She sat there, looking so fragile, so helpless, that Cutter again felt the incredible urge to draw her into his arms and hold her, protect her from the cold, hard world.
“Lizbeth,” he whispered, reaching out to finger an errant lock of her hair.
It felt like silk.
Had she looked up in that moment, he feared she would have seen the naked desire smoldering in his eyes.
“You’re adorable.”
Were her ears playing tricks on her?
Elizabeth thought they might be, because her eyes certainly were.
Cautiously she opened one eye to find that the room was, in fact, spinning.
With a sad smile, she gazed into her empty glass and reached to grab the neck of the bottle. She tried to lift it, but found she didn’t have the strength.
Warmth touched her fingers.
When she glanced up again, it was to find Cutter’s hand fitted neatly over her own. Inexplicably that discovery sent a delightful quiver coursing through her. Even knowing she should, she couldn’t bring herself to remove it from beneath his grasp. Her body felt suddenly so blissfully heavy.
“I reckon you’ve had more’n enough,’ he murmured thickly. When she didn’t respond, only sat, staring at his hand with something akin to bafflement, he asked, “Don’t you? The idea was to calm you—your nerves were as taut as an Indian’s bow—not get you all boozed up.” His thumb lazily caressed the area between her first finger and thumb, sending a delicious chill down her spine.
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth savored the sweet lethargy that closed over her body. She considered telling him that it was much too late, that she suspected she might already be a bit boozed up, but was feeling too dozy to bother. Her hand slid from beneath his, down the cool, smooth bottle onto the table.
As Cutter watched her, the thought occurred to him that she was much too innocent for her own good. Whoever she hired to play husband for her would take advantage of that fact. Didn’t she understand the dangers she’d be facing? If not from the ruthless land itself, then from those who fought so fiercely to claim it. It wasn’t enough that the States had only just ended a bitter war between brothers, but the white and red man both continued to struggle fiercely for control of land. He was sure Elizabeth had no inkling how risky the trek would be without adding the likes of Dick Brady to her troubles.
The more he thought about it, the more certain he grew: Come hell or high water, he wasn’t about to let her put herself into any more danger than she was already courting. But he could see just how much it meant to her to claim her sister’s child. And it didn’t take a shaman to see that Jo felt something special for Elizabeth. As far as Cutter was concerned, that was reason enough for him to step in. Elizabeth had to be a helluva woman to befriend a half-breed barkeep. Most respectable ladies wouldn’t even have gotten past the barkeep bit.
“Lizbeth,” he whispered before he could stop himself. “Let me help you. Let me be that husband you’re aimin’ to hire—don’t want the money,” he told her. “Just let me do it for… Jo. I know she’d want me to.”
With some effort, she opened one eye to find Cutter’s face mere inches from her own. She might have jerked her head away, but obviously felt much too languid to even blink. “Why would you do such a thing?” she mumbled sleepily.
“Don’t rightly know,” he confessed, lifting his hat and raking his hand back across his dark waves. His eyes glinted, reflecting the lamplight. “Reckon I’d just like t’ help, is all.”
“I—I don’t think so,” Elizabeth told him, shaking her head ungracefully. She wanted to let him, she really did. But she’d had a reason to discount him in the first place.
Now, what was it?
Her eyes closed as she tried to recall—oh yes, because he was an arrogant half-breed. Not that she had anything against half-breeds, mind you, especially this particular one. She suspected she might even like him a bit too much. And Jo was her best friend.
It was just that if she showed up with Cutter McKenzie as her lawful husband, then it might be worse than showing up alone. Most folks didn’t cotton to Indians much. She couldn’t take the chance that Katherine’s father-in-law was one of ’em. He had mentioned Indians—not too favorably, either—in his letter. If he was prejudiced… then there would be no use in going at all, because Elias Bass would simply turn her away empty-handed. She couldn’t let that happen.
She yawned suddenly, instinctively sliding her hand down to cover her mouth, feeling remarkably tranquil. Vaguely she felt her spectacles being lifted from her face, but didn’t bother to open her eyes. Really, she didn’t know why she still wore the warped old things—should have ordered new ones long before now.
She’d started wearing them at the age of twelve. As proud of her father as she’d always been, she’d wanted nothing more than to be like him… and so she’d fished them out of the ash when he’d thrown them away. Course, she’d had to have new lenses cut, because the old ones were cracked, but in spite of the bent frames, they’d looked very authoritative to her, and so she’d worn them anyway. And later she’d found them useful in keeping the men away. It seemed most men just weren’t attracted to women in spectacles—it didn’t help matters much that the frames were ill formed—but that was just fine with her, because all she’d ever wanted was to be a physician and to be left alone to follow her dream.
Had Cutter really said he would have noticed her? Surely he hadn’t.
“Lizbeth, gal, wake up. Look at me,” he demanded softly. “I wanna see those brassy eyes of yours.”
Now, why would he want to do that? she pondered sleepily. She tried to appease him because he sounded so concerned, lifting her head to gaze at him blankly. She teetered slowly forward. Unable to hold herself up, she slumped against Cutter’s solid chest.
So hard. But he was warm, too, like the worn flannel blanket she’d cherished as a child, and so naturally she cuddled against him, rubbing her face cozily against his soft worn buckskin vest.
With a groan and a sigh, Cutter lifted Elizabeth’s limp body up into his arms. Sinking back into the chair she’d warmed, he cradled her in his lap with a gentleness that belied his size and strength.
“Chrissakes,” he muttered. The woman had only had a few puny swallows. It wouldn’t even have affected him, and here she was pie-eyed. Who would’ve figured? But he reckoned her small size accounted for some of the difference in side effects—that, and she had guzzled them down quick, aside from having been through quite an emotional strain besides.
He stared at her for the longest moment, studying her pale features in the dim light, thinking that he’d liked to be the one to put roses in those cheeks, to take the pins and ribbon out of her shiny gold hair… to run his hands through it. He wanted to show her what she was behind those misleading specs. There wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her looks, other than the fact that she seemed hell-bent on detracting from them.
She wiggled, making herself more comfortable in his lap, and his physical reaction was instantaneous. Groaning, he closed his eyes to command restraint. Damned if he wasn’t hotter’n a three-dollar pistol, while she, on the other hand, was feeling no pain a’tall.
He wished she would open her eyes so that he could see their color again. He’d never seen peepers quite like hers—at least not on a human being. They were like wolf eyes, yellow as fool’s gold. His brow furrowing, he shook her softly, to no avail. She didn’t even crack a lid. Hell, he thought irritably, she couldn’t go to sleep… not yet.
“Lizbeth?”
His hand closed about her soft shoulder, kneading it gently. Unable to help himself, he bent to kiss her sweet, pouty mouth and ended up suckling at her lower lip, enthralled with the taste of her. She sighed groggily but opened for him, and it sent a surge of white-hot desire running through him so fierce that he wanted to shake her awake and take her right there on Jo’s desk.
His tongue traced the velvety fullness of her mouth, then dipped between her lips to se
arch out her tongue. He was pleasantly surprised when she met him halfway with the soft little tip.
His heart hammered like a chisel on stone, and his veins pulsed with a primeval heat as his mouth moved over hers, devouring its moist sweetness with an intensity that surprised him.
CHAPTER THREE
Soft, so soft… too soft… too easy to lose himself.
It took Cutter a full moment to register the fact that Elizabeth was no longer responding. Groaning, he checked himself, raising his head to look into her face, his mind irrevocably made up.
She seemed too sweet and fragile, too porcelain, her skin too smooth and pure and pale, when most women had tawny complexions from sun exposure. Her brows, so perfectly formed, seemed stark against her face. She needed someone to protect her.
But she’d already refused his help.
He didn’t give a mule’s squat. She wasn’t in any shape to be making decisions. If she was so determined to hire herself a husband… then he aimed to be that man. He’d just sit her fanny in the saddle before him and ride. By the time she awoke, they’d be well on their way, and there would be nothing she could do about it.
He didn’t bother to ask himself whether she’d be safe in his hands. He doubted it. But better him than someone else. At least then, he’d be certain she’d arrive in one piece. Lifting her long, silken braid, he laid it reverently across her bosom. For that matter, he swore he’d send any man who dared so much as look at her wrong to the bone orchard.
The door creaked opened and Jo stepped in, completely unprepared for the sight that greeted her. “Lands!” she exclaimed, squelching a giggle to see her brother holding Elizabeth with such possessive pride—like a man would his first saddle. Truth to tell, she never thought she’d see the day.
However… Elizabeth didn’t look all that aware of what was going on.
“She fell asleep.” His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.
Jo moved forward quietly, frowning. “She just fell asleep? Just like that? I don’t believe it, Cutter—what did you do to her?”
Cutter lifted a brow.
“Never mind! Let me help you wake her so that I can get her home,” Jo suggested. “You can tend the bar while I’m gone.” Her hand arrested in midair as Cutter’s eyes flashed her a firm but gentle warning.
“Lay a hand on her, Josie girl, and you’ll find yourself swinging facedown over my knee. You’re not too old to spank.”
“That works two ways.”
“Really?” Cutter drawled, his lips hinting at a belligerent grin. “Think you can manage to haul me over that scrawny knee of yours?” He shook his head. “Fact is, the hotheaded little fool’s determined to hire herself a husband, and I’ve a mind to take her up on it. You wouldn’t still be hanging on to that wedding band of yours, would you?”
Momentarily dumbstruck, Jo simply nodded. It wasn’t like her cynical brother to take such an interest in anyone. His lighthearted appearance didn’t fool her in the least. She knew the animosity he hid behind that easy facade. Still, he seemed more carefree this time than ever before, and she had a keen suspicion as to why. It was only a hunch, because Cutter wasn’t easy to read.
On the other hand, he seemed to know her only too well.
Something in Jo’s eyes flickered and dimmed with her quiet affirmation, and Cutter’s hackles rose.
“Thought you might,” he said. “You’re too sentimental, Jo—should have sold the confounded thing years ago.”
He knew Jo wanted a family of her own, but there weren’t many choices afforded to a half-breed woman. Jo was a looker, but that didn’t seem to hold much water when faced with the issue of their parentage. She’d married, sure enough, but the moment her lily white husband had discovered her heritage, he’d left her high and dry, without so much as a fare-thee-well. Unfortunately, Cutter suspected not even that kept her from loving the fool man.
Jo shrugged, unwilling to discuss the painful topic.
“Mind if we borrow it?”
Jo choked back a surprised laugh. “We?”
“We.”
She gave him a measuring glance. “Sure,” she said after a moment, determining that he was serious. “Just don’t you go losin’ it.”
Cutter lifted his right hand. “Word of honor,” he assured. “Now, why don’t you fetch it for me.”
“You want me to get it now?”
“Isn’t that what I just asked?” Taking great pains not to wake Elizabeth, Cutter rose to his feet, shifting her over his shoulder.
“Cutter…” Jo eyed Elizabeth. “You ain’t thinking of leaving tonight, are you?” When Cutter didn’t reply, her gaze flew to his. “She’s sleeping, for mercy’s sake!”
“Try stinking drunk,” he countered, disgusted with himself for allowing her to get that way. “Just go fetch the band for me, and hobble your lip while you’re at it.”
“Oh, God! She doesn’t know, does she? Don’t tell me—you offered and she refused?” Cutter gave her a warning look. She shook her head. “You never were one to take no for an answer, but you really ought to consider this. You’re not just carrying her ’round the bend, you know.”
“Where am I taking her anyway?” he asked, clutching Elizabeth possessively.
She spun toward him, an astonished expression on her face, hands on hips. “Lord, Cutter! You don’t even know that much? I—I don’t know… I don’t think I should just let you take her—let me talk to her first.”
Cutter shrugged and raised Elizabeth’s head. “Be my guest.”
Jo’s expression remained incredulous as she stepped around Cutter and shook Elizabeth’s shoulder gently. “Elizabeth…”
Elizabeth let out a dainty sigh, then settled more snugly against Cutter’s back, and Jo jiggled her shoulder a little harder. “Liz,” she coaxed, “wake up, dear.” She slapped Cutter’s shoulder in frustration. “All right, what did you give the poor girl?”
“Not a damned thing,” Cutter assured her. “The woman just can’t hold her liquor, is all. Now, let her be, and go fetch me that ring, please.”
“Elizabeth!” Jo persisted. At last Elizabeth opened one eye with great effort. “Elizabeth… Cutter wants to—”
“Cutter?” Elizabeth sighed, rubbing her cheek against Cutter’s vest.
“Yes, Cutter! He wants to—”
“Mmmmmmhhhh,” she murmured, snuggling contentedly. “Cutter… izh soooo warm,” she concluded with a dreamy sigh. Her head lolled to one side and she closed her eye, ending their one-sided conversation once and for all.
Grinning, Cutter pivoted toward his frustrated sister, a gleam in his eyes. “Satisfied?”
Jo shrugged.
“Now, about that destination?”
“Why should I tell you?” Jo asked. “Seems to me, brother dear, that if Elizabeth had wanted you to know, she’d have told you herself.”
His eyes bore into hers, willing her compliance. “If you don’t say, I’ll just go anyway… and probably waste good time riding in the wrong direction. Besides, Jo, I think you care about the gal, and I know you don’t want her hiring the likes of Dick Brady—or some other bounder.”
“Why don’t you just wait until tomorrow?” Jo asked reasonably. “I’ll talk to her. She’ll listen to reason if I—”
“Because she’s mule-headed, Jo. I can see it in her eyes. She’ll say no, and then she’ll turn around and hire Brady. Better me than him, don’t you think?”
Jo sighed with resignation. “You’re right—as usual. But this time I think you’re takin’ on more than you know.”
He chuckled.
Jo shook her head. “You’re laughing now,” she apprised him. “But she’s gonna be real mad, Cutter. You don’t know Liz like I do. She’s stubborn, but aside from that, she’s got the damnedest temper I’ve ever seen. She’s had to to survive since her daddy’s passin’. But,” she interjected, “if you’re so all-fired determined, then it’s St. Louis you’re off to—just let me run upstairs and pac
k a few of my things for her. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,’ she said before leaving him alone with Elizabeth.
Cutter wasted no time contemplating his sister’s warning, nor in getting Elizabeth outside. He waited no more than ten minutes before Jo finally slipped out the back door, her arms laden.
Seeing that he was already mounted and had his hands full, she placed her contributions into his saddle pockets, stuffing them full: foodstuffs, an extra canteen, and a few other indispensables.
“Her spectacles are in there.” Jo said, indicating the saddlebags. “I found them on my desk. But I couldn’t find any clothes I thought she would wear—just a blouse—and there’s a bit of money, too. I know you don’t need it,” she said, before he could protest. “But you never can tell. Just give it to Elizabeth. I owe her, anyhow.” She looked up at her brother. “Just for the record… I’ve thought about it upstairs, and I’m sure you’re doin’ the right thing. It just took me by surprise, is all. If you hadn’t volunteered, I think I would have asked you anyway.”
He smiled faintly, giving her a nod. “I suspected as much.”
Jo’s eyes misted; she hated the fact that she’d spent so little time with her brother. But Elizabeth needed him more at the moment. She accepted that fact… yet it had been so long since she’d seen Cutter, and he was the only family she had, the only one who’d ever cared for her. Their father had left what little he’d earned as a trapper to Cutter, and Cutter had used every penny of it on her. For the Oasis. She loved him fiercely for it.
But he would be back, she knew. “Take care, little brother.” Patting his buckskin-covered knee affectionately, she stepped back, relatively composed, her fingers toying with the fringe of his pant leg. She shook her head wistfully. “You always have to wear at least one tellin’ piece: britches, vest, something, and it just makes you look more… well, Indian.” She gave him a pleading look. “I swear, Cutter, if you would only wear normal clothes, no one would ever know.”
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