“Izzatso?”
“Yes, it is. Now... if I’m going to allow you to escort me to St. Louis, McKenzie, there are a few conditions by which you’ll need to abide.”
After tonight, she wasn’t so certain that it was Cutter she should mistrust, but herself.
The hairs on the back of Cutter’s neck bristled.
“Such as?”
Her chin lifted a notch. “Such as,” she proposed, “you will never, ever, try to—to kiss me again! And you will not touch me. And you will not spend your leisure time with—with women like Bess! You’re supposed to be traveling as my husband, after all.”
“If you say so.”
“And,” she continued, “I’ll need my own mount. And my own bedding,” she added hastily. “Furthermore, we will never sleep in the same bed—or even the same room! Not if it can be helped!”
Cutter was prepared to accept every one of her shrewdly given demands, and hated himself for it; his voice fell to little more than a seething whisper. “Anythin’ else, Doc?”
“Yes!” Elizabeth said, disregarding his scorn. “I mean to hire someone else once we’ve arrived safely in St. Louis. For obvious reasons, I cannot present you as my lawful husband.”
As horrible as it sounded, she had no choice but to tell Cutter the truth.
He flinched noticeably, as though she’d actually slapped him, then his expression shuttered. Elizabeth took another step backward, thinking that he looked ready to pounce suddenly, and tear her limb from limb.
“Cutter,” she appealed, as he turned abruptly and reached for the knob. “Try to understand!” An awful sinking sensation stirred in the pit of her stomach as he jerked open the door so ferociously that a rush of air whisked by her face.
“It’s just that I can’t—” Cutter didn’t wait long enough to hear her explanation. The door slammed shut so violently that it jarred the frame, “—chance losing my niece,” she finished lamely.
Stunned by Cutter’s brusque departure, Elizabeth simply stood, gaping at the door, unsure of what to do next. Bewildered, she came forward and leaned upon it, needing the support. Her legs felt oddly insubstantial beneath her.
Surely he didn’t mean to refuse her now? Not after all that she’d had to endure? Good lord! Was she supposed to hunt him down now and beg his assistance?
It was an agonizingly long moment later when she realized that she’d not heard Cutter’s door close—nor open, for that matter—and her heart skipped a beat. Surely he didn’t mean to just leave her where she stood... without a way back to Sioux Falls?
Without any money either. She doubted she had enough to pay for both the room and a horse! Maybe he’d already paid for the room. Had he? Muddled as her mind was, she couldn’t remember. Numbly she locked the door and leaned back against it, her mind reeling.
After a long moment, she walked to the bed, stumbling over the bedcovers on the way. There she sat, pressing a hand to her temple. The tiniest headache had persisted all day, and now threatened to explode.
Merciful heaven, what was she going to do?
Think, she told herself firmly.
Come on now, Elizabeth, don’t panic. “It won’t help a thing,” she whispered to herself. Slipping her thumbnail between her teeth, she chewed it contemplatively.
She grimaced suddenly as a thought occurred to her. She wouldn’t put it past McKenzie to have paid for his own room, leaving her bill unsettled.
Well, she determined with a heartfelt sigh, she couldn’t worry about that just now. There was too much else to fret over. Her thundering head, for instance. Wearily she lay back upon the small bed, and covered her forehead with her damp palm.
First thing in the morning she would go to the livery and purchase a sturdy mount for herself. Either way—whether it was on to St. Louis or back to Sioux Falls—she’d need a reliable horse for the journey. Calming somewhat with that decision, she took a deep breath.
Things would work out; surely they would.
They had to.
But what if she didn’t have any money left over after buying the horse?
Somehow she would sneak out of the hotel... and if she was able to raise the funds, she’d come back to pay right away. If not, then she could always send restitution later... when she was safely away. She simply couldn’t take the chance that they might... well... detain her. Her head began to pound without mercy. Gracious day, she’d never been in trouble with the law before. But... they didn’t know her identity and wouldn’t know where to look for her, she consoled herself. Cutter had not—whether by design or by accident, she didn’t know—given her name at the desk.
They did have his signature, though, and it would serve him right if they came looking for him, dragged him off to jail, and threw away the key.
