He waited for her to continue, but she merely focused on the road, spine straight as a ruler. Gone was the easy camaraderie of moments before.
He turned back to the trail as well, the clop of the horses' hooves and the creak of saddle leather filling the silence between them. The rugged Montana landscape stretched out before them, stunning and mysterious. Much like the woman riding beside him.
He'd thought he had her figured out—the clever card sharp, the protective aunt, the determined survivor. But Patsy Whitman kept surprising him, revealing new facets like a finely cut sapphire. Glimpses of vulnerability, flashes of warmth, all tucked behind that unreadable mask she wore so well.
What secrets lay behind those forest-green eyes?
She was a mystery, this woman. One he found himself desperately wanting to unravel.
Jonah prodded the log with a stick, coaxing the flames to life in their campfire as the sun dipped behind the mountains. Not even the bright oranges and pinks of the sunset could lighten his mood tonight. Was it only leaving Sampson behind in Missoula Mills that gnawed at him? His little brother was more than capable, but what would Jericho say when Jonah showed up without him?
He glanced over at Miss Whitman's bedroll, neatly arranged a respectable distance from his own. She'd hardly said two words to him all afternoon on the trail, her usual quick wit and charm notably absent. He'd expected at least a few questions about her niece Anna, but every time he’d looked at her as they rode that day, her green eyes had stared into the distance.
The fire crackled and popped as Jonah added another log. He almost had enough flame to heat water for a stew—once Miss Whitman returned with a pot full from the creek. It’d been nearly ten minutes since she’d walked away in that blue dress, his old metal pot swinging at her side. Good thing she hadn’t turned around to check on him and caught him watching because… Well, because that blue dress drew a man’s eye.
He shifted the last log, then pushed to his feet. He should make sure the horses’ ropes were secure before full dark settled.
A piercing scream shattered the quiet. His pulse surged and he spun the direction it had come from. The creek. He sprinted that way, weaving through the trees.
Had she seen a snake? A bear? A mountain lion? Any could be out this late in the spring.
Blast. He’d forgotten to grab his rifle. He had his hunting knife, but that would do little against a bear. He was nearly there, though. He’d need to find out the trouble and go back for his gun if he had to.
When he could see the waterline through the trees ahead, a moving figure made his heart catchin his throat.
Two figures.
Patsy stood knee-deep in the water, struggling against a man whose hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her down.
“Stop!” Jonah bellowed the word as he lunged the last step to the bank and leaped into the icy water.
When Jonah reached them, he launched himself at the man with a roar, slamming them both crashing into the creek.
As they wrestled on their knees in the water, he wrapped his arms around the man's torso, pinning his arms to his side. The rogue thrashed and struggled, his elbow slamming into Jonah's ribs.
Pain exploded in his side, but he didn’t let up his hold. He was bigger than this guy, and he wasn’t about to let him go.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patsy stumble back, but she froze at the water’s edge and watched. What was she doing?
He shouted, “Run!”
His momentary distraction gave the scoundrel the upper hand, and he flipped Jonah on his back, plunging his face under water.
Jonah caught his first clear look at the man’s face. Black hair slicked back against his head. Thick beard. Plenty of lines on his face. A face Jonah had seen before.
It was that cheating gambler who’d pulled a gun on Patsy in the saloon.
Fury surged through him. He tucked his body into a ball, dropped his feet to the ground, and propelled himself off the sandy creek bed into the guy, who staggered backward in the knee-high water.
A flash of blue fabric made Jonah’s blood run cold. Why hadn’t Patsy run?
She stood behind the fellow, the metal pot raised. With a cry, she swung for the man’s head.
He must have seen Jonah’s reaction, for he spun just in time to protect his skull.
The pot hit his arm instead, knocking him to his knees. He let out a howl, gripping his elbow.
Patsy raised the pot to strike again, but Jonah struggled to his feet. He had to get her out of the mix.
