She felt a huge, empty hole where there should have been a fountain of images in her mind. Only the faint memory of her name being called broke through the mist and she spoke but one word. She curled into herself, looking like a child.
“Daddy.”
Cameron watched as fresh tears rolled from her eyes. “You were with your father?” She’d ceased crying a few minutes ago, but it looked now as if she were about to drown in her own tears, for the single drops became a deluge and her sobbing was almost more than he could bear.
He climbed over the seat, into the wagon bed, where she lay in a heap, her face buried in his pillow. His hands were careful as he lifted her, depositing her on his lap as he sat beside the feather tick. She was as he remembered, soft and warm in his arms, her tangled hair flowing to cover his shoulder and her own body. She leaned into him and made a valiant effort to stem the tears, whispering an apology beneath her breath.
“Don’t worry about it,” Cameron told her. “You’re entitled to a good cry, even if it makes your headache worse. You’ve had a narrow escape, living through an Indian raid. You lost all your belongings in the fire they set in your wagon, and you’re damned lucky you didn’t burn up with it.”
He pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped at her eyes, skirting around the bandages she wore. Her slender fingers took it from him and she straightened in his lap and blew her nose, folded the cloth over again and wiped the tears once more.
“I’m sorry, Cameron,” she said softly. “I’ve gotten your shirt all wet and used your hankie and been a real pain in the neck, haven’t I?”
He grinned, settling his chin on top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of talcum powder she wore. “Yeah, you’re a pain, all right.” He tipped her chin upward and smiled at the crestfallen look she offered. “You’re the prettiest little pain in the neck I’ve ever encountered. And you’re riding in my wagon. Miss Elizabeth, I’m the envy of every man on this wagon train. I just may give up my job as scout and devote myself to keeping you happy, right here.”
“You’re joking,” she said flatly, yet unable to withhold the twitching of her lips.
“Yeah, I am, but it made you smile a little, didn’t it?” He buried his hand in the length of golden hair and pulled it free from his clothing, where it had clung like a length of silken fabric. Pulling it to the back of her head, he murmured low words.
“Would you like me to braid this for you? I’m afraid it’ll be snarled beyond redemption if we don’t get it in order.” He flexed his fingers in the waving strands and smiled, his nose flaring a bit, his eyes narrowing as if he relished the feel of her curls brushing his skin.
“If you’ll find me a comb, I can do it myself,” she said, sitting up straighter on his lap, aware that his interest had gone from friendly to something more fraught with danger. Not that his actions truly frightened her, but the dark beauty of the man was a temptation, one she did not recognize, yet knew she must resist. No one else had ever held her just so, no man had ever run his fingers through her hair or wiped her tears. Even though her memory had failed her, she knew with a woman’s intuition she would have felt the familiarity in his touches had she been accustomed to such in her past.
There was a certain allure about a man who had saved your life, she thought. And Cameron Montgomery had done just that. With his dark hair and equally dark demeanor, he appealed to all that was within her, her woman’s instincts. The hunger she felt for his presence frightened her. And yet, it was a comforting hunger, as though she knew he wanted only what was right and proper for her, feeling that dark gaze upon her and glorying in the thoughts behind his hooded eyes.
He leaned to one side, sorted through a box at the side of the wagon and handed her a sturdy, bone comb, one guaranteed to withstand any snarls she offered it. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling the wide comb through the sides of her hair. Then, snatching up the long tail that trailed down her back to curl on his lap, she pulled it over her shoulder and drew the comb through it. It waved and curled, defying the comb’s ability to tame it, and she muttered a word of frustration.
“It’s always been the bane of my existence,” she said. “But my daddy was dead set against me cutting it.” She stilled then, as if listening for a voice. “I can almost hear him saying…”
A bleak darkness filled her then. “I don’t remember what he looked like,” she said with another sob. “I just know that he was there, with me. And that he liked my long hair.”
“I’m in agreement with your daddy, Elizabeth. My mama used to say that a woman’s hair was her crowning glory, and I don’t think I ever understood what she meant. Not till now.” Cam paused, considering his words.
“Who else was with you? Your husband, maybe?”
She seemed bewildered by the query. “Husband? I don’t think so. I’d remember that, wouldn’t I?”
She seemed buried in thought, and shivered against his body. “I’m sure I would.” She shivered as if shrugging away the thought. “My hair,” she whispered, as if remembering her task. “I need to…” Her voice trailed off as her fingers worked quickly, gaining control over the golden mass, subduing it into a braid.
The plait was uneven, obviously less tempting to the man watching, definitely not to his liking, if his words were to be believed.
“I kinda thought it was pretty just the way it was,” he said, running his hand down the braid, to where it ended just below her waist. She was still in his lap as his hand rested there, and her eyes widened and chanced a look at his face.
He was strangely sober, and his dark eyes searched her own, even as his fingers kneaded the sore muscles on her back, below her waist.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked, knowing how foolish she must sound, but unable to allow his advances without a protest of sorts.
“Just appreciating you,” he said, his mouth barely moving as he spoke. “In fact, I’m aching to show you how much I admire you, ma’am. If you’ll let me.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she whispered, although her feminine instincts were denying her query. She knew what he meant, somehow knew the look a man possessed when he was interested in a woman. The memory of several men on the train she’d traveled with casting the same sort of admiring gaze on her during the past months, swept through her. And all of them warned off by her father. As quickly as it appeared, the memory slipped through her mind and then slid into oblivion.
“How old are you, Elizabeth?” Cameron asked. “Nineteen, twenty, maybe?”
“Maybe,” she said, her cheeks flushing brightly, as the intensity of his eyes darkened. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “It matters. I don’t make advances to a woman unless she’s old enough to know her mind.”
“And you’re going to make advances to me?” she asked. She looked around the wagon, noting the unrelenting pace of the oxen that rocked their two bodies together. “I’d say you were well on your way already to doing just that, Mr. Montgomery.”
“No.” His smile was tender. “Not now, Elizabeth. For today I’ll settle for just a touch. That’s all I’m asking of you.” He bent his head and his mouth caressed her forehead, a soft, undemanding pressure she accepted readily. Then his lips traveled down her cheek, brushing her mouth from side to side, a soft murmur giving proof of his pleasure.
“I won’t hurt you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips touching hers again. “I only want to be with you and take care of you.” And then his hand moved to rest between her shoulder blades, holding her firmly in place. His lips were hard and firm, giving his visage a stern image, but the reality of his mouth against her face made a lie of his appearance, for he was gentle, as if he feared frightening her.
She relaxed against the security of his embrace, allowing his arms to enfold her, reveling in the knowledge that he would protect her. He was tall, strong and muscular, a man not afraid to risk himself to help a woman in distress. For surely, he and the other
scout had been in danger when they’d found her, even though the Indians had already taken their loot and vanished. While lying on the ground, she’d seen shadowed figures, wearing the briefest of clothing, running hither and yon, then watched her father’s wagon go up in flames and listened to the dying cries of those surrounding her.
She remembered the hatchet and her fear, and then—nothing. Until the two men had appeared who had picked her up and brought her away from the carnage to this place of safety. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t meet up with more danger ahead, but for now, she felt secure.
“Have I frightened you?” Cameron’s voice was soft against her ear, and she shook her head, a slight movement that stirred him to kiss the tender spot at her temple, a place that throbbed with the racing of her blood.
“No one has ever…” She could not finish the words, for her tongue felt thick and dry, cleaving to the roof of her mouth.
“For some reason, I’ve already figured that out,” he murmured, rocking her in a soothing motion. “You’re as innocent as a newborn baby.” And then, as if reminding himself of her need for sustenance he asked a question. “What can I get for you? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
At that offer of something to drink, she nodded. “Water, please. If you have any.”
“A barrelful, as it happens. And my canteen still has a bit left. It’s not cold, but it’s wet.”
“Thank you.” She reached for it as he unhooked it from his belt, not waiting for him to open it. Her hands trembled on the lid, but it gave way to her desperation for the taste of water on her tongue. Bending her head back, she drained it, the last drops dripping down her chin, only to fall on his shirt. She lifted a slender finger to wipe the stain away, but it had soaked in quickly.
“Don’t worry. With this heat, it’ll dry in no time.” He took her fingers in his hand, holding them in his palm, and she looked down at the contrast between his long, suntanned fingers and her own. He was gentle and his touch firm, but she knew if she pulled away, he would release her. And then his dark head bent, and his mouth kissed the back of her hand, a series of open-mouthed caresses that threatened to take her breath.
With a tender movement he turned her hand over and gently opened her fingers, examining her palm. “You’ve got calluses,” he said softly. “You’re used to hard work.” His mouth touched the rough spots on her hands and she winced.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was trembling, as was her body. Should he want to, he could have her on her back, beneath him, in mere seconds. She was helpless in the face of his greater strength, her slender bones no match for the weight he could cover her with. And yet, she did not quail from his touch.
“I think I’d better get back on the wagon seat where I belong,” he said, his voice suddenly dark and strained. “Why don’t you lie back down and see if you can sleep a while longer. We’ll be stopping for dinner pretty soon. That’ll be time enough for you to get up.”
“All right.” It seemed she would obey him; indeed, she had no other option. She was in his wagon, and if he was willing to help her, feed her and keep her comfortable, she’d be a fool to protest.
The wagon master rode his horse beside the second wagon as Cameron climbed back to his seat and unhitched the reins from the upright post. The oxen had not varied their pace, only kept about fifteen feet behind the lead wagon. They were a good team, bred and born on Cameron’s family ranch. This was their third trip to the West, and their strength hadn’t faltered yet.
“Your lady friend awake now?” Dallas Smith asked politely. His glance touched the opening to the wagon bed, and a hand lifted as if he would wave at someone.
Cameron looked over his shoulder to find Elizabeth just behind him, and she shot a smile at Dallas. Her hand touched Cam’s shirt and he wondered if it was there to give her balance or because she hid behind him.
“This lady is Elizabeth,” Cameron told Dallas. “We haven’t come up with her last name yet. She’s still a bit confused about things.”
“Well, I reckon I can understand that,” Dallas said, tipping his hat politely. “I’m Dallas Smith, ma’am, and I’m in charge of this train. Sure am sorry you ran into trouble, but I’m awful glad my scouts found you before the Indians came back for a second look.”
“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth said softly. “I’ve been sleeping away the morning. Just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“Best medicine in the world for you,” Dallas said. “We’ll be stopping for our noon meal in about half an hour. Will you feel like joining us?”
“Yes, of course,” she said quickly. “Perhaps I can lend a hand somewhere?”
Cameron frowned. “Do you think you’re up to it?”
“I don’t know. But I can try, can’t I? It would be better than lying here trying to remember what I was doing on that wagon train, and where we were going and why I lived through the whole thing.”
“Did you ever think that it just wasn’t meant for you to die yesterday?” Cameron asked. “Maybe there’s something more for you to do with your life.”
“If only I could remember,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I know that my father was with me, but I can’t catch hold of more than that. How can I have any kind of a future, if I can’t even remember what happened yesterday?”
“Could be it’s better if you don’t remember right now,” Dallas said firmly. “Could be your mind can’t handle those memories yet.”
“I don’t even know who I am,” Elizabeth said, her voice trembling, her hand on Cameron’s shoulder gripping with a strength he wouldn’t have suspected she possessed.
Cameron turned his head a bit, his cheek pressing against her fingers. “You know you’re safe here, Elizabeth, and I’m certain you’ll soon remember the rest of it. Although, I suspect Dallas is right, and digging up your past isn’t the best thing for you right now.”
Dallas turned his horse to ride to the far end of the wagon train. “I’ll be putting out the call for dinner. Once I get back to the first wagon, we’ll stop,” he told them. And then tipped his hat for Elizabeth’s benefit. “Ma’am,” he murmured, with a last glance at her.
A thoughtful glance, Cameron decided, as if he were considering staking his own claim on the lady.
Not if I can help it. The words spun in his head as he set his mind to the oxen that pulled his wagon.
All her brave words about helping out with noontime preparations were for naught, and Elizabeth huddled, trembling under the quilt Cameron provided. The temperature inside the wagon was high, but she was cold, chilled to the bone. She’d made it to the ground, and then almost collapsed against Cameron’s chest as her head began to swim and her legs turned limp, her weight seeming to be too heavy for them to bear.
Without a word, he’d lifted her into the wagon bed, following her inside the white canvas to kneel beside her on the wooden floor. His presence was a comfort, yet she felt chagrined by her weakness, embarrassed by her collapse into his arms.
The ladies of the train, at least three of them, had looked her way in sympathy as Cameron tended her, but she knew her presence in his wagon was about as far from discretion as she could get. A young female, alone with a man, allowing his touch against various parts of her person, was ripe for condemnation, no matter the circumstances.
How she knew the rules of good behavior was a mystery, but discomfort at her situation made her wary. Cameron’s hands were on her back and shoulders, his greater strength lifting her to a sitting position against the side of the wagon, his presence bringing a welcome bit of heat to her shivering frame.
He’d covered her with his quilt and rubbed her back through the heavy covering, bringing warmth to her flesh. His soft words of comfort did more than that, assuring her of his concern, letting her feel his strength, guaranteeing his presence so long as she needed him.
“You’ll be all right,” he said soothingly. “You’ve had a shock, and your body is reacting to it. You may not be able to gain your strength back right
away.”
She looked up at him, her vision blurred. “I’m sure I’m usually much stronger than this,” she told him.
“I’m certain you are. I told you your hands show signs of hard work. I doubt you’re used to spending much time being lazy. Not that you are now,” he hastily amended as she frowned her displeasure.
From the opening at the rear, a female voice spoke his name. “Cameron, I brought some food for you and the lady. Are you hungry?”
Elizabeth shook her head, feeling her stomach roll as she considered putting a meal into her body. “I don’t think I can eat.”
“Well, you’re going to try. Dora has been kind enough to bring us some stew,” Cameron announced, reaching for the plate Dora held out toward him.
“She needs to eat, or she’ll never get her strength back,” Dora announced, the words sounding very much like disapproval in Elizabeth’s ears.
“I’ll try,” she murmured, and was rewarded by Cameron’s smile.
“We’ll see what we can do,” Cameron told Dora, settling the plate atop a trunk.
The plate held meat and gravy, probably rabbit, he thought, along with bits of potato, no doubt carried along from St. Louis. Greens had been cooked beyond recognition, and he eyed them disparagingly, his appetite not tempted by their limp presence on the plate.
Filling the fork with a bite of potato, he dipped it into the gravy and offered it to Elizabeth. Her mouth opened automatically and she chewed the food slowly.
“I hate to say it, but it’s not very good,” she whispered. “That lady doesn’t know how to make tasty gravy, does she?”
Cameron laughed at her observation, pleased that she didn’t have any qualms about speaking her mind.
“No, she’s not the best cook on the train, aside from her biscuits, but she was here first. Maybe someone else will wander by and offer something better.”
With that observation, he grimaced as he took his first bite of the food they’d been given. It sat in his mouth, not inviting him to swallow, but he recognized that good manners demanded he eat it anyway. It would be an effort, but if it were all they had available, he’d survive on it.
Wed Under Western Skies Page 3
