Cutter pivoted toward her suddenly. “What did you say?”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Nothing,” she replied hastily. He didn’t look quite convinced, and she gave him an irritated sigh. “I said, I’d be all right! Don’t worry about me. Good night,” she muttered. She’d been taking care of herself for most of her life. Her father had been too busy, and more oft than not, she’d taken care of him. She didn’t need Cutter’s concern. If that’s what it was. And there was room for doubt.
With a nod and a grin, Cutter turned again. “Just don’t aim at anythin’ standing upright,” he told her, “unless it speaks first, and you know for sure it’s not me.”
Elizabeth gasped indignantly.
“If you need me, fire once—skyward, if you don’t mind. Wouldn’t want to butt heads with a stray bullet.”
He walked away without looking back, and Elizabeth had the sudden urge to point the gun heavenward and squeeze the trigger with all her might, startle him out of his too snug britches—the man was just a little too smug for her liking. They were almost indecent the way they clung to his hips and thighs! She’d tried to ignore those sinewy muscles of his, but it was just impossible. Never had she seen a body quite so hard as his!
Blasted man!
Laying the gun aside, carefully, with a little prayer that she wouldn’t need it, Elizabeth finished gathering the firewood. She hoped Cutter would find something a little more edible than jerky to satisfy their hunger. As far as she was concerned, she’d had more than enough of the dehydrated beef already.
By the time Cutter returned, kill in hand, she’d managed to set up the wood in a fashion, so that air could flow easily between the kindling. That way it would go out quickly, as Cutter seemed to prefer. She was in the process of tending the fire, and the first tiny flame was licking its way triumphantly into the wooden pyramid she’d built, when Cutter’s shouted expletive made her leap up, startled.
Whirling toward the sound, she took in his livid expression and bolted out of his way as he stalked toward her. Astounded, she turned and watched as he stamped out the small flame she’d worked so hard to begin.
“If you don’t know how to do something, dammit—ask!”
There was genuine puzzlement in Elizabeth’s expression. “I know how to start a fire!” she protested.
Cutter’s black eyes speared her, unnerving her with the hostility they revealed. “You’re not snug at home, Miz Bowcock,” he said through his teeth, “all bundled up beside your cozy little fireplace. Without stones or something of the sort to keep the fire from spreading, we’d start a blaze like nothing you’ve ever seen this side of hell!”
“There’s no need to curse at me! I certainly didn’t know!” If possible, Elizabeth’s sunburned cheeks became warmer, and her irritation intensified. Just how was she supposed to have known? “And you didn’t have to come rushing at me like... like…
“Like a savage out of the wild?” Cutter offered.
Elizabeth’s chin rose a notch, and she took in a breath, releasing it slowly in an effort to keep her composure. “I—wasn’t—going—to say that!” Her eyes slitted wrathfully. “Though now that you mention it—”
Cutter’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Don’t say it,” he warned.
“You started this!” Elizabeth felt obliged to point out. “Whatever happened to our truce? Good night, you’d think I was committing the direst of sins, when I was only trying to help!”
No, just wheedling her way into his every thought, was all.
Cutter couldn’t even hunt without thinking of her. What the hell did he care what she liked to eat? “All right, so now you know,” he said tightly. “Now come on over here and I’ll show you how it’s done properly.”
Elizabeth didn’t budge.
He began by clearing the surrounding area of debris. That done, he knelt, unsheathing his knife from his boot, and dug out a trench two feet long, heaping the soil to one side. Afterward, he gathered stones and arranged them accordingly.
“It’s easier to build one above ground,” he conceded. “But this way conserves fuel. Aside from that, we don’t need anyone aware of us. I’ve been tracking too long to feel comfortable leaving traces.” He glanced up, gauging Elizabeth’s expression. She’d yet to move forward, though she was watching him, her expression both curious and affronted. “You wouldn’t believe how much can be determined by studying an abandoned camp,” he said, in an attempt to draw her closer.
At his declaration, Elizabeth scanned the area. Seeing nothing, she returned her attention to Cutter, hands on her hips. “And just who do you expect is out there?” she asked abruptly, hating the way her eyes returned not to his face, but to the muscle play in his arms as he worked. His arms, sinewy and bronzed from the sun, gave testimony to a lifetime of strenuous labor. Unable to turn away, she stared, mesmerized.
Quit staring,she admonished herself.Good night, you’d think you ‘d never seen a man before!
Cutter shrugged, never peering up from his work. “Take your pick.”
Elizabeth shook off a quiver, shaking her head as though to dispel her wayward thoughts. “Indians?” she said.
There was horror in her tone, and Cutter winced at hearing her greatest fear. “Could be,” he said as dispassionately as he was able. Rising, he slapped at his denims, whisking the dirt from his hands as he flicked her an annoyed look. With a disgusted shake of his head, he proceeded to gather up the buffalo chips he’d found while out hunting.
In an unusual display of clumsiness, he’d dropped them all at the sight of her on her knees by the fire, her pert little fanny clearly defined as she’d bent over her task. It had taken him a full moment to recoup himself after that view. One thing was certain, the woman had one helluva backside.
Once the chips were all recovered, he placed them in the small pit he’d formed, topping them with the smallest bits of deadwood Elizabeth had gathered. The rest, he scattered.
