Rebel with a Cause

by Carol Arens

  "Maybe where you come from, he'd have hopped right down and handed you the reins, but this is the West. Gentlemen and ladies last about ten minutes out here." It was the truth. This hothouse flower sitting so sweetly in front of him would wither in no time. "If we don't drown before we reach Green Island, I'd suggest you take the first train back to where you came from."

  As if to confirm his prediction of drowning, the sky opened up like a horse trough being dumped from the sky. Rain so cold that it stopped just short of being snow made puddles the size of ponds all over the low-lying area.

  There was nothing for it but to get to higher ground and hope to make it to Green Island before the storm cut the town off.

  * * *

  Even though the great American West was a good bit wetter than Missy had expected, she had no intention of catching a train home. Just because monstrous torrents of water poured down upon her head and washed over her body in an icy bath was no cause for retreat.

  She did feel a bit guilty that the horse had some difficulty plucking its hooves from the muck with each step. The weight of two humans must have made each cold squish in the mud a trial for the beast. Still, she had come to tell the tale of the West for Suzie and a storm would not prevent her from doing it.

  Her hero, Zane Coldridge, let out an occasional curse, watching the water flood the gullies and low areas of the land. The tops of the distant hills looked like floating islands.

  "Come on, Ace," Zane Coldridge muttered. "Green Island is just over the next hill."

  That would be a relief! It wasn't a bit prissy to be longing for the shelter of her hotel room. It wasn't weak-spirited to wish for the comfort of dry clothing. Surely even the man behind her wished for the same. Perhaps they could share a dinner by a cozy fire. He could tell her all of his adventures while they listened to the patter of rain on the windows.

  Missy peered through the water dripping off the brim of the hat that Mr. Coldridge had long since removed from his own head and placed on hers. The tall steeple of the Congregational Church made a white slash through the low-hung clouds in the distance.

  "Look!" She raised her arm and wagged her finger at the welcome sight. "There's Green Island."

  Against her back, Zane Coldridge's chest rose and crashed. He uttered the most colorful word she had ever heard.

  "Wait here a minute, darlin'."

  With a leap, he washed off the horse. He took long mud-sucking strides up to the high point of the ridge. He looked out to where the steeple vanished then appeared again through the rain.

  He made to snatch his hat from his head and toss it down in apparent frustration. Naturally, he grabbed wet air since the hat at this moment dripped in a limp heap from her head.

  "What's wrong?" she called over the slap of water on mud.

  He walked back, slipping then catching his step on the slick downward slope.

  "Green Island's surrounded by water." She hoped to hear him call her darlin' again, but he only frowned and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. "Looks like we'll be spending the night here."

  "Here...where?" She craned her neck right and left but didn't see a shelter.

  He pointed to the top of the hill and picked up the horse's reins. "The higher up we are, the better."

  "But the hotel is so close by. Surely we can get to it."

  "The town's cut off." Zane Coldridge patted the horse's neck to encourage him up the slope. "It will be full dark soon and cold as a witch's...heart. We'd better settle in before things get any worse."

  What they were going to settle in to was beyond her imagination. A few bare trees dotted the hill. Not much in the way of shelter there.

  It might take some imagination to make this into a lovely tale for Suzie. It would be best to leave out the part about spending the night with a handsome stranger. If her missive ever fell into the wrong hands, well...there would be no end to the scandal. Her most mortifying exploit to date would pale by comparison.

  When they reached the top of the hill, Zane helped her down from the horse then went about the task of untying something from behind the saddle.

  Luckily, Muff slept soundly under the coat. She hated to think of the mucky consequences of letting him loose to take care of his needs.

  "Mr. Coldridge, would you like your coat back now?" She hated to give it up but her hero looked as frigid as a block of ice. If she wasn't mistaken, his boldly framed shoulders had begun to shiver.

  He gave her a slow, silent shake of his head. Rain pelted his hair. The ribbon securing it at the back of his neck sagged like one of cook's overdone noodles.

  It was hard to tell through the deepening gloom, but she thought he flashed her an angry glare just before he spread out a tarp on the ground.

  "Lay down." He pointed to the middle of the canvas.

  The man must be addled by the cold. What possible good could lying out in the rain do? Still, he hadn't taken his coat back, or even his hat, so it was only right to go along with him for the moment.

  She knelt on the canvas then lay down with one arm curled around Muff and the other straight and stiff at her side. With her knees locked, the toes of her shoes pointed up to the clouds.

  "Like this?"

  "That'll do," he mumbled then sat down beside her.

  He yanked the tarp this way and that until he lay prone beside her with the canvas tucked and folded in such a way that it kept out the rain.

  What an amazing shelter! Even though water soaked her clothing the warmth of two people protected from the pelting fury outside gradually took some of the bite out of the chill. It wasn't warm, as the shivering body beside her attested to, but it was sanctuary from the elements.

  What a shame she wouldn't be able to write about how she'd spent the night, as close as pearls on a strand to Zane Coldridge.

  The fainting couch would be worn out if mother ever knew.

  * * *

  Missy Devlin's breath beat warm puffs of air against his neck. That was the only inch of Zane's body not taken with shivers. Even though the rain no longer touched him under the canvas wrap, the icy water had done its

  damage. It might be some time before a pair of bodies, not entwined, would generate any warmth.

  "Tell me about your bounty-hunting adventures, Mr. Coldridge." The lady's voice shivered, but it might have been from foolish excitement as much as chill. Apparently, the woman had some pretty, eastern notion of the West that had nothing to do with real life.

  "Haven't got any adventure, miss. I make a living, and an ugly one at that."

  "Surely your brain must be packed with tales of peril and risk." Rain pounded on the canvas but not so loudly that it drowned her voice. "Ugly or not, they must be thrilling."

  "Somehow, Miss Devlin, I don't see life as a pack of thrilling stories. Just living, some good and some bad."

  "Oh, but that's not true!"

  He felt her wiggle onto her side. The plump swell of her breast pressed against his arm and warmed it like a hot cushion. The sultry simmer had to be pure imagination since no part of this miserable night was anything close to hot.

  "Life is all made up of stories, some wonderful and some not, but it's all adventure in one way or another."

  "Fancy notions from a proper eastern lady."

  "Wouldn't mother be pleased if that were true?" she mumbled under her breath.

  In the dark, he felt her hand brush across his shirt, light and hesitant. Plainly, Missy Devlin fell short of pleasing her mother.

  "You're about to shake to pieces, Mr. Coldridge."

  It wasn't the manliest of behavior, but still true. He was a shaking mess. With a different kind of woman he'd know how to get warmed up. Mother's opinion or not, this was a respectable young lady and the most he could do was dream of the warmth her plush little body might provide.

  She touched him, her palm over his heart, and his imagination sparked to full-blown life. The scent of warm, womanly skin seeped through the soaked coat that wrapped her up in a
tempting package.

  A gust of wind howled along the ground and snapped the canvas over their heads, but by some mercy, it held.

  "You're not your mother's perfect angel, then?" he asked, trying to get the blamed image of a bare hot woman out of his mind.

  "On occasion, I fall a bit short."

  Was that an icy finger poking under the space between the buttons of his shirt? Not a single finger, but all four and a thumb!

  "Suzie, my twin, and I weren't always the socially graceful young ladies that mother longed for... She loved us like the dickens but--I think that if we wrap our arms around each other we might borrow one another's warmth."

  Zane fought the urge to tear out of the canvas when she nuzzled her cheek against his neck then snuggled in as close as a wanton woman. His breath left him in a rush when her fingers tiptoed across his wet shirt and curled about his ribs.

  "Suzie and I warmed up this way on many a winter's night."

  How innocent could a woman be to believe that his reaction was anything close to what her sister's had been?

  "There, that's better already, don't you think?"

  A grunt was the best answer he could give until he caught his breath.

  "How on earth did your mother ever let you out of the house?"

  "Oh, she didn't let me out. I ran away in the dead of night."

  Missy Devlin sighed and her thumb tripped across the pocket of his shirt. Heat flushed through his chest.

  "It's a wonder she didn't tie you to the bedpost."

  "If mother had tied me to the post, Suzie would have let me loose. Now, my brother Edwin would have tied us both... Here, put your arms around me just like this."

  To illustrate, she squeezed him closer. If he were a stronger man with a lick of sense, he'd go stand in the rain where the only dangers were the sidelong wind and the creeping flood, but her warmth had already begun to ease the shakiness out of his bones, so he turned to face her.

  He tucked his chin on top of her hair and smelled damp roses. He laid his arm across her waist then pressed his palm to the middle of her back, drawing her in.

  Since he wanted to put his mouth to use in a way that didn't involve tasting the floral-scented warmth that blushed from her cheeks he asked, "Why did you run away from home, Miss Devlin?"

  "To write the great American dime novel."

  He felt her smile tickle his neck. He wished he could see it, foolish as the reason for the smile was.

  "You ought to have stayed home. All those stories are made up. Pure scandalous trash is all they are."

  "I'm sure that's not true, Mr. Coldridge!" Her body squirmed in apparent protest. "Why, in one day Muff and I have been assaulted by a bank robber and rescued by a bounty hunter. I've had my dress eaten and my manuscript stolen. If that is not adventure, I can't tell you what is."

  "Sounds more like a string of misfortunes to me."

  Evidently Missy Devlin lived in a different world than most folks.

  "What on God's earth made you leave the safety and comfort of home for a place like this?"

  "Can I trust you not to mock me? You seem to be less than admiring of my ambition."

  "You can." At least he wouldn't do it out loud.

  "I'll take this as the beginning of a friendship, then. Will you call me Missy...and let me call you Zane?"

  Since talking was the only honorable way to spend this long, close night, he agreed.

  "Well, then, Zane," she said, relaxing against him in a way more friendly than she must realize. "Let me tell you, safe and comfortable are well and good, but also tedious and restricting. Why, the minute a girl kicks up her heels and does something the slightest bit daring, she gets frowns and stares from everyone she meets."

  She sighed. Her breath warmed his neck. Between her belly and his, the animal she called a dog began to squirm.

  "A sweet little thing like you getting frowns and stares? It baffles the mind."

  "And not only me. Suzie, too!" All at once her voice softened, the spark that animated her snuffed out, as though the tarp had suddenly come loose and the rain doused it. "At least, she used to. Suzie's quite subdued these days."

  A long silence stretched, filled up with the beating of rain on the tarp. Close at hand, although he didn't know exactly where, he heard Ace snort in wet misery.

  Surprisingly, the thought of a person just like Missy subdued didn't set easy on his heart.

  "Why is that?" Maybe he was prying, but she was the one who had declared them friends.

  "My sister was paralyzed two years ago when our buggy slipped off a bridge in the rain. Papa died...I got a bruised chin. Edwin had to grow up, just like that. One day he was a boy flirting with girls and the next he was raising them."

  He drew her in with a squeeze, offering comfort that he knew could not be found. He understood such grief. Even years from now the loss would sting.

  "Since Suzie can't come West, I'm sending the West home to her."

  "Darlin', this isn't the place for you. It's not what you think. It's dirty and wild and unpredictable. Listen, do you hear that?" As if on cue, thunder rolled low and threatening overhead. "The weather alone should be warning enough."

  The little dog whined. It wiggled out from between them. It crawled to Missy's face, licked her cheek, and then wagged its musty-smelling tail across Zane's nose. He pushed the dog down, toward his knees.

  "What I know is that storms don't last forever. Why, under this tarp we are getting as warm as can be."

  "What if I hadn't come along? How long would you have lasted out there without even the clothes on your back to protect you?"

  "But you did come along."

  The dog scrambled over his hip; a nettlesome growl rumbled in its throat.

  "Let's say I didn't? What if it was just you and Wage? There's even worse than him out there who'd have taken more than your horse."

  "Muff, no!" Missy reached for her dog.

  She grabbed for Muff, reaching above her head, then down Zane's neck and over his chest. When she groped for the dog in a place he'd never invited a proper woman, he did a quick flip.

  In the scuffle he managed to keep the dog near his feet without opening the canvas to the rain. The trouble was, he'd also gotten Missy pinned underneath him.

  In the darkness, the whisper of her shallow breathing filled the canvas. The quick brush of it against his face filled his nose with her rosy scent.

  "It's a lucky thing for me that you're the one who came along," she murmured.

  Maybe not so lucky. Even under the coat, he felt the curves of her breasts rising and falling beneath the trip and hammer of his heart. The layer of petticoats wasn't thick enough to keep him from noticing a pair of shapely female legs go rigid, then relax beneath his.

  Heated breath moistened his mouth. Her lips couldn't be more than an inch away. He nearly groaned into the tiny space of simmering darkness that separated them.

  Would she turn her face aside in outrage if he kissed her? Maybe slap him across the cheek with her slender hand?

  Or worse, would she welcome it? Would she melt against his mouth then give herself over to him with an eagerness that would singe his mustache?

  With the possibility only a searing gasp away, he shouldn't let himself get carried away with the dream of what it might be like to brush his tongue over her lips, to taste them and explore the shape and delicate texture of them.

  Missy's heat flashed through him, spun about his insides then settled low and urgent where it shouldn't. It was wrong to allow his imagination to run wild. His brain, ready to boil over, was a thought away from becoming reckless.

  Somehow, the little lady had gotten him stirred up inside, and all by lying perfectly still.

  How was it that she made him want to run like hell away and dive in headlong all at once?

  One thing he was sure of, if he didn't grit his teeth together, take a big bite of bitter reality, this would be one adventure that Missy Devlin would never write to her
sister about.

  He pressed the canvas on each side of her shoulders then pushed himself up so that he didn't feel the tug of her breath calling him to behave disgracefully. He lifted up as far as he could without dislodging the shelter and letting in the rain.

  There must be some remnant of honor left in him.

  The close air stirred, fabric shifted, she touched both of his cheeks with her fingertips. They felt like hot butter against the week-old growth of his beard.

  "Go to sleep now, Missy." He settled down beside her then kissed her forehead with a quick peck. The dog scratched and plumped the canvas near Missy's feet. "I'll see you safe on the train first thing in the morning."

  Chapter Three

  Missy snuggled into the cocoon-like shelter. The rain on the canvas had slowed to a steady splat.

  Hours must have passed. It ought to be morning since the absolute black inside the tarp had given way to shadowed gray.

  She felt rested...even energized. Such amazing things had happened in twenty-four hours. Her fingers fairly itched to write them down.

  Zane's slow, even breathing told her that he was still asleep...with his arms around her and his chin resting on top of her head! She could only hope that Muff would not need to get out. It would be fine to lie here until the rain quit, feeling the slow rise and fall of her hero's chest, heartbeat to heartbeat against her own.

  Last night, she had taken his advice and gone to sleep at once. Her emotions and her body had been tumbling in confusion and delight. A few hours' rest to figure them out had been what she needed. Luckily, sleep always came easily, as sweet as a little bird settling into a nest.

  Zane didn't know it, but his vow to put her on the first train home had been wasted breath. It was a wonder that he hadn't felt her silent bubble of laughter.

  Out here in the West, free of the restrictions that Edwin had put on her behavior, she was an independent woman. Yes, indeed, free as a feather on the breeze. She certainly hadn't come to Nebraska to have Zane Coldridge take Edwin's place.

  Suddenly, Zane sat up. The canvas cocoon burst open with a rush of cold, wet air. Missy noticed his hand reach for his gun even before he had come fully alert.