The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (112 page)

Alex reached around her waist and once again hauled her against him. “I said forget the paints.”

Her protests fell on deaf ears as the viscount stood stock-still and allowed her to flail against him. Finally, when she’d tired herself out, Charlotte gave in.

“All right,” she said slowly. “Release me, and I’ll do as you ask.”

“Just like that?” he asked, his voice rumbling against her ear. He turned her to face him.

“Just like that,” she echoed.

But when Alex loosened his grip, Charlotte slipped from his arms and dove toward the river. She managed to get hip deep in the frigid water before her temporary husband stopped her progress.

“I will buy you more paints, Charlotte,” he said against her ear, “but I cannot buy you good health should you ruin it by catching your death in this river.”

“Nothing can replace the box. Nothing.”

Blind fury made her want to pummel his broad shoulders with her fists, but she knew it would have no effect. So she complied, once more allowing Alex Hambly to tell her what to do. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying. She’d done enough crying in front of Alex.

He led her back to the spot where she’d left her stool and easel. Seeing where her paints should have been, Charlotte allowed the first angry tear to fall.

“Here,” came the gruff voice behind her.

And in spite of herself, Charlotte turned toward the sound. Alex Hambly stood behind her, half-soaked and covered in mud. The handkerchief he thrust toward her with his uninjured right hand, however, was pristine.

“It’s clean,” Alex muttered as he took her hand and closed her fingers around the handkerchief.

“Unlike you.” The words slipped from her lips before Charlotte could help herself.

“Thanks to you.” He stormed toward the rise.

“Your horse,” she called. “How badly did it hurt you when it ran?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said tersely. He folded her stool, then reached for the canvas and easel.

Charlotte watched as he loaded her gear with his uninjured hand. “You’re
not
fine.”

And yet when the time came to climb back into the saddle, he somehow managed to help her up.

“What will you do for a horse, Alex?”

He shrugged. “I figure that stubborn pony will get hungry and find her way home, won’t she?”

“They usually do,” Charlotte said.

“Then move up and we’ll share.” Before she could protest, Alex had unseated her from the saddle and fitted himself behind her. “I’ve a bit of a twinge in my arm,” he admitted as she settled in front of him. “You take the reins. Just remember that should I be sent plummeting from the horse, you’re going along with me.”

Charlotte took the reins but made no move to set the horse in motion. Rather, she looked back at the spot where her paint box had disappeared into the river.

“Don’t think of it,” Alex said. “It’s too dark to see now, and I imagine that river’s deep in spots. You’ll never know whether you’re looking in the right place.” He let out a long breath. “Tomorrow I’ll come back and look for it. How’s that?”

“All right.” She returned her attention to the trail and urged the horse toward home.

The feel of the Englishman behind her, of his good arm wrapped around her waist and his chin resting against her cheek, set Charlotte thinking about what it might be like if they had a real marriage. A marriage like Papa and Gennie had.

As soon as the thought appeared, Charlotte dismissed it. Never would she find anything resembling a real marriage with Alex Hambly.

It made no sense at all.

The throbbing in his arm dulled to an ache when Alex thought of the woman leaning against him. His wife. He hadn’t truly considered what that meant until now.

He had fun calling her “wife” and watching her reaction, but to actually consider her his wife? Likely Charlotte would not make a marriage to her easy, even if she did resign herself to never having the annulment. But doing the right thing often meant doing the more difficult thing.

Alex swiped at the melting snowflake trickling down his cheek, then turned his attention to Charlotte. Stubborn woman. Her wet skirts slogged against his leg as a stiff wind blew from the north, and he could feel the chill of the damp fabric. She was probably numb with cold, though she was far too stubborn to admit it.

“Charlotte,” he said against her ear, “are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but he could not tell if her tone was bravado or a blatant lie.

“Perhaps we should stop,” he offered.

She angled her head toward him, and the silver light of the moon slid over her profile. “I’d much prefer my warm home to this cold trail.”

As he could think of no good argument to that statement, Alex merely nodded. The mare picked her way down the nearly dark trail, missing the rocks that could cause them to tumble back into the river. A better plan would have been to turn from the bank to find another route back to the ranch, but any other route would need a full moon to illuminate it, and tonight they had nothing of the sort.

The breeze picked up. Flakes of snow began swirling through the air and caught in Charlotte’s hair and decorated her clothing as the temperature dropped. Beneath the heavy Western jacket, Alex could feel her begin to tremble. Further evidence that her damp skirts would be her downfall.

Damp skirts that he, at least in part, had caused.

“Charlotte,” he said against her ear. “I’m sorry.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice. “What for?”

“Oh, all of it, I suppose.” He paused. “But at the moment, I’m thinking of how you must be freezing and we’ve still got at least an hour to ride.”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“At least switch places so that I can block the wind.”

She shook her head. “A waste of time.”

He contemplated taking the matter into his own hands, removing her from the saddle, and fitting her behind him. Only his injury kept him from acting. He settled for wrapping his arms tighter around his wife and silently daring her to complain.

She did not.

As the snow fell harder, Alex began to look for shelter while the ever-contrary
Charlotte spurred the horse on. If the lights of the ranch did not soon appear on the horizon, he would find someplace to get her out of the wind and build a fire for warmth.

The trail turned away from the river and wound through a stand of aspens. Though the light had grown dim, the horse seemed to know the path. Alex flexed his fingers and tried to move his injured arm, with moderate success.

Charlotte’s shoulders and backbone slumped. For his part, Alex no longer felt his fingers, despite his gloves, and his feet were chilled to the bone.

“The cold comes on quickly here,” he said. “Just this afternoon the weather was quite pleasant.”

No response. When Charlotte’s head dipped, Alex called her name.

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

His wife was anything but fine, but he knew that further conversation would be of no use. He began to pray.

A few minutes later, they emerged on the other side of the forest, and Alex spied a cabin tucked up against the hillside. No trail of smoke could be seen from the chimney, and there appeared to be no lights in the windows. Likely the place had been abandoned.

“Up there,” he said. “We’re stopping.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charlotte said.

He snagged the reins from her. Her cry of complaint told him there was still a bit of starch left in her spine.

“Ridiculous would be bypassing perfectly good shelter.” Alex tightened his grip on the reins. “Pride will only keep you so warm. After that, a good fire is required. Now, will you remain still until we reach that cabin, or will I have to slow this mare to deal with you first?”

She opened her mouth to complain, then thankfully thought better of it. When she nodded, he celebrated the not-so-small victory. Still he figured his hardheaded wife would eventually find her voice and object.

Alex decided to hurry.

Finding the best path to the cabin proved difficult, as the mare encountered more than one rocky patch along the way. Alex waited for the protest that never came. Instead, Charlotte leaned meekly against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“Charlotte?”

No response.

He shook her. “Charlotte?”

Her murmur of complaint was barely audible over the sound of the horse’s hooves. Her shivering, however, had increased to the point that Alex had to hold her as tightly as he could with his injured arm to prevent her from sliding off the saddle.

“We’re almost there,” Alex said. “Just hold on to me until I can get you inside and warm.”

“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “Home.” She made a grab for the reins, but Alex easily thwarted her.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered. He urged the horse on until they had closed the distance to the cabin.

Alex gave the structure a quick but critical look and judged it, at least from the exterior, to be structurally sound. However, even with the moon rising and the sun long set, the place wore its lack of attention for all to see. Still, he allowed for the possibility that its owner might be about.

“Wait here,” Alex said as he slid from behind Charlotte and swept the snow from her hair. “And don’t even think about running off and leaving me.”

Her weak smile worried him almost as much as her docile attitude. Apparently she was more chilled than she looked, and she looked awfully cold.

“Hello?” Alex called as he approached the cabin. He repeated the greeting, then slowly pushed on the door. It swung open on hinges sorely in need of oil, revealing a serviceable cabin empty of humans but—from what he could see in the deep shadows—decently furnished.

In one corner he could just make out a crudely made table and two benches set before the fireplace. He spied a lamp and matches on the mantel and made short work of illuminating the room. Though the cabin appeared to have been uninhabited for some time, there was a log in the fireplace that only needed kindling to be lit. A simple matter once he retrieved Charlotte.

The opposite end of the one-room abode held a wooden bed covered in a faded quilt. Several other blankets had been folded at the end of the bed, and Alex grabbed one.

“All right, wife,” he said as he headed back outside, “I think this will do.”

But though the horse was still tethered to the post, Charlotte was nowhere to be found. He called her name into the swirling snow but heard only the mare’s whinny in response.

“Charlotte, where are you?” he yelled again. Then he saw a set of footprints in the snow.

It only took a minute to find her, as she’d not strayed far.

“Did you intend to walk back to the ranch?” he asked.

When she continued to walk, he halted her progress, then turned her to face him. Wide green eyes stared blankly past him as her lips, tinged blue from the cold, trembled.

“Need to go home,” she managed. “So cold.”

“I’ve a warm fire for you,” he said, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders. “Or I will, once I get you inside so I can light it.” She swayed and Alex held her against him to steady her. “Can you walk?” When she nodded, he forced a smile. “All right then. Let’s go this way.”

Charlotte did as he asked, a sure sign she’d soon succumb to the cold if he didn’t get her inside and warmed up. Though his sore arm ached, Alex urged her forward, swiping at the snow on her face and in her hair, until he managed to get her inside.

“Sit here,” he said as he settled Charlotte onto the bench nearest the fireplace.

She did, again without protest, and watched while he piled kindling around the log and then struck several matches until one finally lit. Tossing the match into the fireplace, Alex stood back and watched as the flames took hold.

When he turned around, Charlotte was gone again. This time, he found her moving slowly toward the bed, the ends of the quilt dragging behind her.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “The fire’s just getting warm.”

“No,” she said without looking back. She reached out to grasp the bedpost, allowing the quilt to slide to the floor.

“Wait, Charlotte, your clothes are wet,” he said as she yanked back the covers. “And you’re still wearing your riding boots.”

She looked back, the slightest spark of awareness in her expression. “But I’m tired.”

“You’re cold,” he said, “and the only remedy for that is to sit near the fire where you can get warm.” Alex reached for her arm and drew her toward him. “And you’re going to have to get out of those wet clothes.”

Obediently, she shrugged out of the heavy jacket and allowed the fringed leather to fall at her feet. Charlotte moved toward the fire, and
Alex ran to retrieve the quilt, then followed Charlotte to stand in the warmth.

“Here,” he said, holding the quilt up by the corners to block his view of her. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. The quilt will protect your dignity, and I promise to close my eyes.”