by Pat Tracy
“We have to get this out in the open, Victoria.”
“No, we don’t. We can just forget what happened, and—”
“We didn’t get any sleep after the storm hit. We’re standing here, exhausted, in wet clothes. We need to build another fire, strip down to our skin and spend the day in camp, resting. It’s going to be difficult for us to do that, if I keep wondering if you would welcome me next to you under that blanket.”
Victoria’s face was on fire. “Don’t wonder! You would most certainly not be welcome. In fact, I’d…I’d…”
She broke off, wishing she had a gun to threaten him with.
“Bludgeon me to death with your book?”
“Don’t make a joke of this,” she said, feeling the helpless sensation of building tears. She would not cry, she told herself. There was no reason to, other than that, when she became overtired, she seemed to become weepy. Why hadn’t she noticed this distressing tendency before? “I will not be taken lightly.”
“My guess is, you won’t be taken at all.”
“Curb your tongue!”
“The point is,” he continued flatly, “I’m not sure I can trust myself around you. Before last night, I thought I could.”
“It was because of the cold, because of the storm, that we ended up in each other’s arms,” she insisted.
“That might have been a part of it,” he conceded. “But we’ve gone too far to pretend nothing happened.”
“Surely, if we both put our minds to it, we can put the unfortunate incident behind us.”
“It would take a better man than I to do that.”
“Be a better man, then!”
“I know what you taste like, Victoria.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve had my tongue all over your breasts. I’ve come within inches of touching your very core.”
She swayed. What a despicable cad he was, to boast of such shameful acts. A sense of foreboding washed over her. His shocking words brought with them a fierce inner melting of her resistance.
Perhaps she was one of those bad women, after all, the kind who didn’t care about marriage, children and making a home, the kind who thought only to gratify their carnal urges.
She hung her head. “There’s no need to humiliate me.”
“I’d like nothing better than to drop the ax I’m holding, pry away the book you’re clutching so tightly that your knuckles have turned white, and raise your stubborn chin so you’re forced to look at me. But if I do, I’m going to want to feel your mouth under mine, and we’re going to be right back where we started.”
“And there probably won’t be another miracle to save us.”
“Victoria.”
At his gruff pronouncement, she raised her head.
“What?”
His dark eyes burned. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Babble about things that don’t make a bit of sense.”
“I do not babble!”
“Yes, you do,” he corrected with surprising tenderness. “And I don’t know why, but it excites me.”
“Don’t blame me for your perverted mind.”
“You should know there are unlimited kinds of perversions,” he told her with skin-prickling silkiness.
She marveled at his talent for setting her nerves on edge with the tone of his voice. He made his words sound as if they were being delivered courtesy of a velvet whip.
“I have no interest in your depravities.”
“That’s it, Victoria. Stoke the heat.” Gone was his former even tone. The edge was back, sharper than ever. “You’ve got to know what you’re doing, standing there with your wet dress plastered to you, using your tongue to whittle me down to size. Every thrust makes me think about doing some thrusting of my own.”
Even though he seemed to think his argument had merit, she thought it obscure. The only thrusting with which she was familiar was that which she’d read about in books, which involved brilliantly executed swordplay. She didn’t know what that had to do with their discussion, though they did frequently fence with the barbed words they exchanged. Perhaps the ax he gripped put him in mind of swords engaged in warfare.
“This craziness you inspire in me is the kind that tempts a man to do a little converting.”
“Converting?” she asked, totally baffled. “What has religion got to do with this?”
“You were the one who brought up the subject of miracles.”
“But I was referring to how the oxen appeared in the nick of time to stop us from doing anything we shouldn’t.”
“You consider that divine intervention?”
“Whatever it was, it worked. Since I don’t plan to come that close to disaster again, this conversation is unnecessary.”
“Not if one of us would convert.”
“I already offered to reform you, and you turned me down. Other than transforming you into a respectable, Godfearing man, there’s no way a good woman is going to want to have anything to do with you.”
Logan’s eyebrows converged. “Are you speaking for yourself, or how you think other women view me?”
Speaking for herself? A horrible suspicion began to grow within Victoria. Was it possible Logan actually believed she would allow him to court her if he was to forsake his loathsome ways? She had no wish to hurt him, to insult him more than she already had, but it had to be made unalterably clear that she wasn’t harboring any thoughts of becoming involved with him.
Was that what he meant by “converting”—that he would change and thereby become acceptable to her? Surely not. It could not have escaped his notice that they were from entirely different worlds. They had absolutely nothing in common, other than a regrettable attraction for each other. They were from completely different social strata. And, well. The unvarnished truth of the matter was that he was much too earthy, indeed much too much a male on the loose, so to speak, to have any place in her life.
Goodness, she could just imagine what Mr. Pritchert and his employer would think, should she show up in Trinity Falls to take over her impressionable ward’s instruction with Logan Youngblood in tow. And there was the little matter of her turning him over to the authorities when they arrived in town. The likelihood that he would be imprisoned was definitely a deterrent to any lasting association between them. Surely he recognized that.
“It’s taking you a long time to answer my question, Victoria.”
There was a harshness to the set of his features that hadn’t been there several seconds before.
“Uh, I forgot what it was,” she admitted, flustered by the bizarre turn the conversation had taken.
“I asked if you think all women hold me in the same obvious contempt you do.”
“Uh, well, I suppose if you were to pay your debt to society and refrain from any additional criminal acts, there would be several women who might allow you to…court them.”
It was all she could do to get the words out. The thought of this rough-and-tumble man courting any woman was beyond her ability to imagine. He seemed more the type to unleash one of those Western lariats she’d read about and lasso himself a mate.
“But what if it was the other way around?” he inquired.
“I don’t understand.”
“What if you were the one to convert?”
“From what?” she asked bewildered. “To what?”
“From being so tightly laced that you’ve lost all feeling in your limbs.”
“That’s ridiculous. I haven’t worn a corset since my first day on the wagon train.”
“You’re not paying attention, Victoria. I’m saying that you could discover what it’s like to live in my world.”
There was no way she could mask the horror his suggestion stirred. “You mean become a common criminal?”
His expression became shuttered. “That idea doesn’t appeal to you?”
“Definitely not!”
“All right, then. I wouldn’t expect you to take part in any…robberies. I would han
dle that aspect of our partnership.”
She stared at him in absolute fascination. At last, when she no longer wished to hear it, came his confession. He was a thief. She experienced a crushing wave of disappointment.
“What is it that you steal, Logan?”
He rolled his eyes, and she thought perhaps it might be bad form to question a robber about such things.
“Cattle, horses, gold, strongboxes, whiskey, rifles, jewelry, mining claims, offerings from the collection box, family Bibles, pet dogs, unattended children…virgins’ maidenheads. All the usual things.”
Victoria felt light-headed. No wonder they’d locked him up and thrown away the key. Of course, there hadn’t been a key. Just a thick iron bar secured between two anchoring posts.
“I see.”
“Naturally, I wouldn’t expect you to take part in those thefts if it offended your sensibilities. But you could tag along the rest of the time.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you would have much free time.”
“Victoria…” he said in clear exasperation.
What did he have to be annoyed about? She was the one who was stuck with a virtual one-man gang.
“Yes, Logan?”
“Do you actually believe what I just told you?”
Feeling as weighed down as the heavy book she gripped, she nodded sadly. “I have no choice but to believe you.”
His expression was watchful. “Of course you do.”
His comment scarcely registered. “So, what you’re asking is for me to become one of the bad women,” she said slowly, finally making sense of his obscure trail of remarks. Indignation grew apace with her comprehension. “You want me to give myself to you without the benefit of marriage, and—”
“Now, be fair, Victoria. You consider yourself so far above me you would never consider marrying me. I wouldn’t want to insult you by proposing.”
“So you’re asking me to do…that thing with you, just for the…fun of it?”
Incredulous, horrified and incensed all at once, she wondered how she could have ever let the blackguard touch her.
He nodded. She thought she saw a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth, but surely she was mistaken. This was no laughing matter.
“I have too much respect to offend you with an offer of marriage when I’m so clearly unworthy of you,” he reiterated. “And it would be more than fun. It would be. earthshaking for us to come together.”
She shook her head. Just a few minutes ago, Logan had said they needed to stay apart. She realized it had been after she casually mentioned that no good woman would want to associate with him that his manner abruptly changed. Clearly, his solution to the problem was to turn her into a. bad woman. The man’s gall was astounding.
“I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.”
“I’d say that just about makes us even then, Victoria.”
“What?”
But he wasn’t looking at her now. His unfathomable gaze had been jerked to something behind her right shoulder. Every muscle and line of his face seemed frozen. She began to turn to see what held his attention.
“Don’t move.”
With stomach-clenching dread, she watched him raise the ax. He paused, suspending it above him, as if waiting for a signal of some kind. Before she could ask for an explanation, he hurled the lethal weapon end over end past her.
It passed so closely by her ear that she heard its sizzling passage. Instinctively she whipped around, dropping the book from her nerveless fingers. She was in time to see the razorsharp blade strike a mountain cat in midjump. There was the sickening sound of impact, ax biting into furred mammal. A feral scream rent the clearing as the attacking beast dropped practically at her feet.
Everything happened so quickly, Victoria didn’t have time to cry out. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t tear her gaze from the cruel sight of the felled creature with the blade protruding from its neck.
Logan strode past her. “I have to make sure it’s dead,” he said starkly. “Do us both a favor, and don’t watch. I don’t want you fainting.”
“I shall endeavor to ‘pass out,’ then,” she muttered, trying to count the colorful dots swimming in front of her. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the earth.
She shut her eyes and put her hands over her ears to block out the sounds of what Logan was forced to do to the animal.
It was a shame that such a beautiful creature had to die before its time. But, clearly, there was no way for wild beasts and people to inhabit the same space.
That thought saddened her. In the space of a few seconds, Logan had demonstrated that he had much of the wild beast within him.
The frightening thought surfaced that perhaps she wouldn’t like him quite so much if he was not exactly as he was. A remorseless thief who, by his own account, was capable of stealing anything not rooted to the ground.
He’d just saved her life, she realized.
Now they were even.
Chapter Twelve
“We’ve got to get out of these wet clothes, Victoria.”
Out of respect for her sensibilities, Logan had already dragged away the dead animal’s carcass. He knew she was still dazed by the unexpectedness of the mountain cat’s lunging attack, and by the expedient manner with which he’d disposed of it.
That she hadn’t retrieved her fallen book showed how shaken she was. Before the attack, throughout their debate, she hadn’t shown any apparent awareness of her wet hair and clothing. Now she stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering.
“Victoria.” He said her name sharply.
She looked up, her gaze clouded. “Yes?”
“You need to get out of those wet clothes.”
A spark ignited in those haunting green eyes of hers. Good.
“You have a one-track mind, Logan.”
Her habit of thinking the worst of him caused another crack in the control he was trying to exert over his temper. Without answering, he stalked to the back of the wagon and leaned inside, searching for dry blankets. When he located a couple, he returned to her.
“Here.” He tossed one to her. “Use this to maintain your precious privacy.”
She caught the blanket and glared at him. “As I’m practically dry now, there’s no reason to undress.”
He bit back an oath. Since she had more clothes in the wagon, her reason from not wanting to change was probably an overabundance of modesty. Firmly gripping her shoulders, he turned her to face the wagon and gave her a firm nudge. “Find yourself something dry to wear. I’ll build a fire.”
She glanced over her shoulder, the one with the torn sleeve. He flatly refused to be enticed by the utterly feminine and innocently seductive gesture. Oh, hell, he was enticed. Her comment about his having a one-track mind rankled. The careless insult made him feel as if he were a lewd-minded lowlife To his way of thinking, she had the part of Little Red Riding Hood down pat. He had no interest, however, in being the Big Bad Wolf, which was how she seemed to regard him.
“You won’t be able to.”
“Won’t be able to what?”
“Build a fire.”
His temper climbed. She was determined to view him as a thief, a reprobate, and inept. Of the three unflattering appraisals, he most dishked being judged incompetent.
“I damn well can build a fire, and you know it.”
“Everything is too wet. There’s no way the wood will burn.”
“Just watch me, lady,” he muttered under his breath.
Feeling as if his manhood had been challenged, Logan set about building a raging inferno that would make the doubting Easterner eat her words.
He started by pulling handfuls of grass and piling several inches of it across the burned-out shell of the campfire they’d used the night before. A slight breeze had already dried the wispy blades of greenery. Next, he snapped dead twigs off fallen branches that littered the forest floor. Using the ax, he hacked a dozen or so small limbs from those s
ame branches. Finally, he propped several thick logs against each other over the bed of kindling, creating a threefoot-high tepeelike structure.
He looked up and watched Victoria circle the wagon. Obviously she intended to use the conveyance to block his view of her. What she hadn’t taken into consideration was that with him kneeling, he had an excellent view of her bare legs as she stripped away her sodden garments. Since she had the entire wagon between herself and him, he didn’t think he’d see anything particularly private.
But those wheels were large in comparison to her When she stooped down to pick up something, he caught a flash of her lithe body. The unexpected view of her feminine assets lasted only seconds, but everything worth seeing was branded onto Logan’s brain. His breath jammed in his throat. Other predictable physical reactions followed. His blood ignited, just as the tender shoots of dry grass caught the spark from the two flintlike rocks he’d struck together.
He glanced away. He hadn’t meant to spy on her. Against his will, he returned his gaze to the wagon. She’d straightened. All he could see were her shapely calves. Her skin was pale and smooth. From this distance, he couldn’t determine whether those winsome freckles extended to her slender limbs.
Unable to pry his renegade stare from the glimpses of Victoria’s body, Logan watched her use the blanket to dry her legs, which meant she was bending down again. Her waist was trim, and her hips were gently flared. Her breasts were sweetly lush and delicately crowned with strawberryhued tips. She was so damnably beautiful, she took his breath away. So damnably soft and feminine. So damnably…brave and stubborn, he thought, unable to regard her as merely a desirable female body, when she was so much more.
When he emerged from the forest and saw her with that thick book in her hands, his heart had taken a peculiar lurch. She’d looked for all the world like a drowned cat, clearly frightened but determined to face any potential threat. He’d wanted to take her into his arms, to kiss her until the fog rolled away and the sun came out—until nightfall, for that matter.
He prided himself on curbing the impulse. Then she’d started in again on her favorite subject—his base nature and its urgent need to be reformed. If he’d just had one sign that she’d elevated her opinion of him, he might have told her who he was.