Sagebrush Bride

chapter ELEVEN





Never came much sooner than Elizabeth would have liked.

With nothing else available, she was forced to at least taste the despised rattler. And if the truth were known, it might not have been so bad, had she not known what it was.*

But she did know.

And it was all she could do to get down just enough to keep her stomach from grumbling. It didn’t help matters much that Cutter seemed to be enjoying her uneasiness so much. Forcing down the last flame-singed chunk, she rose and commenced to unpack her bedroll, knowing they would have no fire to see by once night fell.

Thinking that she would catch the remaining heat from the fire as it died, she settled near it. As she worked, Cutter watched her, his expression preoccupied as he busied his hands with a strip of rawhide and the rattler’s forfeited tail end. After a while, he set his labors aside and pulled out his own bedroll, laying it across the fire from Elizabeth.

No sooner were they situated when the sun presented its parting colors, a glorious display of garnet and indigo.

Unfortunately, unlike the night before, sleep eluded Elizabeth, even hours later. She’d half expected that her eyes would close in time with the setting sun. But it hadn’t been so. Miserably, she could feel every lump beneath her, every stone, every stiff blade of grass. Her body was still sore, though not nearly as much as it had been the night before.

Eventually the fire died almost completely, leaving only a few glowing embers, and after a while, even the gentle night sounds conspired against her: the steady trilling of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl. She thought to hum softly to herself, but was too self-conscious to chance that Cutter would hear her; her song sounded more an ungodly squeak on the night breeze than a soothing lullaby.

And Cutter... She was only too aware of him—in spite of the fact that his form was barely visible through the shadows. She could feel his presence just as surely as though he were lying smack-dab beside her.

He, on the other hand, seemed not to have any difficulty snoozing at all! He lay like stone. In fact, she thought it might have been a good hour since she’d heard a single rustle from his blankets, and the fact that he could sleep so peacefully when she could not made her feel all the more restless. And offended somehow, though why she should be, she didn’t know.

Despite the fact that her eyes felt as heavy as lead, the butterflies in her stomach were wide-awake. Or maybe it was the rattler that churned there? As she was reminded of the rattler, the muscles in Elizabeth’s limbs tensed abruptly.

Just where had he found the thing? Not anywhere in the immediate area, she hoped. But... he’d not been gone long—he would’ve had to discover it nearby.

Good night! What if it had little baby rattlers slithering around somewhere? But no... she didn’t think they traveled that way. They preferred their own company... didn’t they? Oh, Lord...

Something stirred in the immediate darkness.

Elizabeth swallowed back a knob of apprehension. “Cutter?” she croaked.

Cutter didn’t so much as move a muscle, but there it was, that sound again.

Now what was she supposed to do?

One thing was certain. She wasn’t about to wake Cutter and have him needle her about it in the morning!

But neither was she willing to lie helpless in the dark!

She grabbed her woolen blanket and groped her way around to where Cutter slept, dragging the blanket after her in the dirt.

What harm could there be in resting just a bit nearer to him? For just a while?

She groaned as the blanket caught under her knee. She tugged at it frantically, and belly-flopped to the ground when she jerked it too quickly. Choking and sputtering on an invisible cloud of dust, she scrambled to her knees.

Later she would move back to her bedroll... once she felt certain that whatever had made that sound was gone.

Cutter need never know.

Right?

Right.



Wavering somewhere between sleep and consciousness, Cutter heard her voice. But then, he’d been suffering her all night. Not just that god-awful tune of hers, if it could be called that, but her condemnation. Indians? He kept hearing from her lips. Indians? He felt like telling her to go straight to hell, but before he could express those powerful sentiments, some sixth sense alerted him to a presence beside him, and his eyes opened, zeroing in on the black form creeping like a thief to his side.

He grinned suddenly. Mischievously. Without a doubt he knew what it was. Or rather who it was.

Elizabeth. As though by cue, his body responded at once to her proximity.

Drawing the covers up, he turned abruptly to lie on his side, watching her alarmed reaction through amused, slitted eyes. Her dark shape froze, then began to sidle quietly away, and he stifled a wicked chuckle. She wasn’t gonna get very far—not when he finally had her right where he wanted her.

Abruptly Cutter’s arm snaked out, catching her about the middle. She stiffened, and he drowsily pulled her into the circle of his embrace, all the while nuzzling sleepily against the back of her neck. She resisted noiselessly, but she did resist, squirming with increasing strength against the firm hold he had upon her. Instinctively he knew that if he didn’t think of something quick, she was going to elbow his crotch again—and empty her lungs right into his ear.

And then a waggish idea popped into his head, and his grin widened.

“Mmmm,” he groaned suddenly, wrapping his arms sleepily but possessively about her waist. When her struggles ceased for the briefest instant, he took advantage, sliding his hand down boldly to press against her feminine parts.

Her breath caught in shocked protest, but before she could even think to remove his hand from where it sat, he slammed her taut little backside against his thighs.

His hand glided slowly down to her thigh as he wiggled sleepily against her bottom. “Mmmmmmmm,” he murmured, “feels... so... good.” Boy, did it ever! Before she could respond, he added the wild card. “Bess.”

As he’d expected, Elizabeth froze in his arms. His lips quivered with suppressed laughter.



Bess?

Good night, he thought she was Bess? Wasn’t it bad enough that he would dream of the hussy? Did he have to confuse the two of them, as well? How dare he? Elizabeth chafed.

Still, she didn’t risk moving, because he obviously didn’t know that it was her, and she wasn’t about to reveal otherwise. If she woke him now, she’d be forced to explain why she was sleeping so near him to begin with... when she’d practically forbade him to sleep within arm’s reach of her. How could she possibly explain herself? The truth was, she doubted anything she could say would show her in good light. Even to her own mind, her reasoning sounded lame, at best. She decided it would be best to wait until the scoundrel fell into a deeper sleep, and then she’d slip away—rotten, misbegotten dog that he was!



Burying his nose into the stiff back of her neck, Cutter sighed with the sheer pleasure of it all. She smelled good—no perfumes, nothing, just the fascinating scent of clean skin and hair. He felt like laughing out loud—though why he should feel so pleased with himself suddenly, when he’d been so irritated by her only moments before, was a question he wasn’t about to mull over too closely.

What he wouldn’t give just now to undo that thick braid of hers, run his fingers through her silky hair. But he didn’t want her to know he was awake, so instead, he played a waiting game, a game Elizabeth was fated to lose.

Ruthless as he was, Cutter never loosened his hold upon her. Not even a smidgen. After she waited a long while for him to ease up on his grip, Elizabeth’s body began to slacken in his arms.

The instant it did, he began to nibble her neck drowsily, moving his hand to her middle, stroking her belly seductively.



So what was she supposed to do now? Elizabeth knew she should protest, but for the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Merciful heaven... what was he doing to her? With every slow stroke of his hands, her body seemed to stir a little more.

His warm lips found their way into her hair, nibbling, burning her flesh. Unable to bear it, Elizabeth arched, giving him better access.

Cutter groaned at her response. As his mouth leisurely devoured her flesh, his hands moved to her shoulder and then to her back, tugging down her dress.

Elizabeth didn’t realize she was undone until she felt the crisp air flow down her spine. Cutter’s warm lips followed, along with the sleek gliding of his tongue, making her shiver. Her breathing quickened and she stiffened. Was he awake then? Suspicion niggled her. No man could be so seductive in his sleep! Or could he?

She hoped he was still asleep, and didn’t pause to wonder why. She told herself that it was because she didn’t want him to know she’d allowed him so much liberty. But she knew even as she thought it that it wasn’t true. She didn’t want this to end, didn’t think she could bear it if it did. Still, she shouldn’t just...

“Mmmm, Bess,” he whispered again.

Bess. Elizabeth closed her eyes, shutting out the name, and along with it, her pain at hearing it spoken again from his lips.



Despite the fact that Cutter’s denims grew so tight as to be painful, it was worth it, he thought with grim satisfaction. He was only thankful that his britches were snug enough to hide his arousal from her. He hadn’t mistaken the look in Elizabeth’s eyes when she’d discovered that part of his anatomy the day he’d fallen atop her. She might be an innocent miss, but she knew what it was that went on between men and women, and likely would have leapt out of her skin if she felt it burrowing against her sweet little butt just now.

He smiled faintly against her soft back. What a strange brew she was: naive, yet obviously not totally ignorant. His lips curved into a smile. As far as he was concerned, she had just the right degree of innocence and carnal knowledge in those brassy eyes of hers, making him want to be the first man to bury himself in that delicious body of hers—in spite of the fact that he wasn’t comfortable with prudish misses.

But she wasn’t that at all, he reflected, despite the front she liked to put up.



Elizabeth moaned low in her throat as Cutter’s hands slipped from her back, beneath her open blouse. She gasped as his fingers reached around to touch and cup her breast. With slow, sleepy movements, he caressed her, seducing every thought of protest from her mind. Heaven help her, but she arched for him, daring to ease herself into his palm.

So warm.

So very warm.

He squeezed her gently, and her bottom undulated into his pelvis. There it froze, feeling the hardness there. Her heart burst into her throat. She felt a bittersweet pleasure at the feel of him, even knowing it wasn’t for her. He began to move against her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing, willing her traitorous body to deny itself. But it was in vain. An ache began to build deep within, coiling inside her so tightly that she thought she would die of the pleasure.



The woman was as warm-blooded as they came, Cutter thought with satisfaction as Elizabeth moved unconsciously with him. Thing was, she just didn’t know it yet. All she needed was a little shove in that direction. Shuddering with anticipation, he savored the ache in his pants, and thought of all the ways he’d make her pay when the time came. He was just arrogant enough to know that if he pursued it, he could get exactly what he craved tonight... but he didn’t want any regrets in the morning. He wanted her to come to him on her own. He wanted her so ready, she wouldn’t be able to deny him if she wanted to. No, he’d just give her something to think about until next time.

Something to crave.

His hand slipped out of her blouse, and drifted across her hips, down to the apex of her thighs. Stroking her over her skirt, he pressed a little deeper each time between her clenched thighs.

Moaning softly, Elizabeth pressed her thighs together more protectively. She whimpered, trying not to be heard. But it was too late; when Cutter pressed his fingers between her thighs one last time, and lifted up, she shuddered violently.

He told himself that he was satisfied. That he’d gotten what he was after. That for the moment, he was content just to hold her... breathe her into his soul. But it wasn’t true. Feeling her body’s tiny convulsions, her culmination in pleasure, it was all he could do not to let himself go. It was too damned much to bear. One last roll of his hips against her pert little fanny would give him his own release. He didn’t move. And it was the most difficult thing he ever didn’t do.

God, he hurt.

She suddenly stiffened in his arms, but Cutter held her tightly, knowing that she was likely as embarrassed as she was confused over what had just happened to her. She was probably waiting for him to release her so she could scurry away. But he wasn’t willing to let her go. Somehow, though he didn’t understand it, she was beginning to weave herself inextricably into his being. Without trying, she’d managed to wrap her tiny fingers firmly around his rock-solid heart.

Still, he didn’t move. He knew she had to suspect he was awake. But he also knew that she was hoping he wasn’t, and it was easier to let her keep believing he still slept.

It was a long while later before Elizabeth finally relaxed. When her breathing finally grew smooth and even, he knew instinctively that she had fallen asleep. And only then did he allow himself to drift.





Strangely enough, it was the hush of the morning rather than the glaring sunlight falling across Elizabeth’s face that drew her from her dreams first. She stretched lazily, and then froze. Her eyes flew open to find herself facing what had only recently been the campfire. The pit was filled now, and tamped firmly down, the stones disbursed, turned blackened side under so that, to the undiscerning glance, it was impossible to tell that they had once been a part of a blazing fire.

The next thing Elizabeth became aware of was that everything was already packed, including Cutter’s bedroll.

Cutter’s bedroll.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, something nagged at her. And then it came to her, unwelcome as the memory was. Her heart did a violent somersault as she anxiously reexamined the scene before her, hoping against hope.

Merciful heaven... it wasn’t Cutter’s gear that was neatly rolled and packed away, but hers!

Desperately, nipping at her lower lip until it was in danger of splitting, she tried to recall through her cobwebby thoughts whether she’d crept back to her own bed at some point during the night. But the view was all wrong—obvious even in light of her slightly hazed vision—and she knew without a doubt that she’d not.

Taking in a shuddering breath, Elizabeth mustered the courage to raise herself up from Cutter’s bed to face him. She spotted him at once, and thankfully, his back was to her as he readied their horses for the day’s travel. At least that was what she imagined he was doing. His movements were somewhat of a blur at this distance. That was the first thing she’d have to do when she got back to Sioux Falls—purchase a new pair of spectacles.

She was still staring when Cutter turned toward her, trying to focus her vision, and her face went crimson with shame.

What must he think of her now? After the shameless way she’d...

God, don’t think of that!

It didn’t happen.

Besides, he was sleeping at the time, so why should he remember?

What explanation could she give for sleeping in his bed? She grasped at several, but not one seemed fit, so she said nothing.

Cutter sauntered toward her, grinning as he tossed her his hat.

“Wear it down low over your face,” he told her solemnly, shaking his head with mock concern. He barely hid the belligerent smile that lurked behind those sensual lips of his. “Damn me, if you’re not getting too much sun.” He winked at her.

Elizabeth gasped, catching the hat as it spun through the air toward her. She gnashed her teeth at his smug expression. Had she expected a courteous “good morning” from him? Oh, no, nothing so considerate as that from Cutter McKenzie! He had to slip right into his provoking demeanor first thing. Come to think of it, like his boots, she thought he might never even have bothered to step out of it. It was too much a part of him.

She rose, crushing the hat vengefully onto her head, and stomped her way to the river. It was little more than fifty yards from the campsite, sparkling beautifully in the morning sun, and she mentally scolded herself for not considering a bath after supper last night.

She’d yet to put her shoes on this morning, and was glad of that fact, because she didn’t feel like stooping to pull them off. The inside of her thighs were still sore from so many hours of riding.

Not to mention the way she’d clenched her thighs together last night.

Now, why did she have to go and think of that?

Jerking her skirt up, she tucked it into her waist, glancing toward camp. Surely Cutter would know what she was up to and have the good grace not to intrude?

But she couldn’t be certain of that fact, and so she abandoned the scandalous notion as quickly as it appeared. The last thing she needed this morning was to be caught in her drawers again.

As hastily as she was able, she took care of her personal needs and then, with a weary sigh, yanked her skirt back out of her waist. With one hand, she held it out of the water while she waded her feet in the cool river. Stooping, she splashed a handful into her face to refresh herself and then considered her rippling reflection in the water.

Mercy, was she a sight! she thought, aghast, as she ran her tongue along her bottom lip... and she had the most god-awful taste in her mouth!

She’d scrubbed her teeth as best she could without asking Cutter for the means. He’d seemed amused enough with her other personal duties, as it was. But this morning she was desperate to freshen her mouth. She took in a mouthful of water, swishing it vigorously, cursing herself for the oversight of a toothbrush and powder, but to her dismay, it didn’t help all that much. Her mind toiling, she peered around for something of use... something grainy enough to scrub her teeth clean.

All at once, a thought occurred to her, and she felt absolutely brilliant. Sand, of course! There was plenty of it about... and though it surely wouldn’t be pleasant, it couldn’t be all that bad either. With the river so low, there were sandbars everywhere. Moving closer to one of the smaller ones, she scraped up a smidgen of the cleanest sand she could find, rubbing her fingers together, testing the consistency of it. Even once she was satisfied with its coarseness, she continued to stare at it a long moment, examining it for little crawly things. There were none. Still she was reluctant.

And she was desperate, she reminded herself. Without giving herself another moment to reconsider, she promptly thrust it into her mouth, grimacing at the grainy taste. Though, truthfully, after a moment, it wasn’t so bad. Scooping a handful of water, she quickly swished out her mouth, to find that it did feel considerably cleaner... though not quite enough.

Again, she scooped up a finger full, ignoring the little voice inside that told her this was very likely the most foolish thing she’d ever done in her life, and scrubbed her teeth with it, this time more vigorously, reasoning that perhaps she had even discovered some new method of cleansing one’s mouth—besides Sanitary, the Perfect Tooth Soap. Perhaps there was even some health benefit to be had here. Wasn’t mud good for the skin? Conceivably sand might also be good for the teeth. Her mind raced with the possibilities.

“You just about through here?”

Startled from her contemplations, Elizabeth whirled abruptly, her hand releasing her skirt, and flying to her hat. She was shocked to her toes to find Cutter standing so close behind her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

Cutter stared, his face contorting with disgust. “What is that?” he asked.

Feeling suddenly three times a ninny, and realizing that her mouth was hanging agape, Elizabeth snapped it shut, covering it immediately with her hands. Her cheeks flamed.

“Jee-zus, Lizbeth!” Cutter muttered, sounding repulsed. “There’s plenty o’ jerky left over if you’re hungry.” Then his eyes took in her soiled index finger, and he understood.

He lowered her hands slowly from her face, needing another look in order to believe that she was actually brushing her teeth with sand.

His lips twisted as his gaze dropped to her hem, which was soaking up the river. He shook his head, clearing his throat. “Never mind,” he said abruptly, “don’t wanna know. Just don’t get any on my hat.”

He pivoted on his heels, his shoulders shaking as he walked away from her.

It wasn’t until he was a safe distance away that Elizabeth was able to move again.

Coming as close as she ever had to blaspheming, she spat the offensive sand out of her mouth and then swished again with water, spurting it out with a vengeance. It was then that she noticed the rising wet stain on her ruined skirt, and her color rose higher, though out of rage.

How was it that she forgot everything—everything—in Cutter’s presence?

When she returned to camp, she was slightly more composed, though still tingling with indignity. How dare he make light of her personal hygiene! Surely he had many of the same needs to consider? Avoiding his gaze, she quickly gathered her remaining effects. There was barely enough time to brush the dust from her skirts before Cutter was hoisting her into the saddle.

Hauling himself into his own saddle, he turned to her suddenly, his grin engaging, his teeth striking against his swarthy complexion. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “By the way,” he remarked casually, “next time... just ask. You’re more’n welcome to use one of my own brushes... and powder.” And then he had the audacity to chuckle with good humor. Turning, he gently whipped the reins, leaving Elizabeth to stare daggers at his back.

Did he never miss an opportunity to needle her? she wondered. Yet, despite of her anger, he’d planted a seed, and as irrational as it was, she couldn’t quite banish the suggestive image of her using his toothbrush. It should have disgusted her, but instead, it gave her a strange quivering sensation deep down.





By midday, Elizabeth was thoroughly exhausted from having spent such a restless night. Her only consolation was that Cutter didn’t seem to have fared any better, though his manner was never more obnoxious. The gleam in his eye when he happened to look her way made her screaming mad. And his winking—... his winking infuriated her, because she felt as though he were poking fun at her somehow.

Having slept for the second night in her dirty, rumpled clothing, Elizabeth had no delusions over her appearance. For certain, she’d never been much of a beauty, but now she was sure she was just plain unsightly. Her skirt, with its torn hem, looked as though it had seen more years than she had, with all the filth it had accumulated. And the white blouse? Well, she preferred not to think of it at all.

At the first opportunity, she planned to change into her new clothes and scrub the ones she was wearing in the river. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have any soap to launder with. At least then she would feel cleaner, even if she wouldn’t look it. And it’d be nice to bathe at the same time, but she wasn’t sure she’d dare the risk—at least not a full bath, she amended with a distrustful glance at Cutter. Sometimes... sometimes... when he looked at her... well, she just wasn’t certain.

And then there was that—whatever it was that he’d done to her last night—that she was trying so desperately to forget. But who could forget? There were moments when she found herself wishing that she were farsighted, and not nearsighted, as she was. She didn’t want to be able to see him... that strange look he gave her every so often. Yet she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him either.

She gave him another furtive glance, and caught him rubbing his brows tiredly.

In profile, his face was positively striking, his cheekbones high, his jaw thick, darkened considerably by at least a week’s worth of stubble. But it was those lips of his that made her feel so vulnerable... the way they’d felt on her skin, so warm... so mesmerizing. She shivered, and unconsciously ran her hand down the length of her braid, taking note of every loose tendril of hair.

What a sight she must present to him!

She was sure Cutter was used to women’s attentions. He could probably choose almost any woman he wished and she would thrill to the opportunity.

How many women had tried to gain his favor?

Now, why did that question seem to bother her?

Why should her appearance matter so much, when it never had before?

And why had he kissed her?

She couldn’t even begin to understand what had happened between them last night... why she had let it happen. He’d yet to mention the fact that he’d awakened to find her in his bed. Had she disgusted him? Her heart seemed to grow heavy with that thought.

Gliding his hands through his sweat-dampened black bangs, Cutter glanced her way, catching her staring, and a smile curved those arrogant lips of his. Flustered by the devilment in his black eyes, Elizabeth quickly averted her gaze, all the while cursing him to perdition.

Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a hot bath, clean clothes... those lips... No—lands, her mind was running amok! She didn’t need... or want... not that! Her face heated, and feeling Cutter’s scrutiny upon her still, she turned her head away more fully, hiding the incriminating color on her cheeks.

Cutter chuckled.

Elizabeth chose to ignore him. He couldn’t possibly have known what she was thinking!

No... just the bath, she reaffirmed with a sigh, trying desperately to refocus her thoughts. That was all she wanted—or needed. Course, if the sky grew any darker than it was just now, she considered with a heavenward glance, she might not have to worry over her washing, at that. The rain would likely take care of it for her.

But it didn’t rain that day. Nor during the night. Though by late afternoon of the next day, the sky had grown black as pitch, and storm clouds swirled like sinister shadows overhead. Every so oft, a streak of white would flicker against the darkening horizon, and Elizabeth grimaced at the sight of it. To either side of them, the river bluffs butted high against the gloomy sky. As time went on, it grew so dark that it was difficult to distinguish where the bluffs ended and the sky began. As the wind picked up, she squashed Cutter’s hat to the top of her head so it wouldn’t be swept away.

It came as no surprise when the first drizzles misted the air about them. But they were in the middle of nowhere, Cutter having conscientiously steered clear of the townships, and though the trees were slowly growing in number, Elizabeth doubted they would use them for shelter. She’d heard tales of men being struck by lightning while out during storms. In fact, there’d been a woman last April who’d come in to see her father, claiming that her son had been struck down when a bolt of lightning had split a tree more than twenty feet from where he’d stood. The poor child had never fully recovered the use of his legs.

But there seemed to be no place else to take refuge against the rising tempest, and at this point the bluffs were too steep to climb, so they trekked on, despairing ever to ride out of the storm. Assessing the sky once more, Elizabeth glanced anxiously at Cutter. He seemed deep in thought, surveying the swirling heavens. His long hair snapped behind him in the breeze.

“Looks like we’re in for one helluva squall!” Cutter bellowed suddenly, glancing at her.

As though in response, the wind picked up, plastering Elizabeth’s wet blouse to her bosom. Her skirt billowed out around her. It fluttered wildly, snapping near as loud as the thunder overhead. Instinctively she lowered the brim of Cutter’s hat to shield her face from the buffeting wind. Cocking her head into the bluster, she looked pleadingly at Cutter. “Shouldn’t we find shelter or something?” she asked him.

The wind plastered his wet, dark hair to his head. Rainwater dripped from his bangs into his mouth as he spoke. “What do you think I’ve been doing?” he retorted. “You happen to see someplace I don’t?” One brow rose in challenge, channeling rainwater onto his aquiline nose. As he watched her, his hand darted up to swipe at his face, and then tore into his wet hair, removing the offending strands from his forehead. It lingered in his glistening black mane as he stared at her.

His eyes took in the shape of her wet blouse, the way it molded about her breasts. He lifted his gaze to her face. Slitting suddenly, his eyes glittered like the blackest onyx.

As she watched him, a shiver darted down Elizabeth’s spine that had little to do with the cold swiftly settling into her bones. Answering his challenge, her own eyes quickly scanned the horizon as she turned the mustang mare in a full circle. And then she whirled Cocoa suddenly, glimpsing something over her shoulder. It was barely visible with her sorry vision and the swirling rain, yet there—a darker shading of rock against the bluff—and she whirled the mare about to examine it more closely, reining in. No matter how hard she squinted, she couldn’t see it clearly enough.

“What about that?” she appealed, her tone rising with the wind. Cocoa pranced restlessly beneath her as she indicated the black shadow in the light stone. She couldn’t really see much at this distance, but she wasn’t about to admit as much to Cutter. She had to trust that his vision was at least slightly better than her own.

Cutter wheeled his mount about, his eyes squinting against the gusts, but to her surprise, he showed no reaction at all.

He shook his head, and then seeing another possibility near it, conceded, “Maybe.” His shadowed eyes met hers, then glanced upward as a bolt of electric white lit up the sky. “Might be as good as it gets,” he warned her. With a brisk nod, he urged Elizabeth on ahead.

Thunder exploded around them, the sound too loud and too violent for peace of mind.

Elizabeth cringed, her eyes widening fearfully.

Seeing her bloodless expression, Cutter booted the tail end of her mount. “Ride!” he shouted, and then spurred his own mount.

Elizabeth cried out and gripped the saddle horn for dear life.