Rescued By A Desperado: Prequel Novella (Emerald Falls Book 0)

by Ivy McAdams

  “Hello,” she whispered, hungry for someone to talk to.

  The deer wheeled around and bounded into the trees across from her. She pressed her lips together with a nod and stepped down the embankment to the rocks below.

  She dropped the blankets on the ground and rubbed her hand over her nose. Even while the story she’d made up about Squirrel being sick was untrue, the blankets did still need a good wash. They smelled awful.

  She stooped down at the stream’s edge and splashed some water on her face, rubbing it over her cheeks and arms. She washed far more frequently than any of her captors, but most times Oscar didn’t permit her to leave camp to do so. Their main campsite near the city had a small water source where they fetched buckets of water, not an entire stream she could bathe in.

  It was one of the first things she’d done once they’d arrived. She’d waited for Oscar to go off to do his pillaging or whatever he was up to, then she’d taken a long dip in the stream and washed her hair. It’d been marvelously refreshing.

  Just dipping her hands in the water made her want to do it again.

  But the footsteps in the distance were far more distracting.

  She stayed crouched at the edge of the stream, rubbing her fingers in the water and biding her time. When the footsteps stopped on the opposite side, she looked up.

  Mason stood in a stray beam of sunlight filtering through the trees. His eyes were shielded from the rays beneath his hat, but his smile was lit like a candle.

  Her insides immediately melted at the sight of it.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he drawled. “Glad to see you here. I was almost afraid you’d been a dream.”

  She gazed up at him, the flutter in her stomach stealing so much air from her lungs that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to speak.

  “Good afternoon, Mason,” she said, voice quivering slightly as she drew in more air. “You might as well have been a dream because you were in my head all night."

  His smile broadened, and he stepped closer. Out of the sunlight, she could see the way his green eyes danced.

  “I thought for sure you’d grown tired of me when you told me to leave yesterday,” he said, though there was no remorse in his eyes. “But I enjoyed talking to you. I had to come back today to see if it was all real.”

  “It was real to me,” she said simply.

  His boots hit the water as he strode over the shallow stream, and she stood to avoid the splash. When he’d closed the gap between them, he didn’t stop. His hands reached out and snagged hers clenched in front of her.

  His touch surprised her, a rush of warmth ran up her arms and into her chest. Her stomach flipped, flitting with nerves and excitement.

  He didn’t seem to be nervous in the slightest, a wide smile and eyes that captured hers in an instant. He held her hands delicately in his as he pulled her a couple steps down the bank.

  “Walk with me?”

  Holding a boy’s hand and taking a stroll was something she was much more comfortable with, and she smiled, a feeling of relief settling over her.

  “I’d be happy to,” she said.

  He turned and strolled beside her, cradling her hand between their hips. His palm on hers was warm, his fingers strong. It was a good feeling.

  Nothing like what she was accustomed to from the frontiersmen she’d met so far.

  “I hope you ate and slept well last night,” she said, unsure of what to say to him. Despite enjoying his company and the feel of his hand on hers, she’d never been good at polite conversation.

  He chuckled. “I actually can’t say I did either very well.”

  “You didn’t? A good breakfast then?”

  He lowered his head as his mouth pulled high to one side, a lopsided smile that sent her pulse flickering.

  “No, ma’am. Not much there either. I suppose my stomach was too tied up in knots yesterday to eat.”

  “Not sick are you?”

  “Maybe.”

  He gazed at her, and her stomach flipflopped.

  Whatever it was that was bothering him, she could be coming down with it too.

  He stopped walking and pulled her near. She stood toe to toe with him, and her breath caught in her throat. They were so close. She could feel his warm breath on her face. See the different shades of green in his eyes.

  “You’ve got shoes on today,” he murmured.

  She frowned, leaning back just enough to peer down at her feet, then up again. “Pardon?”

  “You had your shoes off yesterday. It looked like you’d been playing in the mud.”

  “Playing?” Her cheeks burned, but he only smiled.

  Then he bent and lifted a foot in the air, pulling his boot free and tossing it farther up the bank. “There’s something relaxing about walking in the mud, I think. Brings you closer to the earth. If nothing else, it just feels good.”

  After his boots came his socks, and he hiked his pants legs up to his knees. She watched with her fingers pressed to her lips in amusement.

  “There we go,” he said, setting his hands on his hips.

  His legs were long and the muscles in his calves drew her eyes, but she did her best to avert them.

  He pressed his palm to his chest and spoke with a haughty lilt in his voice. “I believe I’ll take the rest of my stroll through the mud.”

  She snickered, and he flashed a daring smile. She held out for only a moment before she lifted a foot to slip off a shoe. The warmth in her face spread to her heart as he stepped forward to hold her hand as she removed her shoes and socks.

  Once her feet were bare, she wiggled her toes against the moist ground. He rubbed the sole of one foot deep into the mud near the edge of the water.

  “There now,” he said. “Just you and me and the stream.”

  Chapter 5

  “You know someone across the ocean?” Mason laughed and shook his head again. “That seems so far away.”

  “Well, it is,” she giggled, both at the shocked look in his eye when she’d mentioned her penpal and from the way the mud trickled between her toes and down her foot. “Ireland is thousands of miles away.”

  “Of course, but getting mail from there must take forever.”

  They’d walked a long section of the stream many times before taking a seat on the bank and dipping their hands in and out of the mud. Mason took small handfuls of it to drip it on her toes. It had to be just to listen to her laugh because he smiled every time.

  And she was okay with that.

  "A month or two." She leaned over her knees, careful to keep her dress low over her calves, and smiled at him. "But often enough to perfect my calligraphy."

  He sat near her feet, hands dirty with mud. “You’ll have to show me that one day. Not sure I’ve ever seen proper calligraphy.”

  The notion of one day made her heart pitter-patter. It suggested they had many more days together, and she liked the idea of that.

  His fingertips swirled over her toes, drawing patterns in the mud. She watched him silently, a lazy feeling of content falling over her.

  Being with Mason was effortless. It was freeing and fun. She’d felt like a child the last hour, sticking her toes and fingers in the mud. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten dirty on purpose, but she’d been delighted to do so as long as it made him smile.

  “I’ll show you whenever you want,” she whispered.

  His eyes traveled up her body to her face, and her heart fluttered.

  The only thing better than his smile was when his eyes grew darker, drawing her into their electric depths. He moved his fingers over her toes to gently knead into the sole of her foot. The pressure in her arch felt so good, and at the same time, it sent a buzz of nerves up her leg.

  His face and eyes were brilliant when he smiled, but when that smile disappeared and his lips were firm and his eyes unfocused and drinking her in, he touched her in all new ways that made her insides squirm.

  His fingers slid up from her foot
to her ankle, caressing gently. Then they moved up to the bottom of her calf, dipping just below the hem of her dress and rubbing deep into her skin. The touch fired nerves up and down her arms and legs. He was so close to her, yet so far away. She was no virgin to be terrified by a man, but she’d never been touched so sensually before.

  Her eyes held his, letting him draw her deep within him, allowing him to touch her until she was afraid she might moan out loud. When his hand moved further and his fingertips brushed the back of her knee, she snapped back to reality with a soft gasp.

  Their gaze broke, and he looked down at her leg, pulling his hand free.

  “Seems you got a little mud on you,” he murmured, glancing back up at her with a perk of his brow.

  Brown mud was smeared along her ankle and up her shin. She laughed, lifting her foot to look at her leg.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse paintings,” she said.

  Amusement flashed in his eyes, and he grabbed her hands. “You have, have you?” He pulled her up to her feet before she could even think of wiggling away. “You must have gone to horrid galleries.”

  Even his dirty hands felt good in hers, and she laughed again. “I may just have bad taste in art.”

  He stepped into the stream with his bare feet and pulled her along with him. She splashed in, washing away the mud and grime from her toes.

  “You might have bad taste in art, but you have brilliant taste in other areas,” he said.

  She lifted a brow, giving him a teasing smirk. “Do I?”

  “Of course. Like this blue.” He fingered the sleeve of her dress. “Excellent. It brings out your eyes.”

  It hadn’t been what she’d expected him to say, and she shrugged. “It’s just a dress.”

  “Perhaps. Though you also have fine taste in cuisine. Pies are one of my favorites, and those potatoes you were telling me about? What did you call them? Au gratin? That sounds like the best way to eat them.”

  She’d certainly had feelings of homesickness when they’d discussed how their mothers had loved to cook when they were growing up. One of the things she’d missed most being out on the frontier was eating the cheesy potatoes her mother made every Sunday. Seems cowboys and outlaws only knew how to bake a potato.

  “I do know a thing or two about food,” she agreed.

  He knelt down and rubbed his feet beneath the water to clean them. Then he ran his thumb over the top of her toes, washing away any traces of mud. She watched him, stock still.

  “I don’t usually care to toot my own horn,” he said as his fingers trailed up her ankle. Then they were on her calf again, splashing water to erase his mess. “But do you know what I have good taste in?”

  She frowned, unsure of the unusual tone beneath his words and more than a little distracted as his hands both moved up and down her leg, well beneath the hem of her dress. They reached nearly to her knee, being sure to remove all the remaining mud.

  “What’s that?” she asked in a distant voice.

  He sloughed the rest of the mud and water from her skin and looked up at her. “Women.”

  He was up on his feet again before she’d had a chance to question his meaning. His hands were on her forearms, sliding up to hook his fingers lightly around her elbows and pulling her forward.

  His dark eyes were locked on her as he drew her in, planting his lips on hers. She froze, shocked by his move and the spark that touched her mouth and shot through her body. But his lips were warm and inviting, molding into hers and making her smile. Her body relaxed, and her hands moved to touch his waist, anything to feel closer to him.

  Only after her lips softened and moved to receive his did he tilt his head, his hat shading them from the evening sun. His hands moved up her arms, sliding along her neck and up to cradle her face. Such strong hands that felt like velvet on her skin. A hard jaw and nose that felt so good pressed against her face.

  She pushed into him, seeking more of his lips, and he made a sound of encouragement in his chest that stirred the excited heat in her stomach. She wanted to press that excitement up against his hard body, but rather than stepping forward, he took a step back.

  He looked a little sheepish and slipped the hat off his head, cradling it in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, Bridget. I may have gotten a little carried away.” His eyes moved, never staying on hers for long, and a soft red rash had risen on his cheekbones.

  "I―" she stammered, but she had no thoughts besides disappointment.

  It may be highly inappropriate for her to kiss a man she’d only met the day before in the forest, but she had no one to answer to. Or a town to gossip over her. Besides, it was far less inappropriate than what she’d been living with.

  Except he didn’t know that.

  A blush burned her cheeks, and she clutched her hands in front of her. She’d continuously left out her living arrangements in their conversations. Even though she should be telling him all the truth and begging him for help, she couldn’t bring herself to voice the words.

  She didn’t want him to know she was living with a dirty outlaw that’d been abusing and brutalizing her for the last month. That she’d been taken captive the moment she stepped off her train. The place of freedom and dreams had quickly soured into the worst place she’d visited in her life.

  Mason would certainly second guess his taste in women if he knew her truth.

  So instead she bowed her head, showing gratitude for the chastity he at least believed she possessed, and gave him an appreciative smile.

  “It’s alright, Mason,” she murmured, reaching across the gap between them to take his hand in hers. His fingers squeezed.

  Some of the discomfort eased from his smile, and a weight lifted from her.

  The evening sun was hanging low in the sky behind him, however, and she knew she'd pushed far past her luck. She couldn't risk Oscar catching either one of them down there.

  “I need to be going, but―” she paused, trying to find her words.

  She wanted to see him again. She wanted him to sweep her up in another kiss. To run in the stream with her again. To rescue her from her nightmare.

  She pinched her lips together tightly at the thought, knowing she couldn’t ask such a thing from him. Just being gone from camp so long was a risk.

  Oscar had been away for his outings during the day, but there was no telling when he’d come back each evening. And if he returned to camp to find her gone, he’d come looking for her. Each time she stayed too long was dangerous. She shouldn’t be doing it, and she certainly shouldn’t be keeping Mason down there with her. It was unfair for her to endanger him.

  But it’d been so long since she felt alive. Being with Mason lifted the darkness of her nightmare. Despite knowing the danger, she didn’t want to give it up.

  Her lips moved before her brain could second guess her desire. “Can you come back tomorrow?”

  He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin along the back of her knuckles. His hot breath sent goosebumps running up her arm.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She smiled, though a prickle of nerves touched her back. As much as she hated to send him off, it was time to go.

  It was far too late already.

  She stepped up on the bank and picked up both their shoes. She pushed his into his hands, trying to look as if she weren’t rushing. They pulled them on, and he brushed a hand along her arm as he stepped back into the stream to cross.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said under his breath.

  The deep, throaty sound sent a shiver up her spine, and she wanted to reach for him again. But it was the right thing to let him go.

  Once he’d crossed the stream, she hurried back to the pile of blankets she’d never gotten around to washing. As she neared the familiar clump of trees and rocks, her gaze drifted up the embankment and her body slammed to a stop.

  Linda stood up on the top of the ridge with her hands on her hips.
/>   Chapter 6

  Linda’s eyes narrowed as if she could stare literal daggers, and Bridget felt it.

  Her throat closed up, and an icy wave of panic rushed through her.

  What all had Linda seen?

  Bridget’s fingers clenched at her side. Not the kiss. Please, not the kiss.

  She grabbed up the blankets in a single swoop and lugged them up the embankment. At first, she gave Linda a casual smile, just in case.

  “Hey there,” she said, pushing all the trembling energy deep down inside.

  Linda scoffed, fingers digging into her hips. “Who the hell was that?”

  Bridget screamed on the inside. What should she say? What could she say? She was stalling, and it looked horrible. The burning taste of vile crept up her throat.

  "Who?" quaked out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  Linda lifted a hand to wave in exasperation toward the stream. “That man! You were talking to someone down there. Who the hell is he?”

  Bridget cast her eyes down at the water. Mason was at least gone. Out of danger. For now.

  “Some stranger who happened upon me down at the stream.” That was true at least. “He wasn’t there long. Just stopped to say hello, and I sent him on his way.” That wasn’t. She’d spent even more time with him that afternoon than she had the day before.

  Linda’s brow pinched, lowering over her eyes. “You know better than to talk to strangers.”

  Bridget’s lip trembled as she nodded. “Yes, I know.”

  “You know how jealous Oscar is.” Some of the anger eased from Linda’s face. She gave Bridget a matter-of-fact nod. “It doesn’t take much to set him off.”

  Bridget rubbed her hand over her face, the feeling of encroaching doom weighed heavy in her stomach.

  Everything Linda said was true, but Bridget didn’t want to accept it. She didn’t even want to think of it. Unfortunately, nothing was going to change reality.