As he heard the words Elizabeth flung at him, Cutter’s mirth ceased abruptly, and his eyes narrowed upon the mouth that had nearly taken a chunk from his neck.
Foremost in his mind was the brief kiss he had stolen the night before. And then his mind focused on that key word.
Stolen.
She’d never have given it freely. He made the mistake of looking up, into her eyes, and a familiar twisting began in his gut. Elizabeth was looking at him, through spectacles aslant, as though he were a two-headed rodent. He’d felt the stab of prejudice many times before, but that she should stoop to flinging insults caused long-buried scars to rip and burn. His anger flared.
Why had he thought she would be any different? How could he have allowed himself to forget? Because she was Jo’s friend? He damned well should have known better. And it shouldn’t bother him. But it did. Because for the first time in a long time, he’d allowed himself to forget, to feel easy with someone. He’d let down his guard.
His mistake, but he wouldn’t make it again.
“I wouldn’t try that again,” Cutter warned. A chill hung on the edge of his words, and his eyes held hers “As it is, you’re damned lucky you’re a woman.” Despite his outward calm, there was the threat of violence in his voice.
Faced with his anger, Elizabeth looked suddenly ashamed of her childish outburst. “Just how far have we come?” she asked grudgingly, straightening her spectacles.
For the longest moment, Cutter couldn’t bring himself to respond to her simple question.
He oughta turn back now and take her high-minded self back to Sioux Falls. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. In spite of his anger, he just couldn’t, and his displeasure over the fact burned in his gut.
“Like I said before, too far to turn back. If I’m not mistaken, that’s Indian Creek up ahead. You can come along with me, or run back home with your tail tucked between your pretty little legs. Either way, it’s your decision, but if you choose to go home, you go it alone.”
The change in his demeanor was frightening.
Gone was the imperturbable cad. In his place was someone else entirely. The other provoked her, infuriated her, but she’d never hesitated to respond in kind. This man, she was unsure of. Still, she reminded herself, he was Jo’s brother. Jo wouldn’t have let harm come her way—not even by way of her baby brother.
“How do I know what you intend, Mr. McKenzie? You might be a raving lunatic, or bent on murder, for that matter.”
His dark, enigmatic eyes revealed nothing. He nodded slowly, lips thin with displeasure. His hand held her arm, squeezing firmly but painlessly. “True enough. But don’t you think that if I’d aimed to do you harm, Doc... I’d have done it long before now?”
His silky tone mesmerized her. Unable to tear her gaze away, she swallowed, opening her mouth to speak, but he shook her suddenly, startling the words from her tongue.
“Look,” Cutter said, before she could gather her thoughts. “You don’t know me all that well, that’s true enough, but I’m willing to help you for nothing—Christ knows why! You can’t say the same for someone else,” he said bluntly. “You can’t even count on help for pay, because who’s to stop them from taking your money and tossing up your skirts, just for the hell of it? Maybe even putting a knife between your pretty little shoulder blades, at that—to guarantee your silence?”
His intent was to tell her the brutal truth—all of it—even if it spooked her.
To Cutter’s way of thinking, Elizabeth needed a little dose of fear to make her understand this wasn’t a Sunday picnic she was planning.
Her eyes went wide as his grip tightened upon her arm. She fidgeted, trying to ease his hold, but he never gave an inch.
“Stop... please—stop!” she cried out. “You’re hurting me!”
“Good. Am I frightening you, too? Sure as hell hope so!” His free hand found its way into her tousled hair, his fingers curling around the back of her neck to secure her as he finally released her arm. He touched a loose tendril, examining it, then winding it carefully about his finger. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Because I’d hate to see this—” he tugged at it softly, bringing her closer, so that their lips were separated only by a whisper “—dangling from a scalp belt.”
Forcing her attention away from his lips, Elizabeth grimaced, meeting his angry gaze.
“And you don’t take scalps?” she asked with more calm than she felt, and then she shriveled suddenly as an odd look passed over his features—pain, if she didn’t know better—before his jaw turned taut and his eyes grew harsh.
He released her abruptly, and she nearly fell off the horse. She had to reach out and catch his shirt to steady herself, but his gaze never wavered. His expression was cold and proud.
“I’m riding into that town,” he said, his voice soft but daunting. “And you’re coming with me, Doc. You take tonight to think about whether you’re wantin’ my services or not.” His eyes were black, sparkling with fury. “Then... bright ’n’ early tomorrow mornin’, I’ll expect your answer. It’s up to you. I don’t aim to force you, Lizbeth—or beg, either. It’s purely your decision.” He leaned backward, reaching into the saddlebags, groping blindly, never taking his eyes from hers as he brought up a small pouch and pressed it into her hand.
No sooner had she accepted it when he lifted her, turning her around to face away from him. Too stunned to speak, she explored the pouch with her fingers without opening it. Coins. He’d given her money.
“I can’t accept it,” she told him.
“Take it up with Jo,” he said. And then, reaching over her, he gathered up the reins, leaning briefly against her back. She flinched, sensing his anger in every rigid plane of his chest.
“If in the morning my answer is still no?” she prompted, her shoulders lifting slightly, her expression wary.
