Still, it was a risk he felt compelled to take. The mere thought of someone else in her bed burned like acid in his gut.
Chapter Nineteen
Crossing the Grand River proved easy enough. As shallow and narrow as it was, the spot in which Elizabeth had laundered and bathed could have easily been forded on foot. Both horses crossed without hesitation, though Cocoa seemed less inclined to the task.
Suffering Cutter’s surliness and her own keen sense of loss, on the other hand, was the greater trial.
It seemed to Elizabeth that ever since their argument, Cutter never spoke to her unless absolutely necessary.
He seemed to hate her.
And he hadn’t been too pleased to see her dressed in men’s britches, either, though he still hadn’t uttered a word against them. Yet she could tell by the way he stared at them. When she caught him looking, he would shake his head and turn away in disgust.
“I wouldn’t have to wear them if you hadn’t thrown away my skirt!” she told him defensively.
Still, he didn’t respond. Only his eyes gave away his disapproval.
And whereas he’d made it a point to avoid civilization in the past, he led them directly into Fayette late the next day, securing a single room.
When Elizabeth started to protest, he narrowed his eyes at her and said sharply, “What makes you think I plan to sleep here with you tonight, Doc?” Near black circles had appeared beneath his eyes almost overnight, making them appear sunken above the high contours of his swarthy cheeks. The look in his dark eyes was unmistakably hostile and kept Elizabeth from uttering another word.
And keeping to his promise, Cutter did not share her room, nor did he attempt to when they rode into Fulton City the next day. He left her that night, as he had before, and she didn’t see him again until morning.
The knock came early. Elizabeth opened the door to find Cutter leaning against the frame, his shoulders set stubbornly even in his casual stance. In spite of herself, her heart quickened at the sight of him.
He was dressed in his denims, but the black shirt he wore was new and crisp. His beard, though not quite full, had grown considerably, making his face appear lean beneath, while the shadows under his eyes had deepened.
“Henry Elias Bass the man you’re looking for?” He swept his hat from his head, raking his sweat-dampened bangs from his face. “Had a son by the name of John?”
In spite of his haggard appearance, it seemed to Elizabeth that Cutter grew more startlingly handsome every time she set eyes on him. She nodded, acknowledging the facts as those she’d already given him, her heart aching.
Cutter eyed her britches, and then, with a shake of his head, he leaned harder against the doorframe, reached into a pocket, setting his jaw against the pain in his foot, and withdrew a handful of bills. “Then I suggest you get out today and buy yourself a new getup. Seems he’s not in St. Louis, after all. Lives just another thirty miles east of here, though I hear he has business in St. Louis.”
He nudged the door open a bit to get a better look at her. Those damned pants she was wearing swallowed the hell out of her. He couldn’t honestly say which was worse, the pants or the skirt he’d thrown away. Still, there was no mistaking her sex. Not with hair like hers. She wore it down, the soft cascades flowing about her shoulders like liquid gold, and her cheeks were sun-flushed. The outdoors and sunshine suited her, he decided as he pressed the money into her hand.
“We’ll stay here in town tonight... head out tomorrow. If that suits you?”
Elizabeth nodded, wishing so much that there were not such an awkwardness between them suddenly.
“If we leave early and ride hard, we should get there by early afternoon at the latest.”
“Fine,” Elizabeth replied softly. An impenetrable silence followed as they simply stared at each other. At last Elizabeth averted her gaze.
“Well,” Cutter said, shifting abruptly, “reckon I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
Again, Elizabeth nodded, at a loss as to what to say to make things right between them. Something was missing, she knew, but she had no idea exactly what it was. He’d been angry with her before, but not like this.
“See y’, Doc,” Cutter said tersely, and then he willfully pulled the door closed between them, as though he couldn’t stand to see her face any longer.
With a sigh, Elizabeth leaned her cheek against the inside of the doorframe. Seizing the rattle suspended from her neck into her fist, she shook it once, and then listened to the echo of Cutter’s boots against the wooden floor. When they faded finally, she moved away from the door.
Despondently she fell back onto the bed and contemplated weeping. Not since her father’s death had she felt so empty. But weeping would accomplish absolutely nothing, she knew. And there was too much to be done before tomorrow.
With a weary sigh, she rose and began to plait her hair, studying her reflection in the mirror. The woman who faced her now was so different from the one she remembered. Her head tilted suddenly and her expression turned wistful as she recalled Cutter’s whisper.I like it down.
Almost absently, she began to arrange her hair loosely about her shoulders. Would it be so wrong to pretend—while she could—that she was his wife?
Cutter’s wife.
