrows. “If I could have trained him to do such a feat, I certainly would have had him do it sooner,” he said through a grin as he climbed into the saddle.

  Shaking her head, Cat laughed. Propriety said that she should be angry, or at least irritated that he had taken such liberties. But her body said something altogether different. This time, as they continued their trek up the hill, they shared long looks that she didn’t feel compelled to break. Rick was different from Michael in every way. Perhaps opening herself up to him, at least a little, wouldn’t be such a bad thing. In fact, it was beginning to seem like it could be a very good thing.

  Chapter 11

  Twilight streaked the perfect blue sky with pink and red by the time they reached the top of California Hill. Considering they hadn’t crossed the river until early that evening, they’d made good time. The wide-open plateau of grasslands offered them no shelter. They wouldn’t be able to stop here for the night. But he had a place in mind. If only he could keep his mind on it.

  He couldn’t stop staring at Catriona, and worse, wishing he had kissed her. She would have let him. He could tell by the way she had lifted her chin toward him and started to close her eyes. Pink and orange light outlined her curvy silhouette and played across her hair, making it look like it was on fire. Looking at her made him ache in the most wonderful way. But he couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t. When looking at her, he could see a future, something he hadn’t been able to do since the war. He decided, propriety be damned, he was going to kiss her.

  “Where will we camp?” Catriona asked, sounding a bit worried as her eyes scanned the grasslands.

  He loved that she was quick to realize the danger of camping out in the open. Such astuteness made her an easier traveling companion. But it also meant she was afraid, and that was something he had hoped to spare her.

  With a lift of his chin, he indicated where the opposite side of the hill began to slope down. “Ash Hollow is just down the way. We can shelter in the trees by the water at the bottom.”

  Relief softened her features and smoothed out the lines between her red brows. For the last hour he had desperately wanted to do that with his fingers, but his words would have to do. For now. She was MacBranain’s sister-in-law, for God’s sake. And a lady of high society on top of that. Those two things alone should have doused the desire she stirred in him. But they didn’t.

  He squeezed his horse forward, needing to get Catriona out of his direct line of sight so he could focus. The buckskin lifted its head from grazing and set off at a brisk pace. Emitting a small bark, Lincoln took off like a shot out ahead of them. In only a few paces, they began the descent through a smattering of tart-scented ash trees and sweet fir. The scents put Rick at ease, reminding him of home. And after nothing but open grasslands for a while, their cover was more than welcome. The heat of the day had already dried out his boots and breeches. The spring waiting in the bottom of the hollow sounded better by the moment. His horse seemed to agree, keeping up a good pace despite the decline that kept him back on his haunches.

  Feathery boughs and lush green leaves provided much needed shade. The relief of having the hot sunshine off his skin drew a deep sigh from Rick. As he leaned back in the saddle to balance his descending horse better, his eyes shifted to the valley below. All the favorable campsites he could see were blessedly free of other travelers. To come across another was usually rare, but it did happen, especially in the summer months. The wagons back at the river were proof enough of that. One day later and they’d be sharing the valley below with that lot for the evening. Not a bad thing if they were good people, but Rick preferred solitude. The way his body reacted to the voice of Catriona talking to her horse contradicted that thought.

  She was a talker, that one, always chatting with some animal or another. More often with him. Consumed by thoughts of her, he didn’t see the swish of a horse’s tail poke out from behind one of the trees below until it was too late. No sooner had he seen the black tail flick than a gunshot cracked through the stillness of the valley. A great pressure collided with his chest. Air left his lungs in a forced rush and he couldn’t pull it back in. The pressure registered as blinding pain a moment later. He slumped forward. His abdominal muscles refused to work through the pain to pull him back up. Head-firs
t, he tumbled over his horse’s neck and began to roll down the hill.

  Had he been able to catch his breath, he would have grunted at the pain his continued tumble caused, but he couldn’t even do that. Finally, his grasping hands locked around a bush with roots strong enough to stop him. The jerking halt made fresh pain shoot through his chest. He pulled in a few burning breaths, but held his tongue. With a monumental effort and pain to match, he rolled over so he could check his chest. That alarming feeling of immense pressure was one he knew all too well. He’d been shot. Dirt, grass, and a few sticks soiled his beige shirt, but not a speck of blood. In his shirt pocket his fingers found the source of his salvation; his da’s old flask. Having it there was no accident. In the war he’d seen many a soldier saved by a medallion, flask, or other large piece of metal carried close to their heart.

  Leaving the flask where it was, he rolled back over and forced himself up onto his hands and knees. A few blinks cleared away the blackness caused by the pain in his chest. His eyes scanned the hill. He had tumbled so far he could no longer see his horse or Catriona. How he had missed the trees dotting the hill, he had no idea. The rustling pad of inhuman feet through the grass and underbrush came from his left. He looked over just in time to see the pink canine tongue reaching for the side of his face. Relief over the pup being alive dulled his pain.

  After a quick scratch to Lincoln’s brown and black head, he held a finger to his lips. The pup cocked his head. Rick’s brow furrowed into what he hoped was a stern look. Lincoln plopped down. This earned him another pat to the head. For good measure Rick held his finger to his lips again just in case. Knowing the dangers of the trail often called for a need for silence, Rick had taught him this trick while on the train. The pup had taken to it as if it were a game.

  Underbrush rustled up the hill from him. Lincoln perked to attention, nose shooting in that direction, but he didn’t move. The cream coat and black mane of his horse flashed in and out of the trees and bushes as it made its way down the hill. Shadows and yellow grass might have hidden the horse if not for the noise he made. But seeing as he was clearly not on the creature’s back, that might work to his advantage by drawing attention away from where he lay. His eyes kept scanning the hill.