Or had she? The kiss, as well as the moments before it, were mostly a blur in her mind, with the only tangible recollection being that of her body’s treasonous response to him. Good night, she’d clung to him like... like his sweat-soaked shirt was doing just now...
Gracious, he had the most distinct muscles.
What’s wrong with you?Don’t look,she scolded herself.
But she couldn’t help herself. She watched the movement in his shoulders and back, the easy posture of his body as he rode, and then, realizing that she was staring again, she forced her gaze away.
Good night, she was as shameless as Bess, she scolded herself. Had he not walked out on her last night… well, she hated to think of what might have happened.
Had he found her wanting?
Who cared if he had?
She cared.
Had he?
Her heart skipped a beat at that likelihood. Somehow it seemed terribly important that he not find her lacking. No one had ever looked at her quite like Cutter did at times.No one.And while she tried to be appropriately appalled by the frankness of his gaze, she couldn’t quite muster it. To her dismay, she found herself feeling almost... well, grateful for the way that he had lusted after her. Gracious day, was that it? Did he lust after her? Is that what she saw in his scrutiny? Was that why he’d agreed to help her? In answer, she shook her head, disbelieving it. Surely not?
Then again, shehadawakened yesterday to his exploring hands. Though he’d not touched her besides that, unless, of course, you countedthe kiss. And even if you did, he’d left immediately afterward, when he could very well have taken advantage of the situation. Instead, he’d walked away.
The man was a tangle of contradictions—a tangle she intended to unravel.
When Cutter slowed his horse to a trot, Elizabeth took advantage of the opportunity, nudging her mount closer. Cutter spared her only a cursory glance, and a slightly longer one for her mare.
“She’s holding up quite well, don’t you think?”
Cutter gave her a frown. As far as he was concerned, she was either goading him... or looking for reassurance. He didn’t feel like taking up the gauntlet in either case. Wasn’t in the mood. Somehow he felt thwarted. She’d accepted him, sure enough, but he’d lost something in the bargain. What it was, he didn’t know, but he felt the odd void all the same.
Just how long did he plan to be put out with her? Elizabeth wondered. He’d had his fun at her expense earlier. Shouldn’t she be the angry one? The least he could do was stay in character. She wasn’t certain how to respond to his brooding.
“Well, I’m mighty proud if I say so myself,” she told him. And then, realizing she’d spoken defensively, and that it wasn’t likely to help matters between them, she sought to rectify it. “What do you think about Cocoa?” she asked, conversationally.
“Cocoa?” Turning to her abruptly, Cutter gave her a harassed look. “What about it?”
Elizabeth patted her mare’s neck affectionately. “I thought I’d call her Cocoa.” Her cheeks warmed under his cutting gaze, but she refused to be embarrassed. “My horse,” she clarified. Rallying her self-defenses, she smiled pleasantly. “It suits her, don’t you think?”
Still he stared, but the only sound to reach Elizabeth’s ears was the trotting of hooves against the hard ground. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he turned away. Elizabeth was affronted by his rudeness, and her mouth fell slightly open, but she collected herself at once. If they were going to ride the distance together, she decided in that moment, they were going to have to make peace at some point. They couldn’t ride on like this much longer!
His own horse was a beautiful Appaloosa, dark everywhere but at the haunches, where it paled to a silvery white and had large black spots. The only blemish it bore was on the right ear; half of it appeared to have been lopped off. Still, as fine an animal as it was, she knew he must be very proud of it. “What about yours?”
“What about it?” Cutter repeated unindulgently, keeping his gaze focused ahead of them. He had no need to look at her at the moment. Her strained tone told him everything he needed to know. He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye, her hair braided so tightly that it stretched the pale skin of her cheeks, slanting her eyes—her face pinched in as though she’d been sucking at lemons.
He gave her a quick glimpse—purely out of curiosity—to find that her spectacles had bounced down to a precarious position at the end of her nose, giving the impression that she peered down on him, though in fact she sat a good deal lower than he did. The turmoil in her expression told him that she was ill at ease with her emotions, and he had the sudden suspicion that she’d led such a repressed life that she now had no notion how to handle herself in her pique. Far from being moved by that revelation, he was annoyed by it, because it drew him to her in ways he ought not to be drawn.
She pushed her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose. “What do you call him?” she inquired a bit too agreeably.
Shaking his head, Cutter gave her that look that suggested she might be out of her gourd. “Not a damned thing,” he replied. “I don’t call’m anythin’ but just plain horse.” To his mind, Elizabeth didn’t give him a big enough reaction, prompting him to add, “Only piss-pants and tenderfeet name their animals.” His eyes challenged her, never wavering as he awaited her response. No matter how he looked at it, it just didn’t sit well that he’d given in to her so easily.
Elizabeth straightened her spine. “I see. So which of the two does that make me—tenderfoot or... or...”
“Piss-pant,” Cutter provided, without compunction. She couldn’t even say the word, he thought irascibly. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Damn him anyway, if he was going to let her just up’n hire someone else to play bridegroom for her. Crazy, loony, irritating female—didn’t she know what she’d be setting herself up for?
Elizabeth’s amber eyes widened in affront.
Piss-pant! Elizabeth’s mind screeched. Piss-pant? Just how was she supposed to respond to that? Her mouth couldn’t begin to form the words even if she’d known what to say. So much for conversation, she chafed, and deciding that their discourse was definitely over, she tugged irritably on the reins, drawing back and away.
As she glowered at Cutter’s back, she began once again to doubt the wisdom in making this trek with the volatile man before her. Less than forty-eight hours earlier, she’d been sitting, misty-eyed, at her kitchen table, with a letter in hand destined to change her life forever. Yet, even then, if someone had told her she’d be in the saddle today, riding beside the most contrary man she’d ever laid eyes upon, she’d have called them liar... Well, maybe she wouldn’t have. But here she sat, nevertheless, faced with the dilemma of having to make the best of a situation she’d never have conceived possible.
