Cutter could imagine her suddenly, fighting tirelessly to win the townsfolk’s approval. In spite of the fact that she had practically stepped into her daddy’s shoes, it wouldn’t have been a simple task to win their respect. Yet clearly she had, because he’d heard them refer to her as Doc, and without any reservation at all. He couldn’t let her begin doubting herself now.
And he couldn’t help himself suddenly.
Driven by the need to soothe away her pain—not to mention the influence of his nether regions—his lips touched her salty lashes, pressing them softly against her moist lids, then moved down to the bridge of her nose to plant another tender kiss there.
At last the sprinkling ceased altogether, though neither of them were aware of it, so lost were they in the intensity of the moment; Elizabeth in her self doubt and grief, and Cutter in his physical torment.
His throat thickened with emotion. “Shhh, bright eyes.” His lips brushed against hers as he spoke. “Don’t cry.”
Suddenly his mouth covered hers hungrily, coaxing with savage intensity, crushing her to him, sending waves of shock spiraling through her. She was astounded at her eager response; unable to deny him, Elizabeth opened for him willingly. He gripped her shoulders roughly, and the shock of his tongue delving gently between her trembling lips quieted her sobs at once. Her breathing stopped entirely as one hand moved to grip the back of her neck, restraining her so that she couldn’t have withdrawn from the soul-searing kiss had she wanted to. His other hand splayed at her back, forcing her into full contact with the hard planes of his body.
Helpless to contain it, Elizabeth whimpered deep in her throat, unable to bear the intense pleasure of it... yet feeling conscience-stricken that she could experience such overwhelming joy over a kiss... when a man lay lifeless at their feet!
But Lord, she wanted this... more than anything... wanted the comfort he could give her. Merciful heaven, what was wrong with her?
With a tortured cry, Elizabeth suddenly shoved Cutter away, repulsed by her actions, and knowing that if she didn’t stop him now, she’d soon be begging him to continue.
“How could you?” she demanded breathlessly. How could she? her mind shouted in rebuttal. Cutter’s eyes were so black that she had the momentary sensation of toppling headfirst into their murky depths. She felt divested completely of her will.
Only Cutter’s self-restraint kept her from shaming herself further.
The lift of his brow sent a curious chill down her spine. “Easy, Doc,” he answered huskily, and her body tingled where his eyes touched her so boldly. “The hard part was keeping myself from it.” His lips twisted wryly.
Mesmerized by his disclosure, Elizabeth could only gape at him stupidly, disbelieving his callousness, yet secretly thrilling to his words. “I asked you not to call me that!” she said, averting her eyes. More than a little discomfited by his piercing stare, she sought refuge in outrage—before she could be tempted to throw herself on his mercy. Ruthless as Cutter was, he wouldn’t turn her away, she was certain. Fighting back tears, she tried to rise, but Cutter kept her from it with one hand to her shoulder.
Knowing full well that the moment was over, Cutter sighed regretfully. Aware of the fact that Elizabeth seemed to take strength in her anger, he told her with a slow lift of his brow, “Maybe you’re right, Doc. Maybe you don’t have what it takes, after all. Maybe the man was better off without you. Y’ think—Doc?” It must have taken a befuddled moment for his unfeeling words to register, and then Elizabeth’s eyes widened in offense.
She slapped him. “No!” she cried. “I don’t! I did everything I knew to do! Everything! Everything!”
At his nod of agreement, Elizabeth hushed abruptly, her shoulders slumping and her face contorting with grief. “I’m sorry!” Tears swam in her eyes, choking her voice. “Oh, Cutter,” she whimpered. “I did—I swear, I did. And still... it wasn’t enough!”
Cutter rubbed his jaw belatedly, where the sting of her slap was, and Elizabeth looked at him sorrowfully, her lips quivering pitifully.
“I’ve seen so many die—men, women, brothers, babies. It’s not the dying itself that hurts so much... just that this time—” she tapped softly at her breast, once again beginning to cry, calling his attention back to the diaphanous camisole “—I was the only thing standing between life and death... and I failed—miserably!”
With a muttered oath, Cutter caught her by the shoulders, gripping her firmly. “No you didn’t, Lizbeth,” he said bluntly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! The man was already six feet under when he fell off that horse! I tried to tell you as much—remember? But you wouldn’t listen. There was nothing more you could have done.” He softened his voice abruptly, wanting her to understand. “As my mother’s people would have said, The Shadow had long left him, he only breathed. Chrissakes, woman, don’t you know how proud of you I am?”
Elizabeth’s gaze flew to his. “P-Proud?” she asked hesitantly.
Cutter nodded, wiping away the glowing moistness from her eyes. “Proud,” he repeated with a slow, firm nod. Then, with a tormented groan, he brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, reveling in her sweet softness. Now was not the time, he knew, this not the place.
But soon... real soon. He couldn’t wait much longer. His body was literally in pain with need of her.
“Damn proud,” he whispered again, almost reverently this time. And then, with a wink, he touched her bottom lip with his scarred finger, rolling it gently to reveal the soft inner flesh.
Elizabeth shivered.
For a long moment, neither of them could look away, so strong was the pull between them.
Then, rising abruptly with a rueful sigh, Cutter hauled Elizabeth up with him. “Come on, Doc, let’s give the man a proper resting place and then move on downriver.” He didn’t want her to dwell on what had happened here, and knew that she wouldn’t begin to forget until they were away from the place.
Having no shovels available to bury the Indian, Cutter decided to enclose him within the dugout. The opening was just slim enough that it was possible to close it off with a few large boulders and some dirt. After removing their belongings from the grotto, they moved the Indian within. And while Cutter worked to seal up the tomb, Elizabeth quickly assumed her damp shirt, and then set to packing the horses as she’d seen Cutter do so many times now.
When Cutter was finished at last, it was all but impossible to tell that there had ever been an opening in the stone structure. To the undiscerning glance, it appeared to be no more than a mass of odd-sized boulders, all clumped together.
Finally he spoke a few words over the makeshift crypt, and Elizabeth placed an impromptu bouquet of white sage and fameflower atop it, feeling somehow accountable for the Indian’s death—even knowing it was ridiculous to feel that way. Still, she didn’t think she’d ever forget him. And it was difficult to leave him all alone in his final resting place. Despite the fact that she knew absolutely nothing at all about the poor man, she felt some queer bond with him... and knew deep down that she always would.
Always.
