Alone with a man.
A strange man, she clarified to herself.
And an obvious rogue, at that.
Good night, what would her father have said?
He’d never have let himself die if he’d thought, for even one second that she’d be so witless! How many times had he warned her to “trust no man unless he’s loaded with ether or dead”? He’d never said as much, but she suspected Angus Bowcock preferred the latter if a man was alone with his daughter. It had been her father, after all, who’d encouraged her lamentable state of dress. At least he had in the beginning. Later, in the last months of his life, he’d insisted that she rid herself of the shapeless garments she’d always worn.
Gripping the reins progressively tighter, until they whitened the flesh of her palm, she recalled that he’d even bought her a beautiful calico print... so that she would make herself a dress from it. She’d not understood then. But she did now. He’d known then that he was dying, and he’d wanted her to set about finding a man to care for her. Why hadn’t she been able to see it at the time? The sadness in his eyes when he’d come home that day to find the calico neatly quilted, and gracing his own bed. It was all so clear to her... but only now.
Oh, Papa, she thought, if only you were here. She sighed wistfully. The fact was that he was gone. And he wasn’t coming back. But she thought he might be proud of her, anyhow.
She’d not even cried when he’d died.
Dauntlessly she’d stepped into his shoes, and even when the townsfolk had balked because it wasn’t fittin’ for a woman to tend them, she’d not relented. If they preferred to die, then that was their concern. But she’d informed them boldly when their children were ill, that she’d not let their little ones suffer because she wasn’t a man doctor. And in the end, when a man or his loved ones were ailing, it didn’t take much persuasion to make them see things her way. Survival was the name of the game, and if it took a woman to accomplish the task, then so be it.
Gaining their acceptance had taken quite a while, yet it had been well worth it. Now most everyone in or about Sioux Falls came willingly to her, whether their ailments were big or small. And not for the first time, she felt a pang for leaving them without medical aid. Yet, that she could recall, there were none so sick just now that they couldn’t survive her brief absence. She’d had no choice in the matter, after all, but even if she had planned when she would leave, it was doubtful she could have found someone to replace her in such short time. Still, she would have tried. And then worried when she couldn’t—and in the end, would have wasted precious time.
She did have that much to thank Cutter for, she reflected, and stole another glance at his back. He had, at least, taken that weighty decision out of her hands. And that led her to another thought entirely.
How was it that he had gotten her to thinking this was all her idea? And worrying when she thought he’d left her stranded? She wouldn’t put it past him to have planned the entire thing! Right down to the last detail!
Lost in thought as she was, she was completely unprepared when a bird swooped down before her, spooking her mare. Instinctively her hands tightened on the reins, startling Cocoa. The mare edged backward, huffing and snorting mutinously. Before Elizabeth could even scream for help, she was tossed headfirst. Landing with a squeal on the ground, she rolled and lay unmoving where she fell.
Chapter Nine
Intending to catch her mare before it trampled her to death, Cutter snatched her reins and calmed Cocoa. That done, he leapt off his own mount and rushed to where Elizabeth lay, skidding the last two feet on his knees, halting at her side.
Her eyes were wide open, but she didn’t so much as bat a lash. Anxiously he passed a hand over her eyes. She blinked suddenly and turned to him, her eyes misting, and his heart jolted back to life. Releasing the breath he’d not realized he’d held, he asked softly, “You all right, Lizbeth?”
Elizabeth nodded, taking the hand he offered. Using it for support, she hauled herself upright.
Seeing that she wasn’t injured, Cutter didn’t bother to conceal his displeasure. “What is it with you and horses that lands you square on your ass every time?”
To his alarm, a solitary tear rolled down her dusty cheek, leaving a dirty, wet trail in its wake. “Well, hell, you are hurt!” he growled. “Show me where!”
With her throat parched and too thick to speak, Elizabeth shook her head helplessly, sniffing back tears. “I’m... I’m not,” she insisted. But her lip began to tremble traitorously, and then, to her dismay, she broke into sobs. It was as though all the pain she’d been harboring in the months since her father’s death surfaced in that miserable moment as Cutter glowered down upon her. Mortified, she hid her face in her hands.
Obviously awkward with her tears, Cutter sat firmly on his backside, and placed a hand to her back, rubbing soothingly. “Come on, now, bright eyes, don’t go sheddin’ tears on me now,” he told her, urging her closer, into the space between his legs. She didn’t need much prodding. With a smothered sob, she leaned into his arms, burying her wet face against his shirt, and driving him backward with the impact of her delicious little body. Teetering with her weight, Cutter pulled her into his lap as gently as though she were a china doll.
Grateful for the comfort Cutter was giving, but ashamed of her disgraceful outburst, Elizabeth concealed her face against his chest and wept silently, her shoulders quaking softly.
She clutched at his shirt as though it were her salvation, and Cutter could do nothing but sit and soothe her while she unwittingly tugged his shirttails out of his denims.
He wasn’t quite certain why she was weeping so passionately, and felt a stab of guilt for worrying about his shirt. The thing was, if she pulled any harder, it was like to rip in two, and he didn’t have but the two—this one and the one in his saddlebag.
Moving closer, he tried to ease the fatal tension on his favorite shirt. Wrapping his arms around her, he stroked her back reassuringly, and despite his resolve not to yield to his baser instincts, his britches grew snug as his body responded to the woman leaning so intimately into his arms.
Damned if she didn’t smell good.
Clenching his jaw, he fought the urge to lift her face up, kiss her tears away, because he knew exactly where it would lead if he did. It didn’t matter where they were. His body didn’t know the difference between a feather-fluffed mattress and the dirt-hard ground. But she would. And somehow, it mattered.
He’d promised her nothing last night, and he sure as hell didn’t harbor any noble sentiments, but he wanted it to be right between them when it happened. And it would happen, without a doubt, but first he wanted her trust.
And her unconditional surrender.
Swallowing with difficulty, he pressed his lips down into her hair, while his hand caressed her. Moving up her arm, his fingers tightened around her shoulders, and then he froze, forbidding himself to go any further.
