Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance)

by Ivey , Kimberly

  “Then allow me to attend your injuries.”

  “I don’t need you to ‘attend’ them. So scoot, okay?”

  He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek again and she sucked in a breath. His hand was warm. Tender. A lover’s touch.

  “Does it wound your pride to admit you are vulnerable?”

  Vulnerable? She scoffed at his words. That was a hell of a word coming from this nineteenth century outlaw’s mouth. “Well if it isn’t Dr. Freud of the West. Look…just leave me alone, okay?”

  Being alone wasn’t a bad thing. She’d been alone most of her life and certainly never depended upon anyone. Growing up in crowded foster homes, she preferred solitude. She never fit in and didn’t make friends easily. What was the point in trying to cultivate relationships when you were in one place one week, then uprooted and hauled to another where no one really wanted you? The world was a cruel place she’d learned at an early age, and people only hurt you if you let them get close enough.

  But why was Whitehorse looking at her as if he pitied her? He didn’t give a damn if she hurt. No one ever had. “Look, I said I don’t need you. Now stop staring at me like I’m some pathetic basket case and leave me alone.”

  He did leave then.

  With a groan of pain, she rolled onto her side, putting her back to him. What did this criminal know about her life anyway? Nothing. So he thought she was vulnerable? Ha! Not in the least. If anything, she had guts of steel. She’d survived fifteen years of being shoved back and forth between foster families who wouldn’t adopt her for one reason or another. And she’d made it fine on her own the past few years with no help from anyone.

  This man had probably lied, stolen, and cheated all his life. He probably never worked an honest day either—never truly cared for another human being. A criminal like him took what he wanted and wanted for nothing. No, Whitehorse didn’t have a clue what it was like to have to scratch and claw and fight for everything you had. So how dare he call her vulnerable.

  Halle toyed with the buttons on his borrowed shirt. Surely he didn’t expect her to traipse through the desert in nothing but this? She closed her eyes growled in frustration. Oh God, when would this nightmare end?

  And gee thanks, Stella for not checking in these past three months. “I’ll be there when you need me.” What a load.

  “I’m warming a pan of water to cleanse your wounds,” he called from across the way. “Get undressed.”

  She looked down at the front of her clothing. Her dress was streaked with bright blood from the nosebleed. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and managed to maneuver out of her clothes This was insane. How was she to bathe in that itty bitty pan of water? Well, if nothing it would at least be warm. She reached up and scratched her scalp violently. God, she must have an acre of dirt in her hair. As soon as she reached a civilized town she’d find a bathtub and take up residence in it for a week.

  Max licked at her cheek and she patted his bony little head. “I’m okay, boy. Really. Just a bump and a bruise.”

  Despite the fact that she was dirty and itchy, the blanket was warm and comforting and she began to feel like crap for bawling him out. After all, he had given her his only shirt and he would be cold tonight. Maybe he was only trying to help. Or maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy when he wasn’t busy being an outlaw.

  He came back and knelt beside her. “Can you roll onto your back?”

  She winced in pain, but managed to turn. “Leave the water.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Go on now. Shoo. I’ll get around to it in a minute.”

  She watched him dip a cloth into the pan and wring it out. What was he doing?

  “Turn your face more to the firelight.”

  She blinked. “Um…you are so not going to wash my face.”

  “Be silent, Miss Brannigan. It will not be the first time.” He sponged the rag across her forehead, despite her protest.

  He was not going to do this. He was not. “You’re not going to bathe me.”

  “Oh, but I am.” A naughty twinkle lit up his eyes. “Every inch.”

  “Over my dead body!”

  He frowned. “Be quiet and turn your face toward the light. You protest too much.”

  The idea of having him wash her face—or any other part of her body— was extremely unsettling. But Halle turned toward the warmth of soft, flickering firelight as he commanded and he began to gently sponge her cheeks and chin before moving over her jaw.

  He took her nose between his thumb and forefinger and wiggled it. She jerked away, not out of pain but because it tickled.

  “Your nose does not appear to be broken and there is only a small bruise on your cheek,” he remarked. “You were fortunate not to have broken your neck.”

  Halle clutched the blanket, refusing to relinquish it when he tugged at it.

  “I must see how badly you are injured.”

  Her heart thundered wildly in her chest but it wasn’t only because she was naked beneath the blanket. In the past three days he’d already seen most everything there was to see. No, his nearness was having that same disturbing affect on her again.

  She stared at his mouth for a moment, a full-lipped, sensuous mouth. He was the only guy she ever kissed. The only one she ever wanted to touch her. Her eyes drifted down to the smooth skin on his bare chest, to his dark nipples and areolas that resembled melted chocolate candy kisses. She had to urge to touch her tongue to the tiny, erect beads to see what they tasted like.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest in response to the thought. She recalled how he’d looked in the river, naked, beautiful, the sun glistening off his sun-bronzed body. She’d been pissed that he’d dragged her away from Elena’s and into frightening and unfamiliar territory. Yet now, she could never imagine being angry with him. She let her imagination wander.

  In her fantasy, they were both naked, making love at the water’s edge. It was like a scene out of From Here to Eternity, but with a western twist. There were no foaming waves crashing over them as they made love on the shore, just red muddy water lapping at their feet, and a noisy horse snorting and guzzling nearby.

  She tore her gaze from him, her face burning, her body thrumming from his nearness. She had no business getting the hots for him. Besides, what did she know about men and sex, other than what she’d read in books or heard from Elena’s ladies?

  He tugged insistently on the blanket again and she fought to preserve modesty.

  “Do not fight me.” His voice was so smooth a tingle ran up her spine. “You are injured and unable to properly care for yourself. Allow me to help.”

  “But I’m not wearing any clothes.”

  “I have seen you naked. Now remove the blanket.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Realizing there was no point in arguing, Halle relaxed her grip. She shivered as he drew the blanket down, her heart pounding as his gaze dipped to her breasts. She searched for something in his expression, anything that hinted he’d discovered her naughty secret, but his face remained stony and remote, giving away nothing. She couldn’t even tell if he found her attractive or not.

  She turned her face, wincing as large, warm hands encircled her rib cage. She wouldn’t look at him, not when he was so close, touching her, making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. He examined her arms carefully, then each individual finger. He lifted her knee a bit to examine the scrape.

  “You have reinjured yourself in the same spot I stitched three months ago,” he remarked.

  Halle dared to look, wincing at the bloody mess. She had scraped her knee on the now healed scar.

  “Not to worry. It is merely a scrape and appears much worse than it is.” He covered the top half of her with the blanket, leaving only her injured knee exposed. “Are you certain you are not hurt elsewhere?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  This man was a paradox—kind and gentle one moment, insensitive and terrifying the next. But one thing she did know, despite his criminal beh
avior he was a decent guy on the inside. He hadn’t ogled her when he examined her and he was tender now as he bathed the blood from her knee. It didn’t even hurt.

  “You’d make a good doctor,” she commented.

  He flinched, his startled eyes pinning hers. What had she said to trigger this response? He returned to cleaning the wound, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she’d said something wrong.

  Once he finished, he wrapped her knee with a strip of clean fabric from the sleeve of her dress and left her alone with Max.

  Halle donned his oversized shirt, then stood with much difficulty. Falling knee-length, the garment billowed out like an army tent, the sleeves hanging way past her fingertips. She frowned and rolled them up.

  Seated a few feet away, Whitehorse motioned for her to come.

  He draped the blanket around her shoulders once she made herself comfortable beside him.

  “When we reach my family’s camp in a few days I will find proper clothing for you. I’ll ask my cousin, Tani to make a warm dress.”

  This was the first he’d spoken of family. Wait. Her mind screeched to a halt. Why was he taking her to meet them when he said he said he intended to return her to Frank Cole? And what kind of name was Tani? She was about to ask when he spoke first.

  “You must tell me everything you know about Frank Cole.”

  Halle bit down on her lip and glanced away. If she told him Frank Cole murdered Hope Brannigan, her look alike, this would present a whole new set of problems. She’d have to tell him who she really was, Halle Brooks from the twenty first century, not Hope Brannigan, the murdered woman. He would never believe her wild story of time travel from the future.

  She felt his eyes on her. Was it the warmth from the fire making her cheeks burn, or his nearness? He hooked a finger beneath her chin and turned her face back to his.

  “When I found you in the canyon three months ago, I assumed you were too frightened to speak of what happened to you. You claim that Cole isn’t your uncle.”

  “No. He’s not a relative.”

  “But he is searching for you?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?” His expression softened. “Tell me.”

  She wished she knew where this line of questioning was going. Could she trust him? She doubted so. He was an outlaw—an opportunist. He was no different from Elena Costanza in many respects. And if Frank Cole knew Whitehorse was a wanted man, too, he’d have both their heads. She must convince him that sending her into Frank Cole’s clutches wasn’t in either of their best interests.

  She decided to reveal a teeny bit more. “Look, I’m going to level with you, okay?” She gazed deep into his eyes.” Frank Cole will kill me. Sure, he’ll pay the reward if he still has any money left, but he will kill me.”

  “Why?”

  Halle hesitated. She would only tell him part of the story as she knew it. “He murdered someone and I know and now he wants to silence me.” That was only half the truth. She and Molly had extracted five hundred dollars from Cole’s sorry ass, and had recently mailed another letter requesting more in exchange for their continued silence. But she couldn’t tell Whitehorse that. He’d want to know where the money was, and he’d already taken the two hundred fifty dollars in her money pouch.

  Without warning he gently cupped her cheek in one warm palm and leaned in. Instinctively she knew he was going to kiss her. She tensed and started to protest, but when he brushed her lower lip softly with his thumb pad, coherent words and thoughts were forever lost. He moved in close, so close she could smell his breath mingling with hers, feel the tremble of his thigh against hers as his mouth lowered to hers. She couldn’t bear to look into his eyes, knowing what she would find mirrored there.

  Desire.

  “Am I hurting you?” His thumb stroked lazily along her jawline.

  She shivered. “N-no.” It was true. Whatever he was doing to her now was making her feel a whole lot better. Oh, yeah. Much better.

  “And your knee?”

  “No pain.”

  “Good,” he whispered against her mouth, brushing his lips sensuously, teasingly across hers. His tongue tickled, startling her. She pulled back.

  “No, don’t fight it.” He cupped her chin in his hand and leaned close again. “Besides, we have done this once before. Now I want to kiss you properly.”

  The husky tone of his voice held both a warning and a promise. Warmth crept over her face and throat, then radiated to her breasts and all regions south of her navel. And in that moment she did want him to kiss her …properly…improperly. Hell, she wasn’t picky as long as he made it the best kiss of her life.

  She stared at his full, sensual mouth, only inches from her own, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was certain he could hear it. Then he lowered his lips to hers.

  Halle froze, pressed her palms to his chest. “Wait.” He pulled back, confusion etching his face. “I just realized something. I don’t know your first name.”

  “Is it important?” Frustration laced his voice.

  “It is for me. If I’m going to kiss you again, I want to know who you are.”

  “Antonio.”

  He brushed his lips across hers again in the barest of touches, the pressure increasing slightly. His warm mouth moved back and forth in a caressing motion, setting off fireworks throughout her body. Halle arched toward him, a tiny whimpering sound rising up from her throat.

  She wanted to know this experience well, to remember the way Antonio Whitehorse tasted, the smell of his skin up close. The way his touch made her body respond. More than that, she wanted this experience with him—the bad boy of her wildest fantasies.

  His gentle hand slipped behind her head. “Open slightly for me.”

  Her lips parted and his mouth settled firmly, possessively upon hers. His tongue swept past her teeth and thrust repeatedly inside. Shocked, she froze for a moment but continued to let him do whatever it was that was making her feel really, really good. At some point she became aware she was returning the kiss, meeting each thrust of his seeking tongue. She also realized his hands no longer held her face, that his fingers were urgently working open the buttons on his borrowed shirt.

  She wasn’t so naïve she didn’t realize where all this was leading. Should she stop him now while she still could? Or should she see this through and find out what sex would be like?

  She broke the kiss. “Antonio?”

  His breath was harsh against her cheek. “Yes?” His hand dropped away from the shirt.

  “Would it be all right if we slowed down a bit? I need to…catch my breath.”

  He was silent a moment and she worried she’d spoiled the moment.

  “Shall I stop?”

  No. She wanted him to keep kissing her. She wanted him to touch her breasts—maybe even more. But she was afraid. Afraid to go forward. Afraid to find out she might be falling in love with him.

  His hand lifted to her cheek. “Tell me what you want.” His voice was a sensual whisper.

  Halle really didn’t know what she wanted, except she didn’t want it to end. “I don’t want you to stop.” The words came out in a rush of breath,

  “Kissing you?”

  “Anything.”

  She watched as Antonio set Max away from them, and covered him with a blanket. He returned to her on his knees and worked open the shirt’s buttons. She shivered as he eased it over one shoulder, then the other. The cool night breeze washed over her bared skin and he bent to kiss the side of her neck. His teeth grazed her flesh and she cried out softly, lolled her head to the side.

  He dusted a trail of kisses from the side of her throat and then along her jaw line, returning to her mouth. She trembled as he pulled back, then reached between them and drew the garment down. His smoky gaze lowered to her breasts.

  “You are a very beautiful woman.” His eyes caressed her.

  Beautiful? She wasn’t beautiful and she damned well knew it. She was butt ass ugly with tiny breast
s that barely filled a B-cup. No, either Whitehorse was severely farsighted, or he wasn’t particular in his choice of women. Maybe all he wanted was a quickie in the desert—a one night lust in the dust session and any woman would do in a pinch. Well, horny or not, Halle Naomi Brooks wasn’t about to become another notch on the outlaw’s gun belt.

  She pulled the shirt closed. His hand came up and covered hers as if to question her reaction, but she shook her head. The magic was gone and suddenly, this didn’t feel right anymore. Weren’t there sweet words lovers whispered to one another first?

  “Why do you cover yourself? You said you did not want me to stop.”

  And she didn’t want him to stop. But as much as she wanted to know this experience with him, to know the feeling of being cherished for a few moments, she wouldn’t allow herself to be used simply because she was convenient. He’d been Elena’s lover for a long time and would probably return to her bed one day. The last thing she needed was to have her heart broken the first time out of the gate.

  She shrugged and turned her face away. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Then I apologize, too,” he said curtly and quickly moved away. He snatched a pile of brush and tossed it onto the dying fire. “It was not my intention to shame you.”

  Shame her? What was he talking about? She wasn’t ashamed of a little old kiss, or even that he’d touched her breasts. But a man wouldn’t say that to a woman if he were only out to use her, would he? Had she misinterpreted his intentions?

  “Antonio?”

  He stood a few feet away now, but did not look at her. “Yes?”

  “Why did you say I was pretty?”

  At that, he turned around. “I did not say you were pretty. I said you were beautiful.”

  Halle’s throat constricted. How could he lie so easily? She almost believed him. “But I’m not. I’m ugly. I’ve always been ugly.”

  “Who in the hell told you that?” He turned and walked toward her. He was wild looking by firelight, his sun-streaked hair wind-whipped and backlit by the orange glow. She dared a glance up at his dark, powerful form.