Sagebrush Bride

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “Yeah? Well, why don’t you ask me if I give a damn!”

  Before Elizabeth could recover from the shock of Cutter’s actions and words, he’d lifted her by her waist and was marching toward the bank. She struggled, flailing her arms and kicking wildly, but to no avail—his hold was too strong.

  “Rules were made to be broken,” he taunted. “Didn’t ya know?” And then he cursed a storm as his bad foot ground onto something spiny. Jerking his leg up in pain, he lurched forward, dumping Elizabeth unceremoniously onto the bank.

  She winced as her head slammed into the ground. She tried to rise, but Cutter held her down with one firm hand to her breast. Angrily she shoved it away, glaring at him.

  “Don’t touch me!” she spat. “Just don’t you touch me! You don’t understand—and you won’t even try! I’ve already lost my mother and my sister because of your people. If it weren’t for your murdering kinsmen raiding and slaughtering, they would never have abandoned us in the first place! And maybe—just maybe—they’d still be alive! I will not lose my niece because of you too!”

  Your people.

  The way it was flung from her lips, with so much resentment, gave Cutter a momentary jolt.

  Your murdering kinsmen.

  It didn’t matter that, for all practical purposes, he wasn’t raised Cheyenne. His mother had died of his father’s abuse long before he had been able to even ask of his culture. Hell no! And it didn’t matter that all he knew was his father’s way of life—that his father had tamped down in him all that was Indian. Elizabeth saw only the Cheyenne in him.

  “I won’t!” she sobbed, mistaking his expression.

  Suddenly Cutter’s eyes narrowed, transfixing her, and he bent forward very slowly, like a predatory animal stalking his prey. He trapped her beneath him, between his arms. “So you’d rather take your chances, would ya?” he said with lethal softness.

  Elizabeth’s mind screamed that he leave her be, but the words never emerged on her tongue. The calculating look in his eyes completely paralyzed her.

  Cutter slid his right hand boldly into her bodice. Feeling the warmth of it, Elizabeth instinctively tilted her head back, closing her eyes, fighting her traitorous body. Before she could gather her thoughts to protest, he popped her buttons with a clean slice of his open fist, sending them whizzing into the air. Several of them plunked ominously into the water. And in that moment, she lost all trace of uncertainty. At once she tried to roll free of him, but his hand came down swiftly to halt her escape.

  “Beast!” she cried out, resisting the urge to pummel his chest.

  “Savage?” Cutter returned with a frosty smile, his tone no less frightening for its husky softness.

  “I didn’t say that!” Elizabeth protested, suddenly understanding his vehemence.

  “Not this time,” he agreed, “but you damn well thought it—didn’t you? You want savage, Lizbeth? This,” he said through clenched teeth, a muscle ticking at his jaw, “is savage!” At once his knee dropped between her legs, prying them open. He seized her by the hair, tugging until she cried out.

  She didn’t want him this way, didn’t know him! Didn’t want to know him! Though his eyes were cold, they burned clear into her soul. “Please, Cutter,” she whimpered. “You’re frightening me!”

  His mouth lowered to her nipple, nibbling it softly through her camisole, but his hand in her hair tightened and she cried out again, more startled than anything else. His fury was barely leashed. She could feel it in his grip, see it in every rigid plane of his body and face. It was as tangible as the anguish in her heart.

  “Please-”

  Again he wrenched her hair, his knee burrowing itself more firmly between her legs.

  “Cutter, please, please—don’t!” Her eyes misted as his mouth moved to her other breast, feasting on it almost brutally. He tugged on her hair again, silencing her once and for all, but she didn’t dare speak again. Hot tears began to pool in her eyes, trickle down her cheeks.

  Despising himself for the brutality he’d just displayed, Cutter cursed under his breath. But his point was made, and in this case he was convinced that the end more than justified the means. He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—let her set herself up for the same thing from someone else.

  Someone else wouldn’t care for her as he did.

  Someone else wouldn’t…

  Love her?

  Her face was ashen, and her lips trembled. He wanted so badly to lower his mouth and cover them, heal her pain—make her see him differently. He couldn’t help himself. With a tortured groan, he covered her mouth, but his kiss was painfully tender, belying his anger.

  Elizabeth moaned in protest, but yielded to him, sobbing as his tongue stabbed into the warmth of her mouth, tasting and relishing.

  His arousal had never diminished. Even in his anger, he was hard as a brick, and growing more so by the second. He was losing his reason.

  Elizabeth shoved him away abruptly, her eyes spearing him, and he released her, though his arms still caged her beneath him. “Understand now?” he asked hoarsely, his voice harsh but unsteady.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “N-N-No,” she sobbed.

  Cutter pinned her hands at her sides, and with a muttered curse over his failure, he shook his head at her, fury spilling from his black eyes. “Think about it, Liz. That’s exactly what you’d be inviting if you hired on some stranger—chances are slim to none that you’ll find someone to play the part who won’t expect all that goes along with it! And if you turn him down, he’ll just take it! Is it sinking in yet?” A bleakness settled into her eyes, mirroring her emotions, and he said with no small measure of relief, “I see that it is.”

  Her tears kept flowing, and guilt twisted Cutter’s gut like a dull blade. “To make it look genuine,” he tried to explain, his voice losing some of its harshness, “you’re gonna have to share a room—ain’t a man on this earth who wouldn’t be tempted to take what’s so easily accessible. And what would you do then? Scream? And lose your niece? Reckon that would be rather pointless—even more asinine than taking a chance on a useless half-breed! Y’ think?”

  With a whimper, Elizabeth turned away, hating that he would use her conscience against her, hating the truth of his words, and feeling a loss as though she’d already been stripped of everything that was dear to her.

  Cutter gripped her by the chin, forcing her to acknowledge him. “Chrissakes, Lizbeth! You’d think I’d taken every chance I could to rape and batter you!” His voice was soft and entreating when he spoke again, and his eyes compelled her to understand. “Think about it—haven’t I gone out of my way to prove to you that you can trust me? Damn you… have a little faith!” He paused, waiting for her to answer. “I can do it,” he hissed, his voice strained and his breathing difficult.

  Swallowing abruptly, Elizabeth turned from him again, unable to meet his gaze. The fact that his words rang true didn’t ease her heartache any. She squeezed her eyelids tightly closed, cutting off the flow of her tears, nodding hopelessly.

  For certain now, she would lose Katie. It was too much to hope for that Elias Bass would overlook the fact that her husband was a half-breed. Why, oh, why, had she ever, ever, dared to hope? Why? She nearly cried out the question, but couldn’t speak for the trembling of her Ups.

  Why did Cutter have to be right?

  She turned to meet his eyes, her voice weak with defeat. “All right,” she said with a despairing softness, “we’ll do it your way, Mr. McKenzie.”

  Cutter shuddered with the release of tension.

  Seeing the gesture, Elizabeth despised him for it. A sob escaped her tightening throat, and anger surged through her, but she didn’t move at all. She was too numb to attempt it. “Only know this,” she added brokenly, a single tear escaping and rolling down her ashen cheek. “If I lose my niece because of you, Cutter McKenzie, I swear to heaven above that I will despise you until my dying day! I swear it!” she cried out with more emotion, swallowing the salt of her tea
rs.

  “And what if you’re wrong, Elizabeth? What if Elias does accept me? Why! Why are you so sure he won’t?”

  His question jolted her momentarily. Why did she think Elias would persecute Cutter? Because she did? Could it be true? Did she? She shook her head in denial… yet somewhere deep down, she knew that it was so.

  And then hope surged within her.

  Maybe Elias wouldn’t hold it against him.

  Maybe Elias wouldn’t even know.

  Wouldn’t care.

  And maybe he would. And it was that possibility that made her heart wrench.

  Cutter must have read her thoughts, because something in his expression darkened abruptly. His jaw grew taut, and his countenance twisted with a look of pain that turned quickly to fury. “Reckon you’re the one with the problem, Elizabeth, and not Elias?”

  His jaw teeth clenched. “God—damn you, you’re no better’n—” He turned his face away.

  “No!” Elizabeth shouted. It couldn’t be true. His gaze snapped back to hers, and her voice broke. “K-Katie is all I have left in this world… If… if you take her away…” Tears began to course down her cheeks unchecked. She sensed Cutter stiffen above her, but she couldn’t hold back the impassioned words. “If I lose the chance to raise her because of you… I’ll never, ever, forgive you for it!”

  With a furious oath, Cutter jerked away from her, as though stung by her words. He hauled himself onto the bank. Still cursing, he tugged his denims up over his wet legs, not bothering with his drawers, and snatching up his boots, he limped back to camp, not able to face the anger, or the hurt, in her eyes.

  Nor that within his soul.

  At the moment, he detested himself for the way he’d left her. And her, for the lack of faith she had in him. Above all, he was afraid she was right—that he would cost her the child. And that she’d follow through with her promise.

  That she’d hate him until her dying day.

  Still, it was a risk he felt compelled to take. The mere thought of someone else in her bed burned like acid in his gut.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Crossing the Grand River proved easy enough. As shallow and narrow as it was, the spot in which Elizabeth had laundered and bathed could have easily been forded on foot. Both horses crossed without hesitation, though Cocoa seemed less inclined to the task.

  Suffering Cutter’s surliness and her own keen sense of loss, on the other hand, was the greater trial.

  It seemed to Elizabeth that ever since their argument, Cutter never spoke to her unless absolutely necessary.

  He seemed to hate her.

  And he hadn’t been too pleased to see her dressed in men’s britches, either, though he still hadn’t uttered a word against them. Yet she could tell by the way he stared at them. When she caught him looking, he would shake his head and turn away in disgust.

  “I wouldn’t have to wear them if you hadn’t thrown away my skirt!” she told him defensively.

  Still, he didn’t respond. Only his eyes gave away his disapproval.

  And whereas he’d made it a point to avoid civilization in the past, he led them directly into Fayette late the next day, securing a single room.

  When Elizabeth started to protest, he narrowed his eyes at her and said sharply, “What makes you think I plan to sleep here with you tonight, Doc?” Near black circles had appeared beneath his eyes almost overnight, making them appear sunken above the high contours of his swarthy cheeks. The look in his dark eyes was unmistakably hostile and kept Elizabeth from uttering another word.

  And keeping to his promise, Cutter did not share her room, nor did he attempt to when they rode into Fulton City the next day. He left her that night, as he had before, and she didn’t see him again until morning.

  The knock came early. Elizabeth opened the door to find Cutter leaning against the frame, his shoulders set stubbornly even in his casual stance. In spite of himself, her heart quickened at the sight of him.

  He was dressed in his denims, but the black shirt he wore was new and crisp. His beard, though not quite full, had grown considerably, making his face appear lean beneath, while the shadows under his eyes had deepened.

  “Henry Elias Bass the man you’re looking for?” He swept his hat from his head, raking his sweat-dampened bangs from his face. “Had a son by the name of John?”

  In spite of his haggard appearance, it seemed to Elizabeth that Cutter grew more startlingly handsome every time she set eyes on him. She nodded, acknowledging the facts as those she’d already given him, her heart aching.

  Cutter eyed her britches, and then, with a shake of his head, he leaned harder against the doorframe, reached into a pocket, setting his jaw against the pain in his foot, and withdrew a handful of bills. “Then I suggest you get out today and buy yourself a new getup. Seems he’s not in St. Louis, after all. Lives just another thirty miles east of here, though I hear he has business in St. Louis.”

  He nudged the door open a bit to get a better look at her. Those damned pants she was wearing swallowed the hell out of her. He couldn’t honestly say which was worse, the pants or the skirt he’d thrown away. Still, there was no mistaking her sex. Not with hair like hers. She wore it down, the soft cascades flowing about her shoulders like liquid gold, and her cheeks were sun-flushed. The outdoors and sunshine suited her, he decided as he pressed the money into her hand.

  “We’ll stay here in town tonight… head out tomorrow. If that suits you?”

  Elizabeth nodded, wishing so much that there were not such an awkwardness between them suddenly.

  “If we leave early and ride hard, we should get there by early afternoon at the latest.”

  “Fine,” Elizabeth replied softly. An impenetrable silence followed as they simply stared at each other. At last Elizabeth averted her gaze.

  “Well,” Cutter said, shifting abruptly, “reckon I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

  Again, Elizabeth nodded, at a loss as to what to say to make things right between them. Something was missing, she knew, but she had no idea exactly what it was. He’d been angry with her before, but not like this.

  “See y’, Doc,” Cutter said tersely, and then he willfully pulled the door closed between them, as though he couldn’t stand to see her face any longer.

  With a sigh, Elizabeth leaned her cheek against the inside of the doorframe. Seizing the rattle suspended from her neck into her fist, she shook it once, and then listened to the echo of Cutter’s boots against the wooden floor. When they faded finally, she moved away from the door.

  Despondently she fell back onto the bed and contemplated weeping. Not since her father’s death had she felt so empty. But weeping would accomplish absolutely nothing, she knew. And there was too much to be done before tomorrow.

  With a weary sigh, she rose and began to plait her hair, studying her reflection in the mirror. The woman who faced her now was so different from the one she remembered. Her head tilted suddenly and her expression turned wistful as she recalled Cutter’s whisper. I like it down.

  Almost absently, she began to arrange her hair loosely about her shoulders. Would it be so wrong to pretend—while she could—that she was his wife?

  Cutter’s wife.

  How wonderful that sounded.

  She made a sound that was part sigh, part groan, and then, shaking her head at her own foolishness, she recommenced braiding her hair. It did sound wonderful, but she couldn’t afford to dream. Not since she had been a child in her mother’s arms had she dared. And her mother was long gone… her sister… her father…

  Only Katie remained, and she wouldn’t lose her, too, she determined. Not if she could help it.

  Haven’t I gone out of my way to prove to you that you can trust me? Damn you… have a little faith…

  Elizabeth started at the little voice in her head, and for a moment, instead of her own reflection in the mirror, she saw Cutter’s, the earnest appeal in his shadowed eyes.

  Reckon you’re the one with
the problem, Elizabeth, and not Elias?

  Elizabeth stared at the mirror a long moment, horrified by the pain she saw in those accusing eyes, and cried out suddenly, tearing the braid free. It just couldn’t be!

  This, she resolved, her expression determined, was going to be the most convincing performance she could muster. If Cutter thought he could do it… then by God, she would stand by him while he tried. He knew how much this meant to her, and she felt instinctively that he wouldn’t let her down.

  It was, after all, a matter of trust.

  As Cutter had predicted, the ride to the Bass spread took most of the morning and into early afternoon.

  During the ride out, Cutter’s manner was less abrupt than it had been, though he still appeared jaded somehow, and the dark circles remained. But at least he was speaking to her, Elizabeth reflected.

  “And so Katherine’s husband was killed in the war?” Elizabeth asked, trying to ignore the ache that was growing in her rear. Cocoa, in her weariness, had fallen into a gait that was absolutely brutal upon the posterior.

  Tapping his hat up out of his eyes, Cutter nodded, and uncharacteristically refrained from remarking over her grimace of pain.

  “Seems so,” he said, raking his fingers through his beard. Had he been in the mood to smile, the sight of her sweet little butt bouncing off the saddle would have had him grinning from ear to ear. As it was, he was amused, but wouldn’t show it. “As far as I can tell, Elias had only one son.”

  “When?”

  “Petersburg,” Cutter replied. His eyes met hers, then traveled the length of her admiringly. She was wearing her new outfit, a turquoise-colored riding skirt and matching shirtwaist. Her hair was loose and shone like yellow sunshine down her back. A few shorter tendrils curled appealingly around her face, framing it beautifully.