Stacey Kayne Read online

  I don’t need his lousy blankets, she told herself, trying to ignore the cold shivers shaking her body. She and Titus had slept outdoors without such comforts plenty of times in the past five years, although, she’d been smart enough to keep her hair dry and had been wearing more than one thin layer of cotton.

  Things just seemed to keep going from bad to worse.

  Her life had been a downward spiral since the age of eleven, the day her father had stuck her on an eastbound train. His departing words often played in the back in her mind.

  For once in your life, Rachell, try to do as you’re told and stay out of trouble.

  Good advice she hadn’t quite mastered. Here she was, in the deepest trouble of her miserable life. Miss Abigail had depicted her future as one of a penniless spinster. A wide smile of satisfaction would surely stretch the old woman’s wilted lips if she could see her now. Her headmistress had been nothing short of elated when she’d informed Rachell that, due to her father’s untimely death, she was being sent back to Louisiana, straight into a war.

  Had it not been for her second cousin and childhood friend, James Carlson, she would have been arrested for treason the moment she was escorted off the train by two Confederate officers. Instead, she’d been pulled into James’s arms and kissed flush on the mouth.

  The tension she saw behind his dashing smile was enough to keep her from questioning his strange welcome. Only when they were alone, after a rushed wedding ceremony, did she learn that her father had been hanged for treason after her brothers had joined the Union army, and she was suspected of conspiring with the north, passing them information. James had vouched for her, insisting she’d been his loyal intended.

  The following day, James had taken her to see another old friend. Titus.

  Rachell choked on a sob as the vision of his dashing smile flashed in her mind. Tears scalded her cheeks. She could still feel his strong embrace closing around her as she leapt into his arms. In that moment, she’d felt a true sense of homecoming. James instructed Titus to take her back to the Carlson estate and watch over her until he returned, warning them that the news of their marriage hadn’t been well received.

  James had severely understated his family’s animosity toward her. They’d merely tolerated the presence of a Yank’s daughter. James had only managed two brief visits over the next year, until his older brother Malcom had returned home, informing her that her husband was dead. Both of her older brothers had already been reported as casualties to the North. A week later, Malcom cornered her in the stables, claiming he would take over James’s husbandly duties. Titus came to her aid, knocking him out with the back of a shovel.

  They had to leave.

  They’d stayed constantly on the move. Singing had always paid far better than the seamstress work she sometimes took, and though Titus hated her being in the saloons, he couldn’t deny they needed the money. If she hadn’t been in those saloons, she never would have found her sister.

  It was their plan to go to California, but progress was slow. They’d been saving to purchase supplies for the trip. When she took the job with Maxwell Sumner, she’d hoped it would be her last. They’d been so close, intending to leave within the week. But they had stayed too long and Titus paid for their mistake.

  Pain surged through her as she remembered his strong body sprawled on the back stoop of the apartments, his blood pooled around him. She must have been in shock, or she never would have allowed Maxwell to lead her into his private upstairs office. In the four months she’d worked at the Nightingale Saloon, she’d never been up there. Her attention had immediately fixed on an enormous portrait hung behind his desk. A woman with auburn hair, green eyes and pale skin lounged on a green velvet couch. Her scarlet dress resembled the gowns Maxwell had given Rachell for her shows. She had immediately asked who the woman was.

  Maxwell stunned her by responding, “You, my love.” He’d clamped hands over her wrists so forcefully she’d thought he would crush her bones. His eyes had been wild with fury as he told her she wouldn’t get away from him again.

  The man was delusional. He didn’t even know her true name. Knowing The Nightingale Saloon drew a large crowd and would pay well, she’d walked in and introduced herself as Miss Nightingale. Maxwell had hired her on the spot, and he’d paid her well. And then he killed Titus.

  Because of me.

  She knew Maxwell was taken by her, but never could have imagined to what degree. It wasn’t her he was obsessed with—it was the woman in the portrait. Seeing the conviction in his eyes, she’d never been so terrified, until she saw his son board the train in Nevada.

  He wouldn’t let her go.

  Dear God. She hadn’t thought of bringing such danger into her sister’s home.

  Pulling in a shaky breath, she lifted her gaze and was startled to find Jed’s silver eyes staring back at her. He stood at the edge of the clearing, silent as a shadow, barely visible in the darkness.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She turned her back to him and wiped roughly at her tear-streaked face, annoyed he’d caught her crying.

  “What were you thinking about to put such fear in your eyes?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You’re shivering,” he said as he approached her. “Here, this will warm you up a bit.”

  She shrugged his long coat from her shoulders and threw it back at him. “I don’t want your coat!”

  “Suit yourself.” Jed shrugged it back on, walked around the fire and sat on his bedroll.

  Damn, but she’s a stubborn woman. Her flimsy dress wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Long, damp hair clung to her shoulders and back in tangled clumps. She rested her head on her raised knees, clamping her arms around her legs, and still she shivered.

  Her choice, he thought as he stretched out on his bedroll. He folded his arms under his head and gazed up at the night sky. For a lady schooled in the fine laws of propriety and proper etiquette, she sure had a hot temper. But her temper hadn’t shadowed her tear-glazed eyes before she’d caught him staring at her. He’d seen fear.

  It’s not my business, he reminded himself. Just as soon as he shook the trouble off her tail, she’d be Buck’s problem, not his. She’d surely hate him by the time they reached California and would have no intention of staying on at the Double D.

  He hoped.

  A half hour later, Jed had watched Rachell shiver for as long as he could stand. The little fool’s teeth had started chattering. He stood and silently walked around the fire.

  Rachell gasped as she felt herself being lifted into Jed’s warm arms. He easily suppressed her struggle, pressing her firmly into the warmth of his chest. Lord, was he warm, and strong. “Jed, I—”

  “Hush. You’re freezing.”

  He set her onto his bedroll, and Rachell was hit by a shaft of panic. She instantly tried to move away as he stretched out beside her.

  “Damn it, Rachell!” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back beside him.

  Paralyzed by fear, Rachell stared up at him as he loomed over her. His silver eyes shone like twin moons in the low light of the fire. He was convinced she was a prostitute and she was legally his wife. Lord help her if he insisted on taking a husband’s liberties, she was nowhere near strong enough to stop a man his size.

  “Rachell? Do you really think I would harm you?”

  Jed could feel her heart pounding against his arm and was stunned by the fear clearly visible in every line of her face. He eased back, loosening his hold on her. “I’d never force myself on you, or any woman. You’re safe with me.”

  He felt her shudder as she continued to stare up at him, and hoped it was in relief. “Go to sleep,” he said, turning her away from him. He pulled her close, wrapping her inside his coat with him then pulling his blanket over them.

  He reached out, capturing one of her hands in his. It felt like a small block of ice in his palm.

  “You truly would have fr
ozen to death! Turn around here and shove those hands inside my coat.”

  She didn’t argue, allowing him to shift her position. He gathered her close, lifting her head onto the cushion of his arm, again closing her inside his jacket.

  Her cold nose pressed against his neck as she shivered against him. As cold as she was, he was surprised she had the strength to put up the fight she had. Her stubborn pride wasn’t only aggravating, it was damn hazardous.

  “Jed?” she called a while later.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you…for—”

  “It’s been a long day,” Jed cut in. “Just go to sleep.”

  The sound of her voice and the feel of her breath against his neck wasn’t helping the stimulating effect her tiny body stirred inside him. And he surely didn’t want her to say something in a moment of exhaustion she would regret tomorrow. They had a long way to travel under such close quarters. Her temper was as good a barrier as any to keep between them.

  “I never meant to cause so much trouble,” Rachell whispered a few minutes later.

  Jed’s deep laugh surprised her.

  “Don’t worry, Imp. I’ll get you to California safe and sound. Count on it.”

  His deep, gentle tone sent shivers clear to Rachell’s toes, shivers that were a far cry from the cold tremors that had shaken her body moments ago. He obviously felt them and tucked the blanket tightly around her.

  For a hard man, Jed could be incredibly tender.

  Under all his harsh glares and rude remarks, Jed Doulan was a good man. She closed her eyes and settled against the warmth of his body, awed by the feeling of safety she felt while lying in the arms of a complete stranger.

  A stranger who had bathed, she realized. A strong scent of lye lingered from his warm skin.

  He had bathed with soap!

  Chapter Four

  Hearing a soft, feminine voice call his name, Jed slowly roused. He opened an eye, peering at the fire-haired woman lying on her back beside him in the dim light of early dawn.

  “Yeah?” His other eye opened. Both eyes blinked as his vision cleared. His brow creased in confusion at her curious expression. Her green eyes were wide as saucers.

  “What’s wrong?” Surely he would have awakened at the slightest sound of approaching danger.

  “Your hand,” she said in a quivering breath. “It’s—”

  Jed suddenly became aware of smooth soft skin beneath his palm. “Holy smoke!”

  He pulled his hand away from the soft swell of her breast and scrambled backwards. How the hell had his hand gotten under her waistcoat?

  “I swear I didn’t do that on purpose.”

  “I know,” she said, sitting up, banding her arms around her chest as she turned away from him.

  “Why didn’t you push me away?” Jed sat back on his heels. The feel of her breast under his palm had shocked him awake and damn if he wasn’t already fully aroused! He rubbed his hand against his thigh, trying to rub out the tingling sensation the firm tip of her breast had left in his skin.

  “I tried, but you only pulled me closer and…you’re quite strong.”

  Jed’s eyes moved over her trembling body. From her side profile, he saw red staining her pale cheeks. For a working girl, she sure acted like a woman who’d never been touched.

  Oh, Lord. Perhaps he’d been rough and hurt that petal-soft skin in his sleep. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She vigorously shook her head, swaying the twisted, tangled flames of her hair across her back and shoulders.

  “You’re all right, then?”

  “Yes,” she said, although her voice was barely audible.

  “Rachell, look at me.”

  He waited for her flushed face to meet his gaze. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

  “I’m sure,” Rachell assured him, stunned by the sincerity of his concern. He hadn’t hurt her at all, in fact, her pulse still hammered in her veins from the volatile effect his roaming hand had had on her surprisingly sensitive body. She stood and stepped over the rumple of blankets. “I need to go…find a privy.”

  By the time she came back from the bushes, Jed had a small fire started. He picked up his saddlebags as she walked into camp.

  “I’m gonna go down to the river and see about catching some trout. Make yourself useful by whipping up some biscuits and coffee while I’m gone. There’s supplies in my pack.” He motioned to a large canvas sack.

  “Biscuits?” Rachell looked back to tell him she didn’t know the first thing about cooking, but he had disappeared into the trees.

  How does he do that? The man had to weigh a good two hundred pounds. Her gaze moved between the fire and Jed’s supplies. “Biscuits?”

  She’d never attempted such a feat, but how hard could it be?

  “Oh, fiddle!”

  Rachell’s mouth twisted into an unhappy curve as she stared into the cast-iron skillet. She had used flour, salt and water, and though the white lumps were in the shape of biscuits, they didn’t have that fluffy feel. Again she tapped her fork against the rocklike surface. Should I try again? She had already tossed two batches of stones into the bushes and had used up most of the flour. Why wouldn’t they stay soft?

  “What the hell is that?”

  Rachell jumped at the sound of Jed’s hard voice directly above her. “Biscuits?” she ventured, glancing up at the man who was peering over her shoulder.

  Lord! She stared up at the dark hair of his muscular chest. As her eyes roved his exposed body, she discovered she wasn’t the first person who’d been aggravated enough to shoot the man, for someone had done just that. His body bore two scars from bullet wounds. One in his left shoulder, the other above his right hip.

  She felt slightly dizzied as her eyes followed the narrowing trail of dark hair across the sculpted muscles of his abdomen before the thin dark strip disappeared beneath the low waistband of his buckskin britches. Never in her life had she seen such a magnificent—

  “You can’t even cook?”

  Rachell’s gaze darted up from the staggering view of Jed’s muscular torso. She shook her head. Anger crept across his face, tightening his sharp features.

  “Then why did you waste my supplies?”

  “I tried—”

  “What type of woman can’t cook a damn biscuit?” he shouted as he grabbed the skillet, tossing the petrified clumps into the fire. “Didn’t they teach you anything useful in that god-damned ladies’ academy? Of course not!”

  He turned away from her and stormed toward his supplies. “That’s what servants and slaves are for, isn’t that right, Mrs. Carlson? Well I’ll be damned to the deepest, darkest regions of hell before I’ll be your servant. You got that, Mrs. Carlson? So you better figure out how to do something besides sit there and look pretty.” He crouched beside his pack and began rummaging through his supplies.

  Oh, goodness. He’s not going to be happy when he finds the near-empty sack.

  To her surprise, he closed the bag and sat back on his heels, not saying a word. He rolled his broad shoulders, flexing the tight muscles beneath the bronze, scarred skin of his back.

  He’s mad.

  His gaze snapped toward her, his narrowed eyes seething with anger.

  No, he’s furious.

  She didn’t understand the foreign language that fell from his mouth as he stood and dropped the skillet into the dirt, but she was certain he wasn’t spouting sonnets. He shrugged on an ivory shirt. Then, grabbing his rifle, he stomped toward the woods.

  Rachell didn’t draw an easy breath until he was gone from view. She sat back, pushing her hair away from her face. Her heart thundered painfully in her chest.

  She hadn’t actually comprehended his words as he shouted over her, she’d been too stunned by the sheer power she saw in his flexing muscles. But as she sat in the silent tranquility of the woods, his words echoed back in her mind with crystal clarity, and she was quite offended by his insults.

  She could cook…m
eat…maybe. If she tried, she was sure she could! Biscuits were just fickle little things. Plenty of women couldn’t cook biscuits, she assured herself. Why, some people didn’t even eat biscuits!

  Her eyes were drawn to his saddlebags. While looking for cooking supplies, she’d found his soap. Not just one, but three full bars. She glanced at the trees Jed had disappeared through then looked around their campsite. No sense in sitting about like a lump when she could be scrubbing off two weeks’ worth of grime.

  Returning from the river, Rachell felt a pang of guilt as she followed a mouthwatering aroma back to camp and spotted Jed crouched beside the low-burning fire, preparing his breakfast.

  Needing to warm herself after the freezing cold but worthwhile bath, she continued toward the fire.

  “All primped up?” Jed asked in a cool tone, keeping his eyes on the skillet he held over the flames as she sat across from him.

  “You can use those powerful legs to take a long leap straight to hell, Mr. Jed,” she snapped before she could restrain her flippant tongue.

  Heavens. She was regressing into the belligerent tomboy of her youth.

  “Too much longer with you, and I’ll go willingly, just to be free of your worthless hide.” He didn’t spare her a glance as he flipped the flat bread he was cooking over the fire.

  A moment later he dropped a plate in front of her. Rachell’s mouth watered and she looked at the tin plate filled with chunks of meat and two steaming pieces of a strange flat bread. She closed her eyes, trying not to breathe in the heavenly scent.

  She wouldn’t accept his food. She’d eaten a large supper. Surely she could hold out until later, when she could hunt for something herself.

  Jed ate most of his breakfast before he glanced up. He was surprised to find Rachell sitting with her eyes closed and her plate still on the ground, exactly where he’d dropped it.

  Her stubbornness was going to drive him insane.