Margaret Brownley (3 page)

“He thought I saw his face without his kerchief. I did see him but, of course, I wasn’t about to admit that. Besides, he was too far away to identify and . . .” Words poured out of her a mile a minute. Random thoughts. Half sentences. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “My brother had eaten half the candy and . . .”

The stranger continued to watch her from a handsome square face, his deep-set eyes flecked with gold and ringed with dark lashes. Smooth bronzed skin stretched over his high cheekbones and perfect straight nose. His eyebrows rose steadily as she rambled on.

“ . . . if it wasn’t for that white mustang . . .”

Power and strength seemed to emit from him with every breath he took. Like the deepest woods and ever-changing weather, he held an aura of mystery that intrigued her.

Could it be? Was it possible? No! Still, the rawhide clothes, the large black horse. Oh, dear God. The wild man really did exist! Only—only he didn’t look all that wild. By now she was talking so fast, her tongue practically tripped over itself.

He cocked his head to one side and frowned. His bronzed skin was lighter than the bold brown eyes that impaled her. A lock of thick dark hair fell across his forehead. She couldn’t make up her mind if he was Indian or white—maybe he was both.
Please, God, whatever he is, don’t let him be hostile
.

A puzzled frown spread across his face as she rattled on, his eyes dark and unfathomable.

Without warning, he clamped a hand around her wrist and pulled her close, as if he had every right to do so. The nearness of him made her words come faster. Gasping for air, she pressed against his hard chest with her free hand.

“Let me go at once, you hear? You have no right to hold me against my will. Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean that you can have your way with me. I’m grateful to you of course, but—”

Some inner light blazed in the depth of his eyes before he lowered his dense lashes and gazed at her mouth.

The whole time she cajoled, threatened, pleaded, and downright begged, the man stared at her with a curious look on his face: disbelief or confusion, maybe both.

Thinking the man either deaf or just plain dim-witted, she lashed out again in a louder voice. “And furthermore—”

As if exasperated, he yanked her against his chest and stopped her tirade with the crush of his lips on hers. Too surprised to react, she let him kiss her—kiss her like she had never before been kissed.

Held captive by the warm currents that rushed through her down to her toes, she might have stayed in his arms indefinitely had he not pushed her away, grounding her in reality.

Shocked as much by her own behavior as she was by his—and more than a little confused—she gaped up at him. She had let a perfect stranger kiss her. Worse, she had done absolutely nothing to stop him. For once in her life she was speechless. Her cheeks were hot as the still-burning fire on her lips. What was the matter with her? It wasn’t like her to be dumbfounded, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

His gaze traveled the length of her. “Sorry, lady,” he said, without sounding the least bit apologetic. “I wanted to give you the last word, but I’m afraid you’d never have gotten to it.”

“So . . . so you
can
talk.”

He arched a dark eyebrow. “When I can get a word in edgewise. I swear you could talk the legs off a mule.” Hands on his hips, his mouth twisted slightly. “Now would you mind starting over? This time slower.”

She took a deep breath and willed her trembling knees not to give out beneath her. “My name is L-Lucy Fairbanks,” she stammered. “They were going to kill me. I’m sure you can imagine that I wasn’t quite myself when I allowed you to—” She cleared her throat. “I can assure you that under normal circumstances, nothing of the sort would have happened. Furthermore . . .”

She wanted so much for him to show some sort of understanding. He had to know that an ordeal such as hers would make someone act rash—perhaps even rash enough to let herself be kissed by a stranger.

Something in the arrogant way he looked at her made her temper snap. She pulled herself together, straightening her attire. But it was hard to look dignified when one’s hair and dress were in disarray.

“How dare you take advantage of a woman in distress!”

Her outburst brought no signs of remorse. Instead, he stared boldly at her bare toes peering from beneath the hem of her tattered skirt. Of all the rude—

Enough was enough. Intent on making her escape, she turned and began walking away as quickly as her wobbly legs would carry her. She’d taken only a few steps before her bare foot landed on a sharp rock.

“Ow.” She lowered herself upon a fallen log and grabbed her foot.

“Now what’s wrong?” he asked, much like one would speak to a demanding child.

She shot him a warning look as he approached, her palm held out to ward him off. “Don’t touch me.”

He grinned. “Lady, you’re making it hard for me not to.” He dropped down on one knee and lifted her foot. His fingers warm on her ankle, he examined the jagged cut.

After a moment, he pulled his hand away. “Stay!” he ordered.

He turned on his moccasins and followed the trail of his horse, his strides long and confident, his neatly cut hair floating over his broad shoulders. She stared after him until he vanished from sight among the trees. Since his horse had no saddle in which to hold supplies, she assumed he lived in a nearby cabin.

“Oh dear!” She glanced around anxiously. As disturbing as the stranger’s presence was, his absence was even more nerve-racking. What if the bandits returned to claim the Wells Fargo treasure box? Suddenly every shadow, every moving leaf seemed fraught with danger. Though the sun was still high in the sky, she shivered.

Her foot hurt, her shoulder ached, and her hands were raw with rope burns. Walking back to town was probably not a good idea. Perhaps she should drive the stage back to the scene of the crime. She’d never driven a stage before, but a woman had to do what a woman had to do.

She was also anxious to see what kind of damage, if any, her camera had sustained. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Please, please, please let it still be anchored safely to the tree.

Trembling, she hobbled over to the stagecoach and tried to reach the reins beneath the horses.

She picked up a nearby stick and kneeled down, wincing against the pain in her shoulder. One of the horses neighed and stomped its hoof restlessly.

“There, there,” she said soothingly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She had just about reached the reins with the tip of her stick when a nearby rattling noise made her heart nearly stop.

Moving ever so slowly, she turned her head and gasped. A coiled rattler posed within striking distance of her one good foot. A horse nickered and the snake’s tongue darted in and out of its mouth.

A bolt of lightning streaked out of nowhere, and the head of the snake dropped to the ground. Her gaze glued to the knife sticking out of the snake, she flinched when a shadow fell over her.

She lifted her lashes and almost lost herself in the velvet brown eyes staring down at her. Pulling her gaze away, she told herself that a man who had saved her life twice was probably not going to do her harm. Even though it was a comforting thought, she trembled, but whether from fear or a delayed reaction from her ordeal, she couldn’t say. She refused to think it had anything to do with the unexpected kiss that still seemed to linger between them.

“T-thank you,” she stammered.

“My pleasure,” he said.

He reached for his knife, lifted the snake up, and examined it. “Handsome critter, don’t you think?”

She shuddered.

He shrugged and tossed the snake to the side of the road. Taking her by the hand, he helped her to her feet. The nearness of him overwhelmed her. Something passed between them like a light or a secret message. A wave of warmth rippled through her, followed by a shiver. Shaken, she quickly pulled her hand free and sat on a rock.

He dropped down on one knee in front of her. Lifting her foot ever so gently, he wiped it with a clean square of buckskin, applied a soothing salve, and affixed a piece of gauze over the wound.

“I’m not sure I understand why you were in a tree,” he said.

“What?”

“You said you were in a tree when the highwaymen stopped the stage.”

“I was looking for the white stallion,” she explained.

He drew back in surprise. “In a tree?”

She couldn’t resist the opening he gave her. “It was a horse chestnut tree.”

He laughed out loud, and she watched him with open curiosity. This couldn’t be the wild man that had the town on edge. Still, his clothing, hair, even his black horse matched the description the Trotter boy gave after his encounter.

“I better go,” she said.

“You best not walk on that foot.”

“I’ll drive the stage back.” She glanced with uncertainty at the six horses.
Six
.

He frowned. “Have you ever driven a stagecoach before?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted. “At least not while holding the reins.”

His smile revealed perfect white teeth and her heart did a flip-flop. “If it was just a matter of holding on to the reins, I reckon an infant could drive it.”

He was obviously enjoying a joke at her expense. No matter. He wasn’t the first man to underestimate her and probably wouldn’t be the last. “Just don’t stand in my way,” she warned.

“Lady, standing in your way while you’re in the driver’s seat is the last thing I intend to do. But you’d be doing Wells Fargo a favor if you wait till you’ve calmed down a mite.”

She was momentarily tempted to take his advice. Her whole body ached and it was painful to move. What could it hurt to rest for a while before starting back?

Never one to fuss with her appearance, she was suddenly aware of how dreadful she must look. Her hand involuntarily flew to her mussed hair as she cast her gaze downward. Horrified to find her shirtwaist open in front where a button had popped off, exposing her chemise, she quickly clutched at the fabric. Fortunately her heart-shaped locket had not been lost during her ordeal.

She tried to remember the precise words the Trotter boy had used.
“The wild man almost killed me
.” Could he have been exaggerating? She wouldn’t put it past him.

“I better go,” she said.

“I’ll take you back to town.”

His offer was tempting but prudence prevented her from accepting it. Her already tarnished reputation would suffer if she were to be seen dressed as she was in torn clothes—in the company of a man.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said with a determined toss of her head.

He raised a brow but didn’t argue. Clutching the front of her shirtwaist with one hand, she allowed him to help her to her feet with the other. His gaze was steady as a camera lens and she felt her cheeks blaze.

Conscious of his touch, she withdrew her hand quickly and started toward the stage on shaky legs.

The full repercussions of the hair-raising ride and brush with death suddenly hit her full force. The sun was warm but still she shivered, her arms covered in gooseflesh. Worse, her head began to spin. Shaking off the dizziness that threatened to overcome her, she stumbled.

He caught her before she hit the ground. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and he quickly drew her semilimp body into his arms. Comforted by the warmth of him, she rested her head upon his chest. His manly scent of leather, woods, and sunshine overwhelmed her senses.

Being in his arms felt so . . . nice. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so safe and protected. But it scared her, too, and she panicked.

She pulled away and ran, but her injured foot slowed her progress. He chased after her and grabbed her by her sore arm. The pain caught her by surprise and she slugged him hard. He growled like a bear and released her, hand on his cheek, his eyes leveled beneath dark, knitted brows.

God, forgive her. She had never before raised a hand to anyone, and she hardly knew what to say. What a mess she was: crying, hitting,
kissing
. Where was all this strange behavior coming from? And why was the earth spinning around her?

He held up his hands, palms facing her. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only trying to help.” When she made no reply, he continued, “Sorry, lady, but you don’t give me a choice.” Without another word, he picked her up and heaved her over his shoulder.

“Let me down.” She pounded on his back with clenched fists. He said something but she was yelling too loud to hear. “How dare you! If you don’t let me down I’ll—”

He lifted her into the stagecoach as if she were weightless and slammed the door shut. Before she had a chance to regain her composure, the stagecoach took off like a flash, sending her flying back against the hard horsehair seat.

More angry at herself for her wanton behavior than she was at him, she stuck her head between the leather curtains, leaned out the window, and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Stop this stage at once!” The least he could do was let her explain her behavior. “Do you hear me? At once!”

He ignored her, and at last she gave up. She sank back into the seat, arms folded across her chest. If he told anyone about her behavior, she would deny it. Better yet, she would plead temporary insanity.