Victoria_Bride of Kansas

by E. E. Burke

  “What are you clatterin’ about? I don’t want your money.” Buck nearly added if he’d wanted to rob her, he’d have done it and been gone by now. “We got to find shelter before we freeze to death. You live nearby?”

  The woman stared up at him, her eyes rounding. Was she so addled she couldn’t understand what he was asking? Maybe the cold had gotten to her. He’d take her and head down that road, which he assumed led into Girard.

  He lifted the woman onto Goliath and mounted behind her. There wasn’t enough room in the saddle for two, especially with all those skirts, but somehow he managed to get her situated across his lap. Thank the saints she didn’t go into conniptions.

  The ends of her cloak snapped in the wind. She shuddered so hard it made his teeth rattle. He opened his greatcoat then wrapped them both in the blanket and oilskin.

  She burrowed into his chest like a baby rabbit. Her vulnerability tugged at his heart. Wouldn’t kill him to offer her comfort.

  He curled his arm around her. “Warmer now?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Where do you live?”

  “I…we have a farm…I’ll see to it you’re well compensated if you take me there.”

  So, she was married. No surprise. With so few women out here, even a crazy one would be snatched up, especially one smelling this sweet and with soft curves in all the right places.

  “How far is it?”

  “Up the road, just a little ways.”

  “A little ways? As in few minutes?”

  “I…I’m not sure exactly.”

  Buck snorted in disbelief. She didn’t know where she lived? “We can’t wander around. It’s getting dark.”

  “We could make Girard. It’s maybe a half hour’s ride.”

  Maybe? He turned the stallion and peered in the direction she’d indicated, gave a grumbling assent. He was going to Girard anyway. Although he wasn’t sure they’d make it before night set in and the temperatures dropped even lower. “Anything else nearby?”

  “Our farm…”

  “That you can’t find.”

  Shit.

  Grudgingly, Buck nudged Goliath onto the road. According to his cousin’s letter, thousands of settlers had poured into these former Indian lands. If so, where were they? Did they all live in town? Or was this strip of land reserved for the railroad’s use? The exorbitant price they’d put on a godforsaken wilderness seemed ludicrous. Of course, why anyone would want to farm it was also a mystery. Didn’t matter though. Sean had settled here, had worked the land, and now the railroad’s owner—rich bastard—was trying to cheat him out of it.

  Buck tilted his head down to keep the wind from snatching his hat. The woman turned her face into his vest like she was trying to warm her nose. He cradled her closer, felt her relax in his arms. Warmth spread through him, and not just from the heat of their bodies, it came from someplace deep inside, a part of him he’d thought was long dead.

  He squelched a flare of alarm. Concern for another living creature, that’s all it was. Nothing more. He didn’t give a tinker’s damn about anybody, save his family—what was left of it.

  They’d gone only a few miles when something caught his eye. He straightened and peered at a shadow. Whatever it was, it was big. Then he sighed with relief. “There’s a barn over there.”

  She peeked out from beneath her hood. “It’s abandoned, and the house was burned down. We can’t stop there.”

  The hell they couldn’t. “So long as there’s a roof, we’re stopping.”

  * * *

  The stranger wrestled the barn door open and then dragged Amy off his horse. Before she could protest, her feet left the ground and he carried her into the dark interior. He dumped her on a pile of hay before vanishing back into the night, taking his warmth with him.

  The wind shrieked in a wild tantrum and the barn creaked and moaned, as the stranger rustled about getting the horses settled somewhere on the other side. Amy stared blindly into the darkness, hugging the blanket, shivering, both from cold and lingering fear.

  Seemed her rescuer wasn’t the mysterious assailant who’d been skulking around after her. When the towering stranger had come up on her out of nowhere, she’d feared the worst and had gone for her gun in the buggy. The first time, he’d pulled her away before she could find it. Then, once she’d retrieved her pistol, he’d disarmed her. That he’d done it so easily was beyond humiliating. The cold must’ve slowed her mind and her reflexes. Even after he assured her he meant no harm, she’d worried he might only be telling her that so he could take her somewhere and abuse her before killing her. But he hadn’t done more than cuddle her close, as if he wished to comfort her. For some inexplicable reason, she’d let him.

  She chewed her lip, her thoughts whirling. If the Land League hadn’t sent this frighteningly large fellow after her, where had he come from? He didn’t look like a farmer, not with that Henry repeater holstered by his saddle and those revolvers strapped to his hips. Not to mention the knife as long as her forearm, which she’d discovered while huddled close to him. On the other hand, he might’ve armed himself in light of the increased violence in these parts.

  Was that why her typically protective suitor hadn’t made it back to town to escort her? Had Fletcher been waylaid by thugs working for the Land League? Or had he, too, been caught unawares by the change in the weather? If she’d known a late winter storm was imminent, she would’ve found someplace to stay in town, despite the risk.

  Her nerves jumped at the scrape of a match. Light flared. Amy blinked as the stranger approached with a lit taper. Not just well armed, but well prepared.

  Her gaze traveled from his scuffed, square-toed boots up long legs encased in checkered gray trousers of the California style cowboys favored. A heavy greatcoat hung past his knees. Around his neck, he wore a faded bandana, its color indistinguishable. His hat looked older than his shoes and its brim shadowed his expression. Was he one of the countless drifters passing through, looking for work?

  “At least we’ll have some light.” His spoke in a low drawl, raspy as gravel in a dry creek bed. Strangely enough, she found the sound soothing. After securing the candle to the underside of a bucket, he set it nearby. “Careful not to knock this over. I’d build a fire, but with all the hay this place would go up like a torch.”

  Why did he feel the need to explain as one would to a child or a very old person?

  “My mental faculties aren’t so deficient I’d set the barn on fire.” She tried to adjust the blanket more securely, but her numb fingers wouldn’t obey and it kept slipping off.

  The stranger knelt, removing his hat. Flaxen hair fell in tangled waves past his collar, and the light revealed a ruggedly handsome face—in sore need of a shave. Brown whiskers bristled on lean cheeks and a tawny mustache nearly hid his mouth. But it was his eyes that captured her, their color, so unusual—somewhere between blue and gray, but pale as a washed-out sky.

  “Give me your hands.” He stripped off his gloves as he issued the command. Rather than waiting to see whether she’d obey, he began to chafe them between his calloused palms. “How come you’re not wearing gloves?”

  She bristled at the disapproving tone. He’d made it clear he believed she was a simpleton.

  “I had need of my fingernails.” She didn’t explain the problem with the frozen harness strap, which had necessitated the removal of her gloves to pick away the ice. No doubt she’d dropped them during their struggle, and she’d been too flustered to retrieve her muff. Not that he would’ve let her go back to the buggy after she’d pulled a gun on him.

  His wintery eyes narrowed. Along his cheekbone, a crusted line of dried blood marked a scratch she’d put there. Her insides coiled tighter. She shouldn’t have made it sound as if she’d intended to hurt him. She didn’t even remember doing it. All she recalled was the sheer terror that had overcome her when he grabbed her.

  He released her hands and began to unbutton his vest and shirt.

&
nbsp; Her heart fluttered with renewed fear. “What…what are you doing?”

  “Ravishing your frozen fingers.”

  Capturing her hands, he threaded them through the opening in his shirt, then sandwiched her palms against his chest. His body radiated heat like a furnace, and soon her fingers began to burn. With a moan, she tried to pull away, but he held fast.

  “It’s good if you feel pain. That means you won’t lose your fingers.”

  Lose her fingers? God forbid. She burrowed through crisp hair on his chest, seeking the warm skin beneath.

  His eyes widened a split second before his features turned to stone.

  The heat she’d taken from him went straight to her face. What was she thinking to touch him like that? She stilled her hands.

  The muscles beneath her fingers flexed. Her skin tingled in response. The startling sensation spread up her arms and curled around the tips of her breasts. With a gasp, she yanked her hands away and tucked them under her arms.

  Almighty. Was she attracted to him? She’d never been drawn to rough men like this one. It had to have something to do with the strangeness of the situation. She hugged the blanket as her teeth started chattering. He hadn’t molested her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t if she kept touching him. Cold or not, she wasn’t taking the chance.

  He reached over and snatched away the blanket.

  She squeaked in protest. “What are you doing?”

  “We need to get you warmed up.”

  “If you t-take my blanket, how do you suggest I get warm?”

  He grasped a handful of her damp cloak. “You won’t, if you stay in those wet clothes.”

  He was right. Amy cursed another lapse in reason. Her fears had rendered her senseless. “I should’ve retrieved my valise. There is a dry outfit in there—”

  “Fair to say it ain’t dry any longer.” He snagged his saddlebag. Thrusting his hand inside, he withdrew several items of clothing. “Here, put these on.”

  She wrinkled her nose. He didn’t really believe she’d don his undergarments, did he?

  He frowned at her and shook them. Yes, he did. And she’d be a fool to refuse dry clothes. Perhaps his shirt over her underclothes, just until her other things dried out.

  Before she could act, he plopped down, yanked her foot into his lap and began to undo the laces on her boot. His touch set off another bout of shivers that had nothing to do with the temperature of the air.

  “What are you doing?” She jerked her foot out of his hands.

  “Taking off your wet clothes, since you seem too addled to take care of it.”

  “I am not addled.” She scooted back. “I can tend to myself, if you would be so kind as to give me some privacy.”

  He stood, seemingly tall as a mountain, his eyes gleaming like polished silver. “Good to see you recall how to get undressed. I wasn’t looking forward to doing it for you.”

  * * *

  Buck strode to where he’d stabled his horse, anxious to get away from the all-too-appealing woman he’d rescued. He’d held her close enough to feel those sweet curves. Come to find out, her face was just as nice. Still, he hadn’t been prepared for the surge of lust when she’d splayed her fingers over his chest.

  She’d felt something, too. He’d seen it in her eyes. And for a half second, he’d considered taking her right there on the hay. Only, she was frightened…and crazy. Couldn’t forget that.

  Inside the stall, he scooped up a handful of straw and began to dry the remaining dampness from the stallion’s smoky coat. Goliath pawed and snorted, preening for the mare in the adjacent stall.

  “You better behave,” Buck whispered. “If she’s like her owner, she’ll kick you into next Sunday for messing with her.”

  The stallion whinnied.

  “You’re right. Might be worth it. Still, better not take the chance. Besides, that woman’s none of my business.” Buck’s hand stilled. He’d made her his business when he brought her in out of the cold.

  He sighed, shaking his head. They were stuck here for the night, so he had to make the best of it. But once he got her safely to wherever it was she was going, he’d find his cousin and focus on the only business he cared about—getting justice for his family.

  From the other side of the stall came the unmistakable shush of garments being shed.

  Buck wrestled his conscience, but the temptation was too strong. Taking advantage of his height, he peeked over the wall, curious as a crow with a shiny object in sight.

  She had her back to him and he couldn’t see a thing below her neck because she’d pushed up a pile of hay and was hiding behind it. Smart gal…and not as crazy as he first thought.

  Her green dress went over a rail, along with countless petticoats, each fancier than its neighbor. Lastly, she set aside a bedraggled headpiece too small to call a hat, but with plumes he was sure were peacock feathers.

  He shook his head, more intrigued than ever. With those fancy clothes, she could’ve walked right off a fashion plate in one of those ladies’ magazines he’d seen in his stepfather’s mercantile. Who was she, and what was she doing out here, smack dab in the middle of former Indian land? This place was still wild, and based on what Sean had reported, it was getting a lot wilder since the settlers’ dispute with the railroad had exploded into an all-out war. Was her husband involved? That might explain why she’d reacted with fear.

  Buck’s heart raced as he watched her lift her arms to shake out a glorious length of chestnut hair. The candle’s light reflected off golden strands. He swallowed hard, his hands fisting. God, he would kill to run his fingers through those tresses.

  His mind conjured an image of the voluptuous beauty stark naked, beckoning him to join her on his blanket. Sizzling heat shot straight to his groin. Biting back a tortured groan, he turned away before she caught him peeking at her.

  He rested his arms on Goliath’s withers. “Just my luck. I had to rescue a Venus,” he muttered. “Why couldn’t she be ugly and buck-toothed?”

  “Sir?” Her voice drifted over, breathy and uncertain. “If you want to come back, I’m decent.”

  Decent? Sure she was. But those curves weren’t, and no shirt of his was going to help. He’d lied through his teeth when he told her he wasn’t looking forward to unwrapping her. Except, she’d claw his eyes out before he could see anything.

  He touched the scratch across his cheekbone and winced. Should’ve announced his intentions before grabbing her, but he’d been so shocked to see a woman out alone in this weather, then when that buggy started rocking, well, he’d just leapt off his horse and raced to the rescue. A wry smile twisted his lips. That gal sure hadn’t seen a white knight. Not that he was interested in being one.

  Against his better judgment, he ventured back to where he’d left her, sitting on the hay next to the bucket that held the candle. She had her legs tucked up beneath her and that scratchy blanket wrapped clear to her neck and was clutching at it like she was afraid he might take it away. His conscience tweaked him. He’d all but threatened to strip her if she didn’t undress. It’d been too long since he’d been in the company of decent women. This would be an uncomfortable night for both of them if he didn’t at least try to ease her fears.

  He unbuckled his gun belt, wrapped it around the guns and went down on one knee, carefully laying the revolvers within her reach. The Bowie knife went beside the holsters. Her eyes followed his every move. At last, her shoulders lowered and the tense expression softened. More than that, he could actually feel her distress draining.

  Buck rocked back on his heels, bemused. Over the years, he’d honed his instincts, relying on gut-level intuition to stay alive. But this strange connection seemed to extend to an ability to pick up on the ebb and flow of her emotions, which tugged like the current in a river.

  She offered a slight smile. “Thank you for saving me, Mr.—?”

  “O’Connor,” he blurted, absurdly pleased by the gratitude shining in her eyes. On second thought,
he should’ve given her an alias. Still, it was unlikely she’d ever heard of him. He wasn’t as well known as his friend Cole Younger. “Couldn’t let you turn into an icicle.”

  His breath clouded the air. Come to think of it, this ramshackle barn was damn frigid. It offered shelter from the sleet, but did little to keep the cold out. “Here, let me pile up some hay. It’ll block the drafts and keep you warm.”

  “What about you? Are you warm enough?” She hugged the blanket, shivering.

  “You want my coat?” His hands went to the buttons. Should’ve thought to offer it earlier.

  Her eyes widened. “No, I wasn’t implying that. I just thought you might be cold. We can share the hay.”

  For a moment, he was speechless. It’d been so long since anyone cared about his comfort, he hadn’t expected it and didn’t know how to respond. He shrugged to hide how much her concern touched him.

  “Ah, don’t worry about me. You hungry?” He rummaged through the saddlebag, finding the last piece of jerky. “It’s not much, but it’ll take the edge off.”

  “Thank you.” She gifted him with a smile that snatched his breath.

  He leaned back on one arm, trying his damnedest not to look like an infatuated schoolboy. Instead of sitting here mooning over her, he ought to find out what he could about the local situation. Whatever she knew might come in handy when he started searching for that railroad promoter.

  “So, you live out here, Mrs., uh…”

  “Langford,” she finished.

  He tried the name in his head. Mrs. Langford. Nope, he preferred Venus.

  She bit off a small piece of jerky with perfect white teeth, chewed slowly and swallowed before continuing. “Yes, I live…” Her voice trailed off and her lashes lowered.

  He leaned forward, worried. “Something wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Connor. I wasn’t honest before. I don’t live around here. I was headed for a friend’s house before starting back to Fort Scott.”

  That she’d fibbed about where she lived didn’t surprise him. She’d done it so he’d think her husband was nearby. But where she was going astonished him. “Fort Scott? That’s another two days’ ride.”