Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance)

by Ivey , Kimberly

  “I’m sorry about your face.” She took a tentative step toward him. “I really didn’t want to hurt you—just keep you from catching me.” Her hand lifted, but she withdrew. “Do you have anything to clean that up with?”

  He doused his neckerchief with water from the canteen, then handed it to her “Did you run away because I frightened you last night?”

  “No.” She gingerly touched the cloth to his cheek and he winced at the sting.

  “I only took your clothes to discourage an escape attempt, not for any other purpose.”

  “If it makes any difference…what happened last night in the cave by the fire was… nice. I wasn’t afraid.”

  A shudder rippled through him at her confession. He hadn’t expected such candor from one who claimed innocence and didn’t quite know what to make of it. As she gently sponged the puncture wounds, he risked at glance at her face. Her eyes were filled with concern…and regret. Not the expression he expected from one who both despised and feared him.

  He turned his face abruptly and she jerked, her gaze locking with his. The same as last night when he awakened her with his touch. Desire.

  His pulse quickened. Hers too as evidenced by her short, shallow breaths. He watched the pupils in her whiskey colored eyes dilate. Lifting a hand, he stroked along her jawline and chin and she leaned ever so slightly into his touch, a mild shudder racking her body.

  What the hell was he doing? He jerked his hand away. She blinked as if startled, too. He grasped her by the hand and led her to Dinishwo, then helped her up before swinging up behind her.

  “Show me where you left my sketches.” He was all too aware of the tremble in his voice.

  She pointed in the direction he’d come. “Want to tell me what the drawings are for?

  “No.” And he didn’t.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was a long day’s journey over the rocky terrain. They rode in silence for hours, following the course of the muddy wash and stopping only twice to water the horse and fill the canteen. His decision to have her ride in front had been yet another mistake. Her soft bottom had rocked against his crotch for miles, caressing him, stroking him to a feverish state of arousal. Her antics that morning had also delayed them from reaching Sonny’s encampment by several hours

  At dusk, he spotted a few small campfires miles across the canyon. However, with night closing in, he thought it safer to seek shelter beneath a massive rock overhang and meet up with his cousin in the morning.

  For several hours he watched thunderheads building far off on the western horizon, but the storm posed no immediate threat. He reined in the bay and dismounted, then helped her down and allowed her a moment’s privacy behind the rocks.

  “Do not even think of running away,” he warned as he searched for a secluded spot. It had been a long time since he had resorted to self-pleasuring, but occasionally it made the lonely times bearable. At this moment, however, it was a necessity. In his condition, he simply could not trust himself to remain a gentleman.

  Taking himself in hand, he closed his eyes and imagined he was making love to her. In his mind, she lay before him much as she had last night, every inch of her lovely flesh bared to his gaze. He imagined himself dipping to taste the pretty nipples he had briefly touched. He fantasized about driving him self deep into the soft, slick core of her body. In his daydream she arched upward, taking all of him in, her pleasured sighs threatening to shatter all control.

  He spiraled toward the edge of release, blood rushing painfully into his engorged sex. Suppressing a cry, he spent himself on the ground, his breath coming in deep, choking gasps as his body shuddered violently in the aftermath. He sagged against the rocks to steady himself. Then, he heard her approach from behind.

  Heart pounding at the prospect of being caught, he hurriedly fastened his breeches and turned to face her. While he felt relaxed, as if he’d tossed back three quick shots of expensive bourbon, he had trouble focusing on her face.

  “H-how is your foot?” he asked with much difficulty, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at the tiny, swollen ant bite. He swallowed hard as a weak, post-coital spasm shuddered through his groin. “Should I prepare to amputate?”

  She plopped down on the ground and tucked her foot beneath her skirt and ignored him. Very well. Let her pout. At least he would have a reprieve from her sassy tongue.

  In many ways she reminded him of his young cousin, Tanillei , a strong willed and resourceful young woman. Tani’s tongue was sharp on occasion, but she always spoke with honesty. Antonio had often teased Tani, claiming that was why she remained unmarried at sixteen. No man wanted a woman whose opinions might cause embarrassment.

  After starting a small fire, Antonio handed her a ration of jerked venison from his pack—all that remained. She accepted it, only to tear the meat in half and give the dog a piece.

  “You will be hungry,” he said.

  She shrugged indifferently. “Max has to eat, too.”

  Her fondness for the dog continued to mystify him. Sometimes she treated the animal as if he were her child. Why would she sacrifice her own well-being for an animal? He sighed and shared a portion of his jerky with her. “Take some of mine. Tomorrow there will be more food.”

  Together they ate in silence.

  He worried for her safety around the men. His cousin would not harm her, but he wasn’t certain about some of the others. If these men learned he had taken her from a brothel, they might abuse her. They hated the bilagaana for what the soldiers were doing and he feared she might become the object of their wrath. He was far outnumbered to adequately protect her from a mob. The only solution was to tell the men she was his wife.

  Now all he needed was her cooperation.

  She had drawn her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them. He nudged her shoulder and she inclined her face toward him, giving him a dismissive glance.

  “At dawn we will ride into the valley and meet up with a group of men.”

  At that, her back straightened. “Oh, gee. Who are these goons, your old bank robbing buddies or something?”

  “Who they are is no concern of yours, but as long as we are with them you must stay near me and not wander. Pretend to be my wife. That will entail cooking for me and tending to my needs. You must also share my blanket at night.”

  She arched a brow. “Is that so? Well here’s a newsflash, mister. I’m not pretending to be your anything, and I sure as hell am not sleeping with you.”

  “It is for your protection.”

  She picked up a small pebble and chucked it aside. “So they are outlaws. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “They can never know I found you at Elena’s. They will have no mercy on you. I am too far outnumbered to protect you adequately.”

  “Why would these men want to hurt me?” Her eyes widened as if in awareness. “Oh, I get it. You still think I’m a prostitute, don’t you?”

  “Elena did not deny that you worked for her, but I also know that you did not earn more than two hundred dollars in three months time by combing hair and sewing dresses.”

  Her lips pursed into a fine line as her nostrils flared gently. “I’m no whore, Whitehorse, and I’m not Elena’s lover so put a lid on your sick fantasies. I’m an artist—a prop designer to be exact. Latex masks and body parts are my specialty, or at least they were. Now I work as Elena’s secretary, writing letters and ordering merchandise for her entertainment business. And yeah, I style her hair and sew a few of her dresses, but that’s as far as it goes, buddy. I don’t bang the clientele or the boss lady. Never have.”

  While he believed she was no prostitute, he still wasn’t certain about her relationship with Elena. His former mistress had never taken a young woman into her care unless there were strings attached. “You will do well not to lie to me.” He observed her facial expressions for signs of deception. Her eyes gave nothing away, but the pulse beat rapidly at her throat. Beneath the bodice of her filthy dress, her
breasts rose and fell with each shallow breath. Was she frightened? Or lying?

  He watched her face carefully. “Were you ever Elena’s lover?”

  “No.”

  “Did she proposition you?”

  “No.”

  Wanting to catch her off guard so as to gage her reaction he asked point black. “The day I found you unconscious by the creek, did someone leave you there, or did you run away from home?”

  She hesitated then looked away. “I don’t know how I ended up there.”

  Now more than ever he was convinced she was hiding something. “There is something else I have wondered about. Is Frank Cole even your uncle?”

  She did look at him then. “No,” she answered firmly.

  Oddly, he believed her.

  “Who is he?”

  She shrugged, but he detected another hint of deception in her eyes. She might not be Cole’s niece, but she knew more than she admitted.

  “He’s just some guy who is looking for me.”

  “You are being evasive again.”

  “I am not.”

  Hooking a fingertip beneath her chin, he turned her face toward him so that he might gaze into her eyes. “Why has he offered such a large reward? Did you steal from him?”

  She flinched ever so slightly, but he caught it. “No.”

  “Was he your lover?”

  “Negative again.”

  “But he knows you, does he not?”

  She flung herself backward onto the ground, her bare feet jamming square into his chest. Caught off guard from the force of her sudden blow, Antonio toppled backward, choking for breath. He had underestimated the petite woman’s strength. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted away. Righting himself, he sailed after but stumbled over a rock and lost sight of her for a moment in the gathering dark. He spotted her heading toward the bluff.

  “Stop! The path is narrow. You’ll fall!”

  She skittered down a deer trail, close to the edge, paying him no heed, the tiny dog on her heels. Antonio caught up with her, closing the distance between them. He reached out to grab her, but pulled up short, snagging only a scrap of lace from her dress. She stumbled. He heard her screams as she fell, then a dull thud as her body impacted the rocks below.

  Heart pounding, he scrambled further down the trail for a closer look and peered over the side. In the near inky blackness, her motionless form lay face down on a ledge several feet below. His stomach lurched. No! She couldn’t be dead!

  Her dog stood on the ledge, yapping hysterically into the darkness. “Miss Brannigan!” She did not move or answer. Antonio grabbed a rope from his saddlebag and returned. After securing one end to a stable slab he descended.

  He found her conscious, but she remained silent while he checked for visible signs of broken bones. Her left knee was damp and sticky with blood. So was her nose. Yet there was no sign of serious trauma he could determine.

  He helped her to her feet, but she was unsteady and faltered. Pulling her snugly against his body, he lashed the rope about their waists, securing their bodies together with a series of strong knots. They were so close he could feel her breath against his cheek, the tremble of her tiny body against his.

  “I am going to get you up safely,” he reassured her as he stroked her cheek. “When I lift, wrap your arms and legs around me.”

  She nodded.

  His hands went beneath her hips to lift. “Hold on tight don’t look down.” Her dainty arms went around his neck, and she clung to him like a frightened child.

  “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will we make it?”

  He hesitated, then drew in a steadying breath. “I hope.” Slowly, carefully he made his ascent.

  Having her soft, feminine form pressed to his, her delicate arms wrapped gently around his neck was a dangerous distraction. He was scared. Scared he would make a misstep. Scared she would get spooked and panic, causing them both to plunge to their deaths.

  Her warm breath fanned his ear. The pounding of her thundering heart kept a tempo with his own. The rope abraded his palms and he cursed with each inch they ascended.

  By the time they reached the top, his body was slick with sweat, every muscle taut with tension. His body began to tremble as fear and exhaustion gave way to anger. She could have been killed. Hell, they could have both been killed! Now he felt like wringing the little fool’s neck.

  Yet at the same time, he only wanted to hold her tightly, to keep her crushed safely against him. He didn’t want to care for this woman but he did. Now he had a bad feeling about this.

  The moon, almost full and a brilliant orange-yellow began to crest the canyon rim. Darkness that once blanketed a deathly quiet, purplish landscape gave way to a filmy blue haze. Still on their sides bound together by the rope, he lay with her a moment, trying to steady his breathing and calm his disturbing thoughts.

  “You could have been killed.” He reached up to brush a few strands of hair from her blood-smeared face.

  She gave a half laugh. “Death would be a better fate than being handed over to Frank Cole.”

  Why would she not disclose the truth about her connection to Cole? If it were true that she wasn’t his niece, why did she look so much like the young woman in the sketch Cole posted in the Territory? And how had she acquired information about Cole? He was still convinced she was hiding something else.

  After untying the ropes that bound them together, he sat back, accessed her wounds again. She tried to sit. “No, lie still.” He reached into his vest pocket for a handkerchief. Leaning down he wiped away the trickle of blood from beneath her nose.

  * * * * *

  Halle snatched the handkerchief from his hand. “I can wipe my own nose, thank you.” She blotted the wet, sticky mess.

  The scrapes on her knee and elbow burned. Every bone in her body ached. Even the roots of her hair throbbed as if every last follicle had nearly been yanked from her scalp. She tried to sit up again but a sharp pain in her left hip forced her back down. Holy crap! She hadn’t felt like this since the morning after her jaunt back in time.

  “Lie still.” He shoved up from the ground and moved away.

  Max sniffed at her, checking her out from head to toe. “I’m all right, little buddy. I just need a band-aid or two.” She sighed. How would she ever get out of this mess? Frank Cole had apparently figured out she and Molly were blackmailing him and that’s why he’d been coming to Elena’s. He’d kill her if Whitehorse turned her in for the reward. She had to convince him not to deliver her into Cole’s clutches.

  He brought a blanket and covered her legs. “This will keep you warm until I get a fire started.”

  In the half-light of the moon Halle watched him move about, searching for firewood. Her eyes followed his shadowed form until it disappeared into the darkness and the sound of his foot falls were heard no more. Chilled, she burrowed beneath the warmth of the heavy black and grey blanket.

  He returned a few minutes later with an armload of twigs and dry brush. Soon, acrid white smoke filled the crisp night air. The warmth from the small fire was welcome since temperatures in the canyon had dropped considerably in a short time. She watched him empty his canteen into a small pan, then set it on the coals. Great. We must be having some type of god-awful dried animal meat soup again.

  He returned to her side. Without warning, he threw the blanket off.

  “Hey, I’m cold!” She grabbed hold of the edge and jerked it back.

  “You don’t need the blanket.”

  When he reached for the buttons on her dress, she slapped his hands away. “Excuse me, but what are you doing? Hands off!”

  “Your clothes are bloody and if my instincts serve me correctly, there isn’t a stream within ten or fifteen miles of us. Your dress must be burned. So will my shirt now that it is soiled with your blood. Otherwise, animals will come in the night.”

  “You’re going to burn my clothes? Helloooooo. Have you fo
rgotten? I don’t have anything else to wear.”

  He rummaged through his leather bag, then stood and tossed a clean shirt to her. “Remove everything that is soiled. You will wear my clean shirt once you’re bathed.”

  Reluctantly, Halle accepted the garment. Wait. Had he said bathed? She glanced over at the small pot of water warming on the coals. Oh, no….Surely he didn’t expect her to take a bath in that teeny little pan of water?

  She tried not to stare at his washboard abs, or his cute innie navel that was dusted with dark whorls of hair, or anything else about him that screamed raw masculinity. But she couldn’t help herself. Every inch of his body was beautiful, sleek and sculpted like a bronzed statue.

  She had the sudden urge to touch him, to smooth her palms over his rippled, muscular chest and broad shoulders. For a moment she even imagined crushing her naked body to his, sliding her hands down his back, grasping his firm buttocks and squeezing.

  He returned to her side and knelt down. “You must stay awake a while.” He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

  At the simple contact Halle felt a flutter in her tummy. Her nipples also tightened in response. There was nothing in the gentle expression in his eyes to suggest the gesture had been sexual. But being touched by him was a nice sensation, sort of warm and tingly. She wished he’d do it again.

  Uh, oh. She squeezed her thighs together. Something was going on down south again.

  This was insane. She’d never been attracted to bad boy types. On the other hand, the bad boys in college never looked like this one.

  “I’m not in any pain,” she fibbed, keeping a straight face. Actually, her knee throbbed like hell.

  “You took one hell of a fall, Miss Brannigan. I know there is pain.”

  “Really, there isn’t.”

  He leaned in closer. “What are you trying to prove? That you are brave?”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything.” But she did want her sex-deprived body to quit responding to him. And it wouldn’t hurt if he’d stop looking at her with those seductive gray eyes either.