But Elizabeth never answered; she was already crawling out of the shelter, into the storm, her fear forgotten suddenly, her modesty dismissed, instinct taking over.
She’d slid past him before Cutter’s mind had even had time to register her intent.
“Lizbeth!”
Damn. She was actually going out into the storm? In her friggin’ drawers! Great! Just great! It was just his luck to be saddled with a closet exhibitionist! Fumbling for her legs, Cutter tried to stop her, but Elizabeth was too quick. Bucking upward, he yanked the denims over his rear, and immediately shifted to his stomach, slamming his head into the stone ceiling in the turn. His vision swung to black for an instant. Cursing violently, he clutched at his throbbing head, and started to crawl out after her.
Why the hell had he agreed to this? he wondered irately. Was he a glutton for punishment? Fool woman was determined to get herself killed—him, too, in the process!
And then he saw what had gotten her so distressed, and he cursed a blue streak.
“Lizbeth!”
In slow motion, he saw her running through the downpour, her drawers and camisole pasted to her body. Her sturdy black shoes splattering mud. “Nooo!” he howled. Damn him, if the little fool wasn’t really gonna get herself killed! His stomach lurched. “Elizabeth! No!” It was a ploy—he had to stop her.
His heart hammering in fear, Cutter bolted from his knees, sprinting after her, racing like a man possessed, one boot on, one off. His bare foot lit on something sharp, slicing into his sole, but he didn’t feel the pain. In his mind he could see the bastard rising up with a war cry and putting his knife to Elizabeth’s lily white throat.
In her panic, Elizabeth never even considered how the horse would view her reckless approach, and she halted abruptly as it snorted, sidling away from her in fear. With the force of that movement, the Indian toppled to one side, sliding listlessly off the horse’s back. Acting purely out of instinct, she moved to catch him, and floundered under his incredible weight. The horse moved away immediately, calming with the distance put between them. She clutched the Indian to her breast as her knees buckled, and then tumbled to the soggy ground, falling atop him.
In that instant, Cutter reached her. With a savage cry, he wrenched her off and flung her away. Stumbling, Elizabeth landed on the ground on her backside, her hands flying out behind her to break her fall.
“God—damn you!” Cutter snarled, glaring at her furiously.
The barely leashed violence and anger left Elizabeth speechless. She stared back at him as though he were deranged.
Doubling over to catch his breath, legs spread, hands on his knees, shirt hanging open, Cutter stared down at the unconscious man at his feet. Beads of rain dripped from the end of his nose.
Streaks of red flowed from a wound in the brave’s chest, running down in watery rivulets to stain his soiled buckskins. Despite that proof of the man’s injury, Cutter’s anger was far from diminished. It could very well have been a ruse! The fact that it wasn’t didn’t lessen the risk Elizabeth had taken one shred in his mind.
He glowered at her. “Damn me if you even have the brains God gave a snake, woman! Just what did you think you were doing?”
Grating her teeth, Elizabeth glared at Cutter with burning, reproachful eyes. “Can’t you see the man is hurt?” she countered.
Cutter only gaped at her. All he could think of in that moment was that he’d come too close to losing her, and he couldn’t bear the thought of it.
It tore at his gut.
Like nothing before.
Stooping over the unconscious brave, Cutter plucked open the man’s lids and then felt for a pulse at his neck. Satisfied with the results, he turned again to glare at Elizabeth. “What if he hadn’t been hurt? What if it had been an act—a trick to sniff us out? What then, Doc?”
Elizabeth stood abruptly, swiping her palms over her wet drawers. “But it wasn’t!” she returned. “He is hurt—and I am a doctor. He needs me, Mr. McKenzie, so if you don’t plan on assisting, then just get out of my way!”
Her unexpected voice of authority took Cutter aback, but he never let the surprise show on his face. In spite of his anger, he couldn’t argue with the facts; the man did need immediate medical attention. He gave her a curt nod, yielding, though grudgingly.
Above them, a watery sun appeared through the drizzle as Elizabeth rushed to aid the unconscious Indian. Brushing past Cutter, she determined to ignore the brief contact of their bodies, but couldn’t. Even in her fury, his touch made her heart react strangely.
But her body’s reaction to him was completely forgotten when she looked down into the young brave’s face. The cast of his skin was a sickly blue, and she knew what that signified. Automatically she felt for a pulse on his neck. Feeling it, though faintly, she blew a sigh of relief. Her heart raced with hope. “He’s in shock,” she explained as Cutter stood behind, watching.
The wound was deep, gaping, and ragged—almost as though he had been cut repeatedly in the same spot. There was so much blood that it was difficult to tell whether or not there was some foreign object still lodged within. Gulping down her uncertainty, she fingered the wound, and finding nothing, determined there was not. Whatever had been there had been removed already.
As though by some sixth sense, her gaze fell on the small knife he had sheathed at his side. The handle was bloody... and she knew instinctively what had happened. Evidently he’d attempted to remove whatever had been lodged there on his own... and had nicked an artery? Or worse, had he severed one? How much blood had he lost? How long had he been bleeding?
Biting down on her bottom lip, she glowered up at Cutter. “Well! Don’t just stand there, Mr. McKenzie—help me get him inside!” The rain had slowed considerably, and in that moment, ceased entirely. “Never mind,” she said abruptly. “Just move him closer to the shelter.” Knowing Cutter was perfectly capable of carrying the man by himself, she hurried to retrieve her discarded skirt, along with her bedroll.
The roll, she quickly unfurled, and then motioned for Cutter to place the brave upon it while she fumbled with her skirt. No sooner had he set the man down when she began tearing the sagging hem from her old skirt, inspecting it as it came into her hands.
She hadn’t recalled her state of dress until she’d spotted her skirt lying across the floor of the dugout, and though she was disconcerted to be caught undressed in the broad light of day, there had been no time to worry over it... nor was there now.
