Sagebrush Bride

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Or was it her imagination?

  Her flesh prickled, and her heart picked up its tempo, skipping erratically. More than anything, she wanted him to leave her in peace… and yet her brain worked feverishly for a way to keep him with her.

  How could she want both things at once—so desperately?

  “It is if I’m gonna be your guide, Miz Bowcock,” he said softly, mocking her.

  Elizabeth was certain this was as close to offering his help as he would ever come again.

  His breath was warm against the sensitive skin of her neck and she had to fight the dizzying desire to lean back into his broad chest. A shiver passed down her spine, but she covered it quickly, turning to Cutter slowly, her emotions rioting.

  So he meant to help her after all?

  She felt an incredible burst of euphoria and fought the urge to cry out in joy and hug him. Despite her thankfulness, she didn’t dare touch him again. There was no telling what might happen if she did. As it was, her imagination was going haywire. She kept recalling the way he’d looked at her last night. The hunger in his eyes.

  Lord, she felt warm, and her cheeks were burning just thinking about it. But she hated the fact that she needed him. “I didn’t pay much for it,” she conceded grudgingly. “The owner gave me a good price because… well, he said there were a few inconveniences I’d have to overcome.”

  “Such as… ? Don’t tell me—the blamed animal’s barefoot?” His glance shot down to the animal’s hooves.

  Elizabeth gave him an exasperated shake of her head.

  “Uneducated?”

  “Nothing like that,” Elizabeth assured him, her tone carefully subdued, her temper suppressed. “It’s just that she’s… well, she’s Indian-broke.”

  Cutter cocked a brow at her. “Is that all?”

  His tone was patronizing. “Well, not quite,” Elizabeth confessed, though reluctantly. “She’s a few years old. But aside from that, she’s perfectly sound.”

  “Just a few?” Cutter asked, inspecting the animal more closely. And then he suddenly lost his nonchalance. “Damn it, Lizbeth, the fool horse is buzzard bait! You’ve been buffaloed! Who sold it to you?” He seized her by the elbow. “Come on, we’re gonna get your money back!”

  Twisting her arm, Elizabeth freed herself from his grasp, stepping away defensively. “No, we’re not! I wasn’t cheated—and his name is none of your concern! For your information, Mr. McKenzie,” she rushed on without thinking, “this horse was the last one Mr. Monroe had in stock! He hasn’t had any new blood in for a while, and the only reason he sold this one to me was because Mr. Rutherford kept running his mounts into the ground!”

  Cutter’s expression remained disbelieving, and Elizabeth bristled.

  “He did not cheat me!” she insisted, realizing belatedly how her tale must sound. “In fact, he wouldn’t even have sold her if his cousin from the trade store hadn’t recommended me to him.” That, she feared, sounded even worse. Still, she couldn’t simply let it lie. He was looking at her as though she were three kinds of fool. “Anyway, he commanded a very decent price, and I am perfectly satisfied with my purchase! It is my money, after all—and if I am pleased, then it shouldn’t concern—”

  “How much?”

  “None of your—”

  “Fine,” Cutter snapped, cutting off her explanation.

  Her heart leapt as he turned from her and headed back up the stairs, back into the hotel lobby. She knew an instant of incredible panic. She couldn’t let him go this time. She just couldn’t! “That’s it, Mr. McKenzie—walk away! Again!” she shouted a little frantically at his back. “Seems to me it’s what you’re best at—dynamic exits!”

  He halted on the top step, his back to her, and stiffened. The powerful set of his shoulders unnerved her. Again, it struck her how tall he was. As she looked up at him from this angle, he towered over her. After a long moment, he whirled to face her, thrusting a hand into his pocket with a sigh of resignation.

  “Fact is, Doc, if I had even half a brain, I’d do exactly that.” He seemed to consider that statement earnestly, and then he spoke again, putting her mind at ease. “But it seems I mislaid my good sense all of a sudden.” He shook his head regretfully. “No, I’m not gonna walk away—just going in to collect my belongings—unless you care to do it for me?” Removing his hand from his pocket, he adjusted his hat, giving her a harsh look. “I expect you’ll be ready to ride by the time I return.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a command if Elizabeth had ever heard one, but she chose to respond anyway. “I’ll be ready,” she told him sourly.

  “See that you are,” he said, and then he turned on his heels and disappeared into the lobby, his muscular body moving with the easy grace of a powerful cat.

  Refusing to allow herself the indulgence of misgivings, Elizabeth immediately thrust them all to the back of her mind, telling herself resolutely that this was what she’d intended all along—that it was by far the best course of action. There was no other way.

  As it turned out, they didn’t leave Indian Creek until well past noon, after having made one last stop at the general store for supplies.

  Elizabeth didn’t attempt to mount up until then, but opted to lead the mare, instead. Why she felt so reluctant, she didn’t know, but at the moment she wished more than anything that she’d not waited to do so in front of Cutter. Or perhaps that was why she’d waited? His presence, for some odd reason, was reassuring, despite the current hostilities between them.

  To her dismay, her instinct proved correct. Every time she tried to mount the mare, the animal shied away. Granted, she didn’t know all that much about horses—just enough to get her by—but she just couldn’t understand what it was that she was doing wrong.

  Exasperated, her cheeks flushed with exertion—not to mention the humiliation of chasing her mare all over the dusty street—Elizabeth finally met Cutter’s gaze. His eyes, though far from warm, were filled with amusement. As she glared at him, wondering what to do next, how to ask for his help, his smile turned up a notch. She snorted, turning away, determining that if it was the last thing she ever did, she was going to mount the blamed horse all by herself!

  She nibbled her bottom lip a moment, assessing her chances of mounting from the ground. Certainly she wasn’t tall enough to mount just any horse in that manner, but the mare was just short enough to make it possible. More determined than ever, she approached again from the left side, but this time without the slow, predatory movements she’d exercised previously. If she could catch the animal off guard perhaps… ?

  With a running leap, she caught the animal by its withers, only instead of remaining still as it was supposed to do, the mare sidestepped with a snort, and Elizabeth lost her nerve. She stumbled over her feet, barely keeping herself from falling flat on her face, and merely stood there, looking thwarted and annoyed.

  Cutter chuckled.

  Turning to him indignantly, her hands on her hips, she asked, “I suppose you have a better way?” There was defiance in her tone as well as a note of challenge.

  Cutter’s mouth twitched. He crossed his arms, leaning with such an infuriating indifference against the awning post behind him that Elizabeth bristled.

  “Suppose I might,” he said with barely suppressed laughter.

  Was she supposed to drag it out of him?

  “Well?”

  The expression on his face was so smug that she felt like kicking him in the blasted shin! In the short time since she’d met him, he’d made a complete mockery of her rational nature. She’d exhibited more violence in the last two days than she had in her entire lifetime!

  “Lizbeth,” Cutter said softly, eyeing the crowd that was beginning to form around them. “Do you happen to know what Indian-broke means?”

  “Well, of course!” Elizabeth replied, but she really wasn’t so certain. Her hands full of dust and horsehair, she pressed her forearm across her damp forehead, not caring that the gesture was unladylike
. Lord, it was hot! “I assume it means that she was broken in by Indians.”

  “That’s right,” Cutter agreed. There was a sparkle in his eyes as he crooked a finger at her. “Come here.” His voice was so soft that it could have been a whisper. Either that, or Elizabeth was going deaf from overexertion and heat exposure. She wasn’t even aware that she’d obeyed until she was standing before him, and his lips parted again to speak.

  He gripped her arm gently, bringing her closer. The shock of it sent her pulses skittering. He leaned to whisper in her ear, and Elizabeth thought he might be about to kiss her. She ought to slap him before he even tried. That would show him, wouldn’t it?

  “Try mounting up from the right side,” he advised with a deep chuckle and a playful wink. “That’s what Indian-broke means.”

  Hours later, Elizabeth was still chafing over the patronizing way Cutter had informed her of that particular detail. And to think she’d thought he was about to kiss her! And he’d laughed at her! Good night, had he read her mind?

  Despite the fact that the weather couldn’t have been better for travel, two more stormy countenances couldn’t have been found east of the Missouri. Following Cutter’s example, Elizabeth rode in sullen silence, keeping her attention on the landscape itself.

  For the most part they seemed to be riding the bluffs, though at intervals the river disappeared from view completely. He kept the pace brisk, and Elizabeth surmised that Cutter was trying to show her just how worthless her mount actually was. Only, like its rider, the mustang trotted on without protest. She would have spoken up had the horse seemed winded, but until now, it had not.

  Every so often, Cutter changed the pace, walking the horses an interval, but they’d ridden for hours without truly stopping, and her stalwart mare was beginning to show signs of fatigue. Soon, she decided. Soon she would speak up. She thought it might be better if it was Cutter who called the halt, and perhaps he would if she gave him the opportunity. Surely he wouldn’t kill her horse just to spite her?

  Sighing, Elizabeth managed to steal a glance at him. In profile his high cheekbones were striking, his jaw strong and taut. His eyes were hidden from view by his hat, which he wore tilted forward to shade his face from the burning sun. That, she thought wistfully, was something she was going to regret forgetting. Already the ruthless sun was toasting her head. She averted her gaze, but like a moth to a flame, her gaze was drawn to him, prompting her to wonder what it was about the man that drew her to him. And yes, she could deny it to the world, but there was no lying to herself. She was intrigued by Cutter McKenzie. There seemed to be a certain magnetism about him that called to her.

  Seduced her.

  Mesmerized, she stared at the dark hair at his nape that curled into the collar of his shirt, and she swallowed with difficulty. Her glance was drawn helplessly down, to the damp streak between his shoulder blades.

  The heat.

  Mercy, was it warm! Almost desperately, she looked forward to evening, when the sun wouldn’t be around to blister her skin—even the snappy night breezes seemed preferable. Feeling the heat of the sun on her shoulders, the crown of her head, along with the strange feverish flush that came from within, Elizabeth fidgeted in the saddle, searching out a more tolerable position, but she couldn’t find one. Something about the horse’s gait made her feel restless.

  Unbidden, the memory of the kiss they’d shared popped into her mind, and heat spread into the very core of her being. Her brows flickered faintly. Shared? Where had that come from? Stolen! Stolen was more like it! She fidgeted again. As far as she was concerned, she had done nothing to encourage him.

  Or had she? The kiss, as well as the moments before it, were mostly a blur in her mind, with the only tangible recollection being that of her body’s treasonous response to him. Good night, she’d clung to him like… like his sweat-soaked shirt was doing just now…

  Gracious, he had the most distinct muscles.

  What’s wrong with you? Don’t look, she scolded herself.

  But she couldn’t help herself. She watched the movement in his shoulders and back, the easy posture of his body as he rode, and then, realizing that she was staring again, she forced her gaze away.

  Good night, she was as shameless as Bess, she scolded herself. Had he not walked out on her last night… well, she hated to think of what might have happened.

  Had he found her wanting?

  Who cared if he had?

  She cared.

  Had he?

  Her heart skipped a beat at that likelihood. Somehow it seemed terribly important that he not find her lacking. No one had ever looked at her quite like Cutter did at times. No one. And while she tried to be appropriately appalled by the frankness of his gaze, she couldn’t quite muster it. To her dismay, she found herself feeling almost… well, grateful for the way that he had lusted after her. Gracious day, was that it? Did he lust after her? Is that what she saw in his scrutiny? Was that why he’d agreed to help her? In answer, she shook her head, disbelieving it. Surely not?

  Then again, she had awakened yesterday to his exploring hands. Though he’d not touched her besides that, unless, of course, you counted the kiss. And even if you did, he’d left immediately afterward, when he could very well have taken advantage of the situation. Instead, he’d walked away.

  The man was a tangle of contradictions—a tangle she intended to unravel.

  When Cutter slowed his horse to a trot, Elizabeth took advantage of the opportunity, nudging her mount closer. Cutter spared her only a cursory glance, and a slightly longer one for her mare.

  “She’s holding up quite well, don’t you think?”

  Cutter gave her a frown. As far as he was concerned, she was either goading him… or looking for reassurance. He didn’t feel like taking up the gauntlet in either case. Wasn’t in the mood. Somehow he felt thwarted. She’d accepted him, sure enough, but he’d lost something in the bargain. What it was, he didn’t know, but he felt the odd void all the same.

  Just how long did he plan to be put out with her? Elizabeth wondered. He’d had his fun at her expense earlier. Shouldn’t she be the angry one? The least he could do was stay in character. She wasn’t certain how to respond to his brooding.

  “Well, I’m mighty proud if I say so myself,” she told him. And then, realizing she’d spoken defensively, and that it wasn’t likely to help matters between them, she sought to rectify it. “What do you think about Cocoa?” she asked, conversationally.

  “Cocoa?” Turning to her abruptly, Cutter gave her a harassed look. “What about it?”

  Elizabeth patted her mare’s neck affectionately. “I thought I’d call her Cocoa.” Her cheeks warmed under his cutting gaze, but she refused to be embarrassed. “My horse,” she clarified. Rallying her self-defenses, she smiled pleasantly. “It suits her, don’t you think?”

  Still he stared, but the only sound to reach Elizabeth’s ears was the trotting of hooves against the hard ground. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he turned away. Elizabeth was affronted by his rudeness, and her mouth fell slightly open, but she collected herself at once. If they were going to ride the distance together, she decided in that moment, they were going to have to make peace at some point. They couldn’t ride on like this much longer!

  His own horse was a beautiful Appaloosa, dark everywhere but at the haunches, where it paled to a silvery white and had large black spots. The only blemish it bore was on the right ear; half of it appeared to have been lopped off. Still, as fine an animal as it was, she knew he must be very proud of it. “What about yours?”

  “What about it?” Cutter repeated unindulgently, keeping his gaze focused ahead of them. He had no need to look at her at the moment. Her strained tone told him everything he needed to know. He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye, her hair braided so tightly that it stretched the pale skin of her cheeks, slanting her eyes—her face pinched in as though she’d been sucking at lemons.

  He gave her a quick gl
impse—purely out of curiosity—to find that her spectacles had bounced down to a precarious position at the end of her nose, giving. the impression that she peered down on him, though in fact she sat a good deal lower than he did. The turmoil in her expression told him that she was ill at ease with her emotions, and he had the sudden suspicion that she’d led such a repressed life that she now had no notion how to handle herself in her pique. Far from being moved by that revelation, he was annoyed by it, because it drew him to her in ways he ought not to be drawn.

  She pushed her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose. “What do you call him?” she inquired a bit too agreeably.

  Shaking his head, Cutter gave her that look that suggested she might be out of her gourd. “Not a damned thing,” he replied. “I don’t call’m anythin’ but just plain horse.” To his mind, Elizabeth didn’t give him a big enough reaction, prompting him to add, “Only piss-pants and tenderfeet name their animals.” His eyes challenged her, never wavering as he awaited her response. No matter how he looked at it, it just didn’t sit well that he’d given in to her so easily.

  Elizabeth straightened her spine. “I see. So which of the two does that make me—tenderfoot or… or… ”

  “Piss-pant,” Cutter provided, without compunction. She couldn’t even say the word, he thought irascibly. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Damn him anyway, if he was going to let her just up’n hire someone else to play bridegroom for her. Crazy, loony, irritating female—didn’t she know what she’d be setting herself up for?

  Elizabeth’s amber eyes widened in affront.

  Piss-pant! Elizabeth’s mind screeched. Piss-pant? Just how was she supposed to respond to that? Her mouth couldn’t begin to form the words even if she’d known what to say. So much for conversation, she chafed, and deciding that their discourse was definitely over, she tugged irritably on the reins, drawing back and away.

  As she glowered at Cutter’s back, she began once again to doubt the wisdom in making this trek with the volatile man before her. Less than forty-eight hours earlier, she’d been sitting, misty-eyed, at her kitchen table, with a letter in hand destined to change her life forever. Yet, even then, if someone had told her she’d be in the saddle today, riding beside the most contrary man she’d ever laid eyes upon, she’d have called them liar… Well, maybe she wouldn’t have. But here she sat, nevertheless, faced with the dilemma of having to make the best of a situation she’d never have conceived possible.