Ride the Thunder (41 page)

For a fleeting moment, Jordanna found it an unsettling sensation to have so much freedom to touch his naked form. She had found scars of previous wounds, other than the one that marked his shoulder. Brig never would have permitted her to discover so much about him if he had been conscious. He would have had her flat on her back and beneath him long before now. And she wouldn’t have been objecting.

But this wasn’t the time for such stimulating thoughts. Turning away from the intoxicating sight of his naked, male body, Jordanna cut off a portion of the tail of his shirt with her knife. The many layers of her own clothes were becoming cumbersome. She undressed to her insulated underwear, hesitated, then stripped off the bottoms. She cut off one leg below the knee and dropped it in the angrily boiling water. Her body was one big shiver that wouldn’t stop.

Dipping the piece of his shirt tail in the water, she nearly scalded her fingers trying to wring out the
excess moisture. She bent over Brig’s leg and began gently wiping away the blood drying on his thigh, until the area around the wound was clean. It looked ugly and sore. Jordanna turned back to the iron kettle and the thick piece of her underwear churning in the bubbling water. It hadn’t boiled long enough to be sterile yet.

She added more wood to the fire and glanced at their pile of damp clothes. They needed to be dried out. The floor was gritty beneath her bare feet as she walked over to drag the table from the center of the room. It noisily scraped across the floor in resistance. Lying on its side, it rested crookedly and formed a natural lean-to over Brig’s body. She draped some of the clothes over the legs, creating sides that held in the fire’s warmth. With her knife, she cut away the rope mattress of the cot and used the short lengths to make a clothesline, tying one end to a hook cemented into the side of the fireplace and securing the other end to the table leg. On it, hung out the rest of their clothes to dry, removing her top and adding it to the line.

With a short stick, Jordanna fished out the material from the boiling water and let the excess drip and sizzle on the stone hearth. Steam rose from the wet cloth in a gray vapor. She waited until the heat subsided before touching it. Maybe it was wrong to put a wet dressing on his wound, but she didn’t want to leave it exposed in this dirty place and risk infection. His muscles flinched instinctively from the hot, wet compress she applied to the wound. Needing something to secure it in place, Jordanna cut off two narrow strips from the bottom of her blouse and tied them around his leg to hold the bandage.

That was it. There was nothing left to do, she thought tiredly, and exhaustion started fuzzing her vision. No, she shook herself and stood up. She had to keep the fire going. Without anything to cover them, she couldn’t let it go out. They desperately needed its warmth.

Leaning against the warm stones of the fireplace for support, Jordanna tried to maintain her vigil. Several times she dozed off, so exhausted that she could sleep upright. Each time, a chill would touch the portion of her naked body that didn’t face the fire and she would have to turn to warm it, toasting herself. Half-a-dozen times, she added more wood to the fire. In her exhausted state, she moved like a robot, carrying out her task without conscious motivation.

Outside, the darkness of night settled in. A light snow continued to fall while the wind howled around the tiny, one-room log cabin. The fire crackled. In the shadowy corners, rodents scurried furtively, but Jordanna was too tired to hear them.

Brig stirred and tried to shift into a more comfortable position in the hard bed. Pain splintered through his left leg, jabbing him awake. His eyes opened slowly to take in his surroundings. In the flickering light, he saw ghostly walls of cloth around him and felt the hard, bare floor beneath him. His hand moved to grip his injured thigh and stop its throbbing. His fingers closed on soft leg hairs and he realized he was naked. Turning his head, he looked in the direction of the light and the warmth.

He breathed in sharply at the sight of the nude form leaning against the stone fireplace. Firelight bathed the porcelain figure in pale gold. Perfection was in every line, from the shapely length of her legs to the rounded bottom and slim waist that tapered wide to a pair of creamy white shoulders. Dark copper hair gilded with scarlet cascaded in curls between her shoulder blades. His gaze traveled lazily down again, lingering on the soft, rounded curves of her bottom.

Then the figure moved, coming slowly to life, and turned toward him in languid motion. High, firm breasts had rosy peaks that thrushed upward. Slender hips invited a man to fit himself to them. Nothing sculpted could achieve the natural sensuality of this living form, Brig realized.

“Venus with arms,” he murmured, and the figure moved toward him, kneeling at his side so the firelight would illuminate her face. There were hollow shadows of weariness beneath the hazel eyes, but he recognized her and his mouth twisted into a faint smile. “Jordanna.”

“Yes,” was the soft reply. His fingertips lightly stroked his forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Not quite of this world. She was close enough to touch. Brig placed his right hand on her ribcage and let it slide up to the underside of her breast, where his thumb could rub the erect nipple. He heard her indrawn breath. “Why are you here?”

“That’s a ridiculous question.” Her voice was softly disturbed. “Where else would I be?”

“You could have left me to die. Chances are I would have in this storm.” With his left hand, he caught her wrist and pulled her down toward him. It didn’t require much exertion.

“I would have, too, if you hadn’t known about this place,” she reminded him as the soft mountains of her breasts laid themselves on his chest. Releasing her wrist, he slid his hand to the small of her back and caressed one of the rounded cheeks of her bottom that he had so admired. “Do you have a fever? You’re talking crazy.”

“If I have a fever, you are the one who is affecting my temperature.” For the time being, Brig didn’t care why Jordanna had stayed or bandaged his wound, when it would have been so much easier for her to abandon him to the killing elements and let nature finish the job her father had started. He curved a hand around her neck to force her head down so he could chew at her lower lip.

“Brig, don’t,” she protested weakly. “You’re hurt.”

“So? Don’t fight me.”

The soft moan that came from her throat told him she wouldn’t fight him very hard, if at all. “Please. I’m very, very tired and I have to keep the fire going,”
Jordanna murmured between his nibbles of her mouth, but she didn’t make any effort to elude them. Brig felt the lethargy of her limbs and knew she spoke the truth about her exhaustion. At the moment, he only recognized the swelling hardness of his own need.

He did acquiesce to her second argument. “Put a bunch of logs on the fire. Then it will last until morning.” Unwillingly, he let Jordanna leave his arms.

Her movements were fluid and unconsciously alluring. Brig propped himself up on an elbow, testing his strength and how much interference his injury might give him. As long as Jordanna cooperated, he could manage. He felt a little shaky, but it was nothing he couldn’t overcome.

When the fire was stoked with extra logs, Jordanna turned hesitantly toward him and tucked a handful of hair behind her ear. His eyes darkened as he took in the sheer loveliness of her naked body.

“Come lie with me, Jordanna.”

Her fingers entwined with those he extended to her. Slowly and uncertainly, she stretched out along his right side. Brig started to shift onto his side, but she pressed her hands against his shoulders to push him back.

“No. You might start bleeding again,” she warned anxiously.

“In that case . . .” Brig pulled her on top of him. “. . . we’ll do it this way.”

“You are mad.” But she shuddered as his large hands erotically kneaded her breasts.

“Yes, it’s insanity,” he agreed. It was the only explanation for this plaguing doubt that she had actually plotted to kill him. If she had, why was she here? It didn’t matter. His only thought now was a powerful desire to make love to her. She had implanted this demon seed of desire within him. Now it was his turn to sow his own seeds.

As his hands glided downward to her hips, Jordanna distributed her weight over his torso. She brushed her
moist lips near the corner of his mouth, her breath warm and stimulating as it mingled with his.

“Be careful,” she asked him. “I don’t want you to do any more damage to yourself.”

“Then help me,” he taunted, and groaned when she did.

A chill on her backside wakened Jordanna. She was draped over Brig’s sleeping form, but even while she had slept, she had avoided coming in contact with his injury. Despite the radiating heat from his body, she was conscious of a coolness. It was a second before she realized the fire must have gone out. She turned her head to see a faint red glow in the darkened ashes of the fireplace.

Quietly, she slipped out of Brig’s encircling arm to rekindle the fire. With the last of the wood shavings, she started a tiny flame and shivered as she added the first small log to it. Glancing at the wall of hanging clothes, she realized they were dry. She reached for her long underwear and began hurriedly pulling them on. She didn’t stop until she was fully clothed and warmed by the many layers. By then, the fire was blazing cheerfully.

The woodpile had been reduced to two logs. The log frame of the cot would yield a half a dozen more. They would need more firewood. And she was thirsty, and the gnawing emptiness of her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday noon. Taking down Brig’s jacket from the makeshift clothesline, Jordanna covered him with it, then put on her hat and gloves, and picked up the iron kettle and her knife.

It had stopped snowing, but there was six inches on the ground, drifted deeper in places by the wind. The sun glared on the white expanse of winter snow and Jordanna had to shield her eyes from it after the darkness of the windowless cabin. In the light of day, she discovered it wasn’t totally windowless. The windows had been boarded shut.

After packing the iron kettle with snow, she left it by the door to do a little exploring and seek a private place to relieve herself. On the other side of the cabin, she found a wood box half-full of firewood. There was a deadfall of timber about twenty yards from the cabin if there was a need for more.

With that problem solved, Jordanna turned her attention to the growing hunger in her stomach. Several years ago, her father had taught her that the inner bark of pine trees, as well as other trees, was edible either raw or cooked. This emergency supply of food would provide them with some sustenance. There were probably some edible supplies of greens under the snow, but the bark was easier to obtain. With water from the melted snow, she could make a nourishing soup. Using her knife, Jordanna cut away strips from the tree and peeled off the bitter outer bark for the tender, inner fiber.

When she had her pockets stuffed full, she returned to the front of the cabin and picked up the kettle of snow. After the brilliance of the sunlight, she had difficulty adjusting to the gloomy interior of the cabin. A large form was blocking out the firelight. It took her a second to remember it was Brig.

“Good morning.” She walked toward him, a warm smile accompanying her greeting.

He was half-dressed, most of his weight shifted to bear on his right leg. Instead of returning her smile, Brig glared at her, his features drawn in a forbidding expression. Her spirits sagged. Last night, he’d been such an ardent and demanding lover, filling her tired body with wild excitement. This morning, there was hatred and contempt in his eyes. What had she done wrong, except love him?

“Where have you been?” His tone was harsh and accusing.

“Exploring.” She set the kettle of snow on the hearth near the fire. “There is a woodbox outside with more firewood and . . .” She took the pine strips from her pockets. “. . . I gathered some pine bark to make
us some soup.” All the while, she tried to appear calm and controlled, showing neither hurt nor anger at his demand.

“How very resourceful of you.” An eyebrow quirked in cynical mockery.

“I thought so.” Jordanna tried to sound flippant.

“Did you signal your father, too?”

“Actually I didn’t think of it or I would have.” Her answer was cool, not understanding his tone and not liking it either.

“You had the perfect opportunity and you didn’t have the guts to do it, did you? Why?” His head was drawn back to an arrogant angle that both challenged and taunted. “What’s the difference between a bullet and leaving me to freeze to death?”

Jordanna looked at him with a bewildered frown and shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was warm beside the fire. She took off her hat and unbuttoned her coat.

“Don’t play dumb any more. I’m sick of that game,” Brig jeered.

“You were talking crazy last night, too. You must have a touch of fever.” She moved toward to feel his forehead and check his temperature.

But her hand never got within reach before it was seized in a bone-crushing grip that twisted Jordanna sideways in an attempt to ease the pressure. His face was darkened with rage.

“No more lies, Jordanna!

“I’m not lying to you!” She flared indignantly. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes. I must have when I met you.” His lip curled in self-contempt. “I know what a lying bitch you were. I even knew you were plotting with your father to kill me, but I still let myself get maneuvered into position for the kill. It’s sheer luck that I managed to get away with a flesh wound in my leg.”

“What?” It was a breathless word of total confusion. “How can you say such things? You must be insane,”
she whispered, a little frightened of him. “I don’t know who shot at us, but . . .”

“You lying bitch!!” With a savage, wolflike snarl, he pushed her away from him with a violence that sent her staggering backwards. “You and I both know it was your father!”

“No!”

“Who else was there? Who else had a rifle? Who else had reason to kill me?” He hurled the questions at her with vicious accusation.