by Pat Tracy
Everything about her manner bespoke Eastern refinement.
There wasn’t a single reason for her to be running loose in the Idaho Territory. He knew one thing for sure; she wouldn’t be looking for work at Jubilee Joe’s or any of the other saloons dotting Main Street.
A grin caught him by surprise as he visualized the prim and proper Victoria Amory serving drinks at a local saloon. She’d probably present each glass of whiskey with a linen napkin and a severe warning about the moral dangers of intemperance.
The image of Victoria in a spangled red gown rose fully blown in Logan’s mind. The dress was low-cut, and short enough to show her knees. Her perky little breasts would be all but spilling out of the tight-fitting bodice and her ankles would be trim and well shaped. There would be a scattering of golden freckles across her creamy flesh, he was certain. Surely those impudent little spots wouldn’t stop at the high collar of her conservative green dress.
Logan swallowed, trying to curb his runaway imaginings. He couldn’t believe he was sitting next to this prissymannered female, seeing her in a flashy outfit that she’d probably rather be shot in than be seen wearing. It was the time he’d spent in the stockade, he assured himself, that was making his mind play tricks on him. That, and the fact that it had been a while since he’d been able to keep company with one of Trinity Falls’s cheerfully irreverent fancy women. Ever since Madison had become part of his life several months ago, he’d been reluctant to pursue his usual nighttime encounters with Cherry, Jasmine, or any of the other gals who didn’t demand a wedding ring in exchange for their favors.
That was definitely going to change when he returned to town. He would find a way to pick up the threads of his former life without tarnishing Madison’s world. Either that, or he was going to become a menace to decent women, because, like it or not, all he could do was think carnal thoughts about Victoria’s sensuously shaped mouth and her tidy little breasts and her gently flared hips and—
Lord, he was losing his mind. There was nothing the least bit appealing about the prudish woman. And he was going to keep repeating that small lie to himself all the way home.
Chapter Seven
Slashes of twilight stalked the day’s waning brightness. Restless shadows scuttled beyond the ever-shrinking horizon, disappearing into gaping holes of blackness. Unpredictable crosscurrents of chilling breezes cut through Victoria’s clothing. She shivered, glancing uneasily about.
When Logan finally brought their team to a halt, night’s rapid descent had transformed the mood of the dense pine woods to one of danger.
“Well, we’re here.”
“Wh-where’s here?” That the question came out in a dazed squeak didn’t surprise her.
It required a spurt of determination for her not to scoot across the seat and draw closer to Logan. She was startled by the need to seek comfort from a near stranger, especially this intimidating one. Her self-sufficiency was a trait she’d always taken pride in. Yet tonight, in this alien landscape, she battled the urge to reach out and touch Logan’s sleeve, to reassure herself that she wasn’t alone in this isolated stretch of timberland.
Valiantly she subdued the treacherous weakness. He might not be the despicable criminal she’d originally thought, but it wouldn’t be wise to become too familiar with him. It had been drilled into her since girlhood that distinct barriers must be maintained between herself and any member of the opposite sex.
The one occasion when she’d violated that stricture had been when she tried to aid Horace Threadgill in his battle against a homicidal bee. Look where that innocent act had landed her! In the middle of a wilderness, in the company of a man who’d entered her life under the most suspect circumstances!
Logan stepped down from the wagon. “This is where we will spend the night.”
She squinted into the thickening darkness. Just beyond the oxen’s shifting feet, she made out the outline of a narrow stream cutting across the nearly invisible trail they’d been following.
“I’ll unhitch the team so they can drink,” he went on to say. “We’ll be on the move again at first light.”
He was back to issuing orders. Victoria was too sore and tired, though, to make an issue of that fact. All she wanted was to stretch out on a blanket under the wagon.
She climbed down, painfully aware of the numbed but tender portion of her anatomy that had endured the jarring slap of the lurching wagon seat for their seemingly endless day of travel. Her thigh muscles trembled, and for a moment she wasn’t sure her legs would support her. It was because of the relentless pace he’d set and the rough terrain they’d covered that she was feeling so battered.
She stood beside a broad-spoked wheel, shivering as the rising mountain wind buffeted her. She knew she ought to do something useful, like find the extra pan biscuits she’d made the night before, at the fort. Her mind seemed incapable of provoking her body to movement, however.
“Victoria?”
She started. Had Logan already finished freeing the oxen so that they could drink? Surely she hadn’t been idle that long.
“What?”
She raised her head and tried to focus her blurred vision on the towering figure that had materialized before her.
“You look dead on your feet.”
She was too tired to take offense at his blunt remark. How could one argue with the truth?
“I’ll be all right. Just give me a minute.”
The mumbled request floated from her lips while she continued to stand in a stupor, knowing she should be doing something, but lacking the energy to decide what that something was.
A pair of strong hands settled on her weary shoulders. “I know I pushed us hard today, Victoria.”
She wanted to shrug off the unexpected gentleness of his tone, just as she wanted to shrug off the weight of his firm touch. She was incapable of doing either. The concern that laced his deep voice pierced a vulnerable spot within her. A sting of moisture filled her eyes. His hands massaged her sore shoulder muscles in slow, steady circles.
She tried to stand straight. She’d come this far alone. She was a resilient woman who didn’t need the respect of her parents, the loyalty of her sister or the association of friends. And she certainly didn’t need this man to offer comfort.
To Victoria’s horror, she felt the burning sensation of tears that would not be denied. The hot wetness welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks in emotional rivers of release. Somehow her face became pressed against Logan’s shirt.
She hated breaking down. She wanted to be strong. Besides, he was her prisoner. If anyone should be weeping, it was him. The more she struggled to subdue her tears, however, the freer they fell. His palms stroked her back. She felt as if she’d found shelter from a fierce mountain storm within the arms of this menacing stranger.
Which wouldn’t do at all, the logical side of her mind pointed out. As the flow of tears ebbed, that inner voice grew louder. She sought to extricate herself from his surprisingly tender embrace. That was what her mind instructed her to do, anyway. Her body seemed to have ideas of its own, however, and she couldn’t quite seem to pull free.
He held her with more than the indisputable strength of his arms. He held her with the silent solace another human being could transmit to another. The powerful cadence of his heartbeat kept time with a mysterious rhythm that soothed her ragged sense of control. His earthy, manly scent permeated her senses.
The feeling that she was close to experiencing something rare, something meaningful, momentarily drifted through her numbed thoughts before dissipating into the night air.
With a final, and this time successful, lunge for selfmastery, Victoria eased herself from Logan’s hold. As before, when he’d assisted her from the wagon, she thought she detected the smallest hesitation on his part before he released her.
“I’m sorry. I can’t think what came over me.”
Glaringly aware that Logan’s shirtfront had been drenched by her tearful assault,
she braced herself for the words that would reveal his male superiority at her deplorable weakness.
In a like circumstance, her father would have been coldly contemptuous of her feminine frailty. Though, when she was growing up, she’d never known for certain whether her father’s disdainful attitude toward any form of human weakness was because he was a judge and therefore immune to sentiment, or because it went against his nature to view with patience any female shortcoming.
“It’s my fault,” Logan shocked her by saying. “I drove us pretty hard. What you need is food and a good night’s sleep.”
“Those chokecherries didn’t go very far.” She took a surreptitious swipe at her eyes, striving to compose herself.
A huge yawn came from nowhere, overwhelming her. She pushed back the hair that had fallen into her eyes. Her fingers brushed her sunbonnet’s wide brim, and she reached up to jerk it off. “Did you think to bring the extra pan biscuits from last night?”
His arm came around her waist, and he guided her forward. “I not only brought the biscuits, but I made a quick search of the fort and found some jerked beef and tins of peaches. I didn’t want to take the time to dig them out earlier. Just because tonight’s a cold camp, that doesn’t mean we’re going to starve.”
Victoria yawned again, thinking that whatever Logan Youngblood’s moral flaws, he did boast some favorable qualities. Like kindness and an enterprising attitude.
He went to the unhitched wagon and entered it. It wasn’t long before he emerged with several blankets. He spread them beneath the high-wheeled conveyance, then raised his head from his crouched position. “Come here.”
She staggered forward, feeling as if she’d exhausted the last particle of her energy. As she knelt to slip beneath the wagon, every muscle she possessed cried out in distress. Again Logan’s hands came to the rescue. He absorbed most of her weary weight and drew her the rest of the way onto the blankets.
It felt so wonderful to stretch out. She closed her eyes, even as she felt Logan lay another blanket over her.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” came his low, disembodied voice. “I’m going to unhook your walking shoes. I noticed you slept in them last night. If we don’t get them off for a few hours, your feet are going to swell.”
“That’s nice…”
She thought she heard him chuckle. “You’re really tuckered out, aren’t you, little deputy?”
“Little deputy?”
“Since I don’t think you’re planning on earning a reward by turning me in to the sheriff when we get to Trinity Falls, I won’t insult you by calling you a bounty hunter.”
His words made little sense. But his tone was unusually warm, she thought. Even though she couldn’t see his battered features with her eyes shut, she suspected he might be smiling.
The blanket shifted, and a cool breeze rustled over her as he fumbled with the fastenings on her shoes. The sensation of being taken care of brought a tightness to her chest. A few unshed tears, the last of the torrent she’d released in his arms, trickled down her cheeks. His touch reminded her of her mother’s ministrations when Victoria was a child.
“Rest for a few minutes.”
As if she needed him to tell her to.
Victoria surrendered gratefully to the cloud of sleepiness that descended over her. She had no idea how much time had passed before she felt Logan shake her shoulder. She closed her eyelids tighter and willed him to leave her in peace.
“You need to eat before you fall completely asleep.”
Too late, she thought rolling to her side. “Go away.”
He continued to shake her. How could she have thought him kind? He was the cruelest creature alive to try and waken her.
“Here, at least have a biscuit.”
She opened her eyes. He was hunched over her, proffering the leftover food. She frowned, raising herself to her elbows.
He was little more than a shadow. She opened her mouth to explain that she didn’t want anything to eat. Evidently he could see her better than she could see him, because he pressed the hard flour lump to her lips.
“Eat this,” came the gruff order. “We’ll save the peaches for the morning, when you can enjoy them.”
She bit down on the biscuit and chewed. It was flavorless, but she had to admit, several bites later, that it was filling. Such was her fatigue that the act of swallowing the dry mouthfuls increased her weariness.
“Drink this.” She felt the edge of the canteen pressed against her lips. She tipped her head and drank deeply.
“Thank you,” she said again when her thirst was quenched.
“Such a polite little deputy…”
His gritty observation danced through her disoriented thoughts. He lowered her to the pallet of blankets.
“Such a considerate big bad villain.”
As she dozed on the brink of oblivion, she felt his firm touch upon her stockinged feet. It was to the wondrously pleasurable sensation of him massaging her aching arches that she lost her last grasp of coherent reflection.
Something solid cradled Victoria. She snuggled closer to the center of her secure haven. She was dreaming, and in the way of many dreams, she had an awareness that what was happening wasn’t real. Because she knew, of course, that she wasn’t a red-feathered bird, weaving a nest high atop a lodgepole pine.
Yet it was gloriously inspiring to view the forest from a swaying pine bower, and she savored the mind’s magic that made it possible. She was close enough to the sun to warm her feathers against its golden heat. The clouds floating beneath her reminded her of the white, billowing sails that dotted Boston Harbor.
She felt invincible! As soon as she finished fussing with the last of the twigs she’d brought to her pine paradise, she would have a nest to rival those of any of her winged neighbors.
A shadow flitted across her sanctuary. Victoria looked upward. The proud, powerful descent of a great blackwinged eagle caught her attention. She held her breath, waiting for the predatory bird to alter his course, but he didn’t deviate from his path. He boldly invaded her perfect little nest.
Anger pricked Victoria. There wasn’t room in the cozy nest for both of them. He didn’t belong here. He was trespassing…but his beak was most impressive, however.
“Victoria, stop it.”
A man’s chiding voice came from the eagle’s curved beak.
“You must go,” she told the intrusive bird. “There isn’t room for you.”
“There was plenty of room last night.”
Victoria’s eyelids slammed open. Logan Youngblood’s somewhat blurred countenance appeared at the tip of her nose.
She gasped. The self-serving brute had invaded her bed while she slept. Her head rested against his shoulder, and one of her arms was draped around his waist. Their legs were intertwined, and her skirts were hiked up almost to her knees. As these appalling circumstances penetrated her sleep-fogged brain, Victoria sprang into movement.
She tried to twist from him, but her loosened hair conspired to foil her efforts to obtain her freedom. The unanchored strands were trapped under his unyielding shoulder.
“Let me go, you—you blackguard!”
Instead of retreating, he rolled forward so that he sprawled across her, pinning her beneath his heavy body. His fierce gaze bored into her. Their faces were so close, their eyelashes almost collided. She swallowed. In the morning light, his beleaguered countenance was sporting even more bruised colors.
“Good morning, Victoria.”
The benign greeting was so at odds with his threatening expression and her struggles to wrest herself from his possession that she was taken aback.
She licked her lips, struggling for composure, struggling to control her heart’s desperate pounding. The direction of his morose glare lowered to her lips. This certainly wasn’t the first time she’d felt his stare on her mouth. But Logan was closer than he’d ever been before. His substantial body seemed to touch her everywhere.
She felt the rigid length of him lodged bluntly against her bunched-up skirts. His raspy breathing gusted gently across her upturned face. An increased harshness sharpened his already severely stamped features.
She held her breath as a new, elemental knowledge pumped through her. She’d never puzzled it out logically before. But now, with this hard-edged invader draped across her, she understood intuitively how man was fashioned to couple with woman. She blinked, wondering how she could have lived so long without putting all the pieces together.
This must be the passionate act Rochester had contemplated experiencing with dear, sweet Jane Eyre. What Lancelot and Guinevere had done to betray King Arthur. What Mr. Darcy expected from the sensible Miss Elizabeth Bennet once they were wed. What her own father had surely done once or twice with her mother, though she found that last thought somewhat farfetched.
Victoria supposed that, since she’d never been called upon before to utilize this knowledge, it had lain dormant within her, awaiting that moment when she would be called upon to deliver her innocence. Surely this wasn’t that moment!
Slowly she released the breath she’d been holding. She knew he could feel the warm exhalation of air upon his face, just as she felt his breath upon her skin.
What an incredibly intimate act. To share the same air.
Logan’s head lowered. She knew without asking that he was going to kiss her. Stop him! warned a cautionary inner voice that saw to such things as survival. It was the same voice that would have advised her to flee a burning building or—
He didn’t close his eyes.
His smooth lips brushed against her closed mouth.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. Her breath came in jerky, shallow pants that provided little air and somehow intensified the incredible tension between herself and the man whose broad chest rested against her breasts.