Stacey Kayne Read online

  “Why aren’t you eating?” he asked in a deceptively even tone.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said, meeting his gaze for only a moment.

  “Lady, you can eat enough to fill a full-grown cowpuncher, and I don’t care to listen to the roar of your stomach all afternoon. Swallow some of that stubborn pride and eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she repeated, crossing her arms and staring into the fire.

  “The hell you’re not!” Thunderation, the woman was impossible. “You’re just mad because I stormed at you for wasting a week’s worth of supplies to sculpt stones.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “I’m sorry for shouting at you,” he said, biting out each word. “Is that better?”

  Narrowed green eyes met his gaze. “No, you’re not.”

  Heaven help him, he was going to throttle the woman. “I don’t say things I don’t mean and I don’t lie.” He was sorry he had yelled at her. He should have taken her over his knee and tanned her sassy little ass. Next time he’d know better.

  “If you don’t lie,” she said, arching a slender eyebrow, “why did you tell me you didn’t have enough soap for bathing? I found three bars in your saddlebags.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Yes, you did. You said you didn’t have enough to waste on a bath.”

  “No. I said I didn’t have any I’d let you use for a bath. I didn’t say there wasn’t enough.”

  She continued to glare at him over the fire. “Last night, when you walked down to the river, you bathed with soap. I could smell it.”

  “It’s my soap. What are you griping about? You helped yourself to all the lather you pleased while I was cooking. I can smell it from here.”

  “You lied.”

  Damn it! When he saw her sink into that freezing water, he knew this one would come back to bite him in the ass. He should have given her the damn soap. But he wasn’t about to admit it. He’d already apologized for shouting at her, which was more than she deserved, and what did she do, but throw it back in his face?

  Time to nip this in the bud, he thought, pushing his plate aside as he rose. He crouched in front of her, picked up her plate and held it out to her. “Rachell, if you don’t take this plate and eat your damn food, I’ll hold you down and feed you every last bite myself. That’s a promise.”

  If looks could kill, her devil eyes would have put him six feet under, but she took her plate and shoved a piece of tortilla into her mouth. “That a girl,” he said with a wide smile, patting her on the head before dodging her fist.

  “That just cost you a tortilla,” he said, snatching one from her plate as he stood. “Eat up. We’re leaving as soon as I saddle Sage.” He turned and strode off in the direction of his hobbled horse.

  She’s in a tizzy about something, Jed thought as he walked back into camp a short time later. Rachell’s face was flush with anger as she dug through his pack like a dog with its nose in a gopher hole, making one hell of a mess.

  What the hell?

  He felt a jolt of alarm when her hand emerged with a knife. At first he thought she might be planning to go after him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been attacked by his own bride. Malika had had one hell of a violent streak.

  Rachell reached around and grabbed a fistful of hair. Realizing she was about to cut it off, he ran into the clearing, grabbed her from behind and secured her hand just before she dragged the blade across the long red strands.

  “Let go!” she shrieked, twisting like a wild cat caught by the tail.

  “Damn it, woman! Stop before you slit your own throat!” Jed tightened his arm around her, restraining her movement. She was strong for such a tiny thing.

  “I’m going to cut my blasted hair!”

  “The hell you are,” he said, prying the knife from her hand. He tossed it back into his pack. His hands clamped over her shoulders, turning her to face him. “What the blazes is wrong with you?”

  She drew a ragged breath as she glared up at him, her cheeks flushed, her face creased with rage. “I’ve been without a brush for over a week. I can’t get the knots out.” Her green eyes glistened with moisture as she forced each word through clenched teeth. She tried to twist from his grip. Unsuccessful, she lowered her head, struggling to conceal her tears as they spilled down her cheeks.

  This was a woman clearly near her breaking point. He didn’t need a half-cracked lunatic on his hands. Jed was tempted to pull her into his arms, sure the emotions she was trying to cap off would rush to the surface in a heavy wave of tears, but he had a feeling her pride wouldn’t take such an emotional release in its stride. She definitely had some strong feelings against him seeing her cry. And he sure as hell didn’t need to be holding this woman in his arms.

  Spotting his brush on the ground by her feet, he picked it up. Keeping a hold on one wrist, he turned and led her to a patch of sunlight streaming through the surrounding trees. He sat down and tugged on her wrist. “Sit down.”

  She stood rigid in front of him, staring at him as though he were the one who’d lost his mind. He tugged her down in front of him and turned her so that she sat between his legs with her back to him.

  “It’s no use,” she ground out as he set the brush against her scalp. “Just cut it!”

  “I’ll do no such thing.” He eased the brush through her hair. She gasped when it snagged, gripping her head as though she expected him to muscle it through, ripping the hair from her scalp.

  “Move your hands. I won’t hurt you.”

  When she didn’t respond, he set the brush down and lifted her hands from her hair. She trembled as he crossed her arms over her stomach and held them there. He lowered his head, talking close to her ear. “Trust me. I can get the knots out without scalping you. Do you trust me not to hurt you?”

  Jerkily, she nodded her head. Jed released her and again took the brush. Rachell remained perfectly still as he pulled the coarse bristles through her damp hair. He took his knife from the scabbard at his waist and carefully cut out the stubborn knots that refused to be brushed loose.

  When he finally had her hair brushed free of snags, the thick auburn mane flowed across her back like a brilliant, beautiful wave of fire. Jed slid his fingers across the center of her scalp, separating the shimmering mass, revealing her long, slender, kissable neck.

  He pushed the two sections over her shoulders then called himself ten kinds of fool for doing something so stupid as running his fingers through the silken flames of her hair. Not just stupid, dangerous.

  Damn his ignorant hide. He shouldn’t be attracted to this little charlatan who’d caused him nothing but trouble. So why wasn’t that stopping him?

  “Are you braiding my hair?” she asked in a tone of disbelief.

  “Yes,” he said, annoyed to discover his voice was so thick, it clogged his throat. “This is a surefire way to keep those tangles out.” She sat perfectly still while his fingers worked the three strands into a long weave.

  “Did you braid your wife’s hair?”

  The question took Jed by surprise. Had he ever braided Malika’s hair? “No,” he answered a second later, certain Malika would never have allowed him the privilege of such an intimate task. “Just my own.”

  Her head whipped around, pulling the near-finished braid from his hand. She gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Your hair? Are you of Indian blood?”

  To his surprise, the question carried no negative implications. Pure curiosity sparkled in her eyes.

  “No. My sister married a Cherokee Indian when I was six. Laura died in childbirth a year later. I was raised by Shuhquoy.”

  “I’m sorry. Did the baby survive?”

  Jed shook his head.

  “How horrible.” Her shoulders slumped as she dropped her gaze toward her lap. “My mother died in childbirth with me,” she said in a quiet voice. “When I returned from the Academy in New York, Olivia Carlson told me I was the spitting image of my mother. I couldn’t help but won
der if that was part of the reason why my father sent me away, because I reminded him of her.”

  She glanced up with somber eyes, and Jed was struck by her youthfulness.

  “Although, I really don’t see how my appearance mattered to him in the least. I was rarely in his range of vision.” She took a deep breath. “But that’s neither here nor there.” Her lips tilted slightly upward, her expression brightening.

  Jed was amazed by the wide range of emotions that flittered so rapidly across her face. The woman’s eyes were as readable as an open book.

  “Elizabeth and Amity raised me.”

  “Is Amity another sister?” Jed asked, certain Elizabeth had never mentioned the name.

  “No. She was our housekeeper, but more like our mother. I always seemed to be in the way, so I spent a great deal of time in the stables and fields with Titus.”

  “You must have been close,” Jed said, noting the sadness that darkened her eyes at the mention of Titus’s name, and somewhat interested to learn more of her past.

  “We were raised together. Amity was his mother. He wasn’t a full year older than me. Folks at church used to tease Amity about us being the strangest twins they ever saw. I sang quite a few songs from church on stage. No one seemed to mind, or perhaps they were too drunk to notice.” Her brow puckered as she said, “Hopefully the Lord saw it as missionary work and didn’t take offense at my singing spiritual hymns in such filthy places.”

  “Missionary work, huh?” A smile tugged at Jed’s mouth. He was certain that in the complex workings of Rachell’s mind, she truly believed singing hymns in a saloon could be perceived by the Heavens as missionary work. “My folks were missionaries,” he felt inclined to mention. “My father was a preacher. I don’t recall him ever—”

  “I’m so sorry,” she cut in. “I didn’t mean to be offensive.”

  “Sugar, if you’d let me finish, I was about to say that I don’t recall them ever fishing for lost souls in saloons, but I reckon that’s as fine a place as any to find those who’ve strayed from the Lord.”

  That hadn’t been what he was about to say, but something in her sad eyes pricked at his conscience and having said what he did, it did seem to make some sense.

  Rachell eyed him warily, apparently just as caught off guard by his supportive statement. After a moment, her lips twisted into a wry grin.

  “You’ve obviously adopted much of the Cherokee heritage.”

  “I have. With my dark hair and skin, I’m sure most folks we came across took me for a full-blooded Indian boy. Had hair down to my butt ’til I was seventeen.”

  Rachell flashed a devastating smile. “Did you wear a headband?”

  Damnation. It was bad enough to be talking of such personal matters with her sitting between his legs. He didn’t need to see her smile. He never could have guessed just how enchanting her full smile would be. He’d pictured it in his mind, but he hadn’t come close. “Turn around so I can finish,” he instructed, taking her by the shoulders and twisting her back around.

  “Well, did you?” she asked a moment later.

  “Did I what?” he said as he separated one side of her hair into three even sections again.

  “Wear a headband?”

  “What the hell difference does that make?”

  “I saw what looked to be a leather headband in your pack. I was just wondering—”

  “Yes, I wore a headband, and yes, sometimes I still do. I’ve answered your questions, so now you can answer a few of mine?”

  “All right,” she said in a bright voice.

  “Why is Sumner after you?”

  Her spine stiffened. “I told you, I’m not his—”

  “You’ve told me what you’re not, but you haven’t given me a good reason, by any stretch of the imagination, why this man would resort to murder, and track you across the continent to keep you in his saloon.”

  “There is no good reason.”

  “Sugar, a man doesn’t go through this kind of trouble and expense unless there’s one hell of a reason. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with before I meet up with him in Shadow Canyon.” Jed felt a shudder rack Rachell’s body. “Are you frightened of the man for no reason?”

  “He killed Titus,” she said in a strained voice.

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t know he was in danger. Not until afterward. Titus was dead and Maxwell took me into his office and there was a picture of a woman, but it wasn’t me. He told me he’d not let me go. I did nothing to encourage such behavior. He’s a…a crazy old man!”

  “Relax,” Jed said, securing the end of her long braid with pieces of rawhide cording he kept tied to the end of his brush. “You’re not on trial.”

  Rachell didn’t respond. Jed tossed the finished braid over her shoulder then turned her head so he could tackle the other side. He had a list of questions he wanted to ask her, but now wasn’t the time. Not with her emotions on edge.

  “What happened to your parents?” she asked, breaking the stretch of silence. But if he couldn’t get any answers, he didn’t see the point in talking.

  “Why don’t you concentrate on sitting still while I finish this braid?”

  “Such an age difference between you and your sister,” she continued, ignoring his comment. “There’s eighteen years between Elizabeth and me, but we had three brothers between us. Do you have other siblings?”

  Lord, she must have been deprived of conversation. “No,” he said in a hard tone. “Laura was my half sister. My mother was a widow when she met and married my father.”

  “How did they die?”

  Hell, she was persistent. “From what I recall, they set out for an Indian camp and didn’t return. I reckon they met some Indians who didn’t much care for the preaching of a white man.”

  “Oh my goodness! Do you find it ironic that you were raised in the very culture your parents were trying to convert?”

  “I didn’t say they were killed by Cherokee,” Jed clarified. “And I was raised by Shuhquoy, in California mostly. We tended to roam. But I read the Bible and prayed to the God Shuhquoy called Laura’s God. What I do find ironic is my telling you I’d not be your servant, yet here I sit, braiding your hair as though I’m your damn chambermaid.”

  “Why did you cut your hair when you were seventeen?”

  “Because, like you, it was a pain in the ass to take care of.”

  Rachell didn’t say anything, but Jed sensed her smile. He’d also noticed how her posture had relaxed as she sat chattering between his thighs. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand reach toward his raised knee. Her fingers grazed the fringe at the top of his tall moccasin, sending a lightning charge straight to his groin.

  Damnation!

  He didn’t like the power this woman had over his body. He shook his head in self-disgust and secured a leather thong around the end of her silky hair. Twenty-three. She’s twenty-three! Ben’s wife was only a year younger, a girl he’d helped raise and considered his daughter in every way that mattered. Rachell was too damn young for him.

  “Finished.” He flipped the braid over her shoulder. He pulled out the bonnet he’d tucked into his waistband while folding up his bedroll, and tugged it onto her head.

  “Thank you.” Rachell scooted out from between his legs before she got to her feet.

  Jed actually winced as he watched her rise, the vivid image of her sweetly shaped backside flashing in his mind. Dear God, he was pathetic. He hung his head like a whipped dog, resting his forearms on his raised knees.

  What in blazes is wrong with me? He wasn’t a man deprived of the physical pleasures of a woman, yet his body was behaving like that of a sex-starved coal miner. Having seen every smooth inch of Rachell’s skin hadn’t helped matters.

  “Jed?”

  “Yeah?” he said without looking up.

  “Are we leaving?”

  “Yeah. Just…give me a minute.”

  “Are you feeling ill?”

  �
�Not exactly,” he mumbled.

  He took a deep breath, then rose to his feet, obviously a bit too soon. The blunt proof of his stray thoughts still pressed against the confinement of his pants. Rachell’s wide eyes seemed to home right in on it.

  “What the hell do you expect to happen when a man has a beautiful woman sitting between his legs, all soft and smiling?”

  Her gaze darted up as her cheeks flamed to a bright red. “I, I didn’t mean…that is, I wasn’t—”

  “I know!”

  Why did I have to braid her hair? Now she truly looked like a frightened schoolgirl in braids and a bonnet.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he turned and walked away. “I’m not a rutting beast. I can control myself.”

  At least he used to be able to.

  Chapter Five

  He thinks I’m beautiful?

  That should have been the least of Rachell’s concerns, yet as she watched Jed kneel beside his scattered supplies, tossing them back into the large canvas sack, she seemed unable to form another thought. His absurd statement stunned her. She knew what attracted a man. It had been her business to know.

  She’d spent six years being thoroughly trained in all the proper etiquette and apparatus to capture a wealthy husband. Too bad she’d never met any worth being caught. Surprisingly, many of the same lures were used to pack randy men into saloons. Both required oodles of satin and lace, heavily padded corsets, and for her later field of employment, layers of colorful cosmetics. All to hide the short, flat-chested waif hidden beneath.

  How can he be attracted to me?

  Yet, she’d seen the proof, plain as day. It just didn’t make any sense. She glanced down at the grass-green calico tent hanging from her spindly frame. Without a stuffed corset, a man had to use a good deal of imagination to even believe she had breasts under the roomy bodice.

  The tips of her high-heeled scarlet boots poked out from beneath the curtain of green. Her braided hair and makeshift bonnet certainly couldn’t have improved her impoverished state.

  She looked ridiculous. The man must be daft.

  Her own state of mental well-being was none the better, for she had very much enjoyed sitting in the midst of Jed’s long, brawny limbs, feeling his deep voice grate across her neck as he brushed her hair.