“I’ve been asking myself that same question!” Cutter told her. “Over and over! Hell, I dunno! Maybe I was lame brained enough to think you’d appreciate it. Maybe I did it for Jo! She seems to care for you so friggin’ much I thought you cared right back! Reckon I was wrong.”
“No!” Elizabeth retorted. “No!” And then composing herself, she said more calmly, her expression pained, “You weren’t wrong. I do care about Jo. She’s my best friend.” A little softer now. “The closest one I’ve ever had.”
A thick silence fell between them. As they stared at each other, something passed between them, a connection neither understood, much less felt at ease with.
Elizabeth was the first to break eye contact. Nervously, catching her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced down at her trembling knees, then back up again to see that Cutter was still watching her intently. His expression was thoughtful, as though he were questioning her somehow, or himself, and didn’t like the answers he found.
Well, she didn’t care if he didn’t like her, she told herself. She didn’t like him either! Unsure what to say in that moment, she only knew that she couldn’t take his cutting looks and cantankerous disposition any longer. “For Jo’s sake,” she began sourly, “do you think... do you think that perhaps we could call a truce? At least until St. Louis?” Puzzling as it was, she wanted the other Cutter back—the man he’d seemed to be when she’d first met him. “You’ll be rid of me then,” she appealed when his eyes narrowed slightly.
As she reminded him of the fact that she planned to hire someone else once they reached their destination, Cutter’s jaw tensed, but he nodded slightly in response. Rid of her? He doubted he ever would be, but yeah, he could, and needed to, for the sake of the journey, call a truce.
“All right,” he agreed, his voice hoarse. “Truce it is. But you’re gonna have to carry your weight, Doc, and you can’t be fighting me at every turn. When I tell you to do something, you do it. Trust me to know what’s right. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Chapter Ten
It was an uneasy truce at best, Elizabeth realized by the following day. Little enough had been said between them as they’d set up camp that first night. Yet that had more than suited her at the time. There had been far too much on her mind for idle chatter.
And despite his charge that she was to carry her own weight, Cutter took care of every last detail, from hunting down a meal to setting up the bedrolls, making her do nothing but sit like a ninny on her backside. She was certain that he’d done so as a consideration to her, because of her fall. But his manner had been brusque the entire evening, never inviting conversation, even had she considered it. She did not, however, and had thought little of it until now.
By late afternoon she began to suspect that Cutter was regretting their arrangement, and she felt like sending his brooding self to blazes for making her feel so guilty. This had certainly not been her idea! It had, in fact, been his. And now that he had managed to convince her that it was the best solution, she wasn’t about to let him off so easily. How dare he even consider it, anyway? She was not, she assured herself, about to feel guilty!
As of yet, there had been few words spoken between them. And then only out of necessity. Such as when she’d asked to stop so that she could relieve herself—another thing she’d not anticipated. She doubted she’d ever get used to having to share that embarrassing detail with another human being, much less a man—less Cutter McKenzie!
True, she was a doctor, and such things were supposed to be familiar to her, but for some reason, even the thought of Cutter knowing of that very private... act discomfited her. Especially since he seemed to be particularly amused by it. What he should find so entertaining, Elizabeth was sure she didn’t know.
In his defense, he had, upon several occasions, asked after her comfort, and she took heart in that. And then her lips twisted as she recalled the first time he’d inquired. In spite of her sore bottom, she’d promptly assured him that she was just fine, but the crimson stains on her cheeks had given her away. Noting them, Cutter had smiled his very first smile of the day, and then had offered his hat... saying with false gravity that the sun was burning her skin even as he watched. The rat! Certainly he was no gentleman for pointing out her blushing, that much was certain.
But then he’d never claimed to be, had he?
Grudgingly she’d accepted his offer, gritting her teeth as she snatched the confounded hat out of his grasp. The only other time she tried to encourage conversation, he practically bit her head off. She merely asked him why his horse only had half a right ear.
“Someone’s idea of a practical joke,” he snarled.
Elizabeth’s face contorted. “Well, I certainly don’t think that’s very funny,” she assured him.
The look Cutter gave her in answer chilled her to the bone.
“Neither did I,” Cutter replied. “But I don’t reckon the man’s laughing any longer.”
Jack Colyer had been one of the most vocal against him. They’d worked together driving cattle for near two years. As one of the older boys, Colyer had made certain Cutter ended up with the worst jobs, the worst supplies, the last of the grub. Hell, he’d actually caught the man bragging over cutting off his horse’s ear. Without a word, Cutter had walked into the circle of men, some of whom were twice his age and bigger to boot, but he’d been too angry to be afraid. No one had moved. He could still feel the silence crawl down his back as they’d watched him move purposely toward Colyer.
His blade had sliced the air so quickly that Colyer had had no idea what had happened until he’d seen the evidence in Cutter’s hand. “Ear for an ear,” Cutter had whispered. And then he’d smiled, feeling a satisfaction he never should have felt over such a violent act. Yet he’d felt it all the same.
No one had ever crossed him again.
But neither had they accepted him.
“Why would he do such a thing to an innocent horse?” Elizabeth wanted to know, bringing him back from the ugly past.
The look he turned on her was condemning. “Same reason you seem to be so averse to my company,” he told her. “He hated half-breeds.”
“I don’t hate half-breeds!” Elizabeth protested.
Cutter shrugged. She might not hate them, but she obviously didn’t like them much either. And yet the passion in her tone told him she was telling the truth, though he couldn’t quite let her off the hook just yet. “Reckon he just wasn’t satisfied with my reaction to his insults,” he disclosed. “He just went a little too far in trying to provoke me, is all.”
“What did you do to him?” Her tone was wary.
