Sagebrush Bride

chapter SEVENTEEN





For long hours afterward, Elizabeth was unable to erase the sound of the Indian’s voice from her thoughts. Nor could she forget the tenderness in Cutter’s eyes as he’d loved her again afterward, the feel of his warm hands wandering possessively over her body.

Never had she felt more alive.

In the early hours of the morning, knowing that sleep was hopeless with the sun beginning to rise on the horizon, they dressed. She traded her blouse for one Cutter handed her: a white one with buttons down the front and frothy lace at the sleeves and collar. As distinct as it was, she recognized it at once as one of Jo’s. But despite Cutter’s disapproving look, she again donned her trusty old skirt with the tattered hem. She didn’t have the nerve yet to wear the men’s britches she’d bought, though soon she wouldn’t have much choice. Her skirt was literally wearing away!

The packing went swiftly, because they’d unpacked so little to begin with. At last Elizabeth mounted up, with Cutter’s help. But as Cutter turned to mount his own horse, the sound of riders approaching kept him from swinging his leg over his Palouse’s rump.

Sliding down once more, he turned to see who it was.

Two men dressed in Union blue reined in. The lead man wore a full beard, along with his filthy blues. His shoulder-length hair was wild and unkempt, though he might still have passed as handsome, with his well-chiseled features, if it hadn’t been for the coldness in his gray eyes. They were icy and unresponsive, lacking any emotion but for the flicker of malice he didn’t bother to disguise.

“McKenzie,” the man said in greeting, surprise evident in his tone. In spite of it, the word managed to sound profane coming from his severe lips.



If Cutter was surprised by their unexpected appearance, it didn’t show. He nodded, giving Elizabeth a quick glance, urging her without words to be silent. As though he’d not heard the man speak, he turned his back to the duo and mounted up. Once he was settled in his saddle, he turned to them again, tipping his hat. “Sulzberger,” he replied acerbically. He nodded to the other. “What blood you lookin’ to shed this far east, boys? War’s over, y’know?”

The man, Magnus Sulzberger, sprayed tobacco-yellowed spittle on the ground. “Always were a smart-ass, McKenzie... and you’re dead right... that war is over.” He’d emphasized the word “dead,” and now his grin widened, his lips tightening over the lump of tobacco beneath. And then his eyes narrowed again, gleaming with open hostility. “But there’s still a war goin’ on. Reckon you ain’t heard ‘bout Platte Bridge?”

“No,” Cutter affirmed. “And don’t reckon I care to either.”

Magnus carried on as though Cutter had never spoken. “Three, maybe four thousand of them redskin bastards drove in a cavalry detachment and wiped out a military supply train there.”

Cutter shrugged dismissively. “Ain’t my concern anymore.”

“Well, now, McKenzie... the way I hear it told... never was. At any rate, you ought to be remembering, when you go running your mouth and siding with them savages, that you no longer have government protection. These days, I reckon I might just watch who I was rilin’ if I were you.” Both of his brows rose abruptly. “You think?” His beard split and a demonic smile spread across his almost nonexistent lips.

Cutter grinned in return, but there was no benevolence in his expression. His eyes narrowed to dark, predatory slits. “If you were me,” he said pointedly, his tone low but carrying clearly. “But then, we both know you’re not.”



To Cutter’s way of thinking, any man who would run down a toddler in cold blood, spearing him with his bayonet as though he were a cold-blooded trout, was a coward of the worst kind, and Magnus had done that and worse at Sand Creek. Much worse. Had it been up to Cutter, the man wouldn’t be wearing his stripes at the moment, much less the cocksure smile he wore like a badge of honor. But it wasn’t up to Cutter, and there wasn’t a chance they’d take a half-breed’s word over a full-blooded white’s, not any day. And so he kept his damned mouth shut and watched his back.

Magnus’ smile vanished, and there was suddenly cold fury in his eyes.

Cutter tapped his hat out of his eyes with a finger and, in one smooth movement, reached down to flick open the leather thong that kept his revolver holstered. The fluidity of his gesture was a warning in itself. “State your business, boys, and move on,” he told them. “Oh, and Sulzberger... you’d do well to remember that that protection you’re talking about works two ways.” The faintest smile touched his lips, crept into his eyes. “Means I no longer have anyone to answer to.”

Magnus’ mouth took on a mocking twist. “I hear you,” he drawled, readjusting his wad of tobacco before spitting it out. “I hear you, McKenzie.” He gave Elizabeth a bone-chilling sidewise glance. “Hafta wonder, miss, if you know who it is you’re keepin’ company with?” His gray eyes glittered with unconcealed malice as he took in her lamentable state of dress.

Elizabeth averted her gaze, and Magnus laughed harshly, the sound obscene. “Well, hell, darlin’, maybe you do,” he said cryptically.



There was no doubt in Elizabeth’s mind that the man was trouble, and she suddenly couldn’t wait to be away from him.

“Anyhow,” he carried on, “ain’t lookin’ for trouble with you, McKenzie. Happens we’re out hunting a pack of renegades. Raided a camp about thirty miles east of Fort Riley. Swiped some food and supplies.” He glanced again at Elizabeth, and the look he gave her raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. “Stuck one of my men as they were leaving,” he continued with loathing, tipping his head in the direction of the youth beside him. “O’Neill here spotted your smoke last night and... Well, anyhow, you ain’t them. Ain’t happen to’ve seen ‘em, have you?” There was unconcealed suspicion in his question, as though it really didn’t matter what Cutter said. He already clearly disbelieved him.

Cutter was silent a long moment.

“And what if I have?” Cutter asked casually, one brow lifting in challenge.

Magnus responded with a slow sneer. “Well then... I reckon you ought to say so.”

One side of Cutter’s Ups lifted contemptuously. “Yeah?” His wintry smile crept into his eyes. “And you say they stuck an officer?” He hoped it was one of Magnus’ colleagues, and he found himself feeling sorry for the kid at Magnus’ side. Sulzberger knew the art of intimidation only too well. Likely he’d have the whelp dancing over bullets for his kicks and believing it was his lucky day for being able to do so.

“That’s right,” Magnus drawled.

Cutter gave him a nod. “Well, now, seems I do recall they went that way.” He pointed halfheartedly in the direction the Indians had, in fact, gone. “Came through yesterday, late afternoon. Four of ‘em.”

Elizabeth’s breath snagged, and her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe Cutter had actually given them away! Didn’t he realize what these vile men would do if they caught up with them? She didn’t find it so difficult to believe that the Indians had perhaps killed a man. They’d seemed perfectly capable, but for some strange reason, she felt connected to them, even grateful. And some little voice in the back of her mind told her that they wouldn’t have killed for sport, that it was perhaps hunger... or even revenge that had driven them, for even in Sioux Falls she had heard tales of Sand Creek. Still, she refrained from saying anything to refute Cutter, only because she knew it wouldn’t help matters even if she did.

Once again Magnus glanced her way, appraising her thoroughly, and his answering grin was malignant. “Much obliged,” he said curtly, never taking his scrutiny from Elizabeth. Then he turned his mount away, and back again. “Oh, and, McKenzie...”

Cutter didn’t respond, only sat back in the saddle and crossed his arms, watching the men before him with keen eyes.

“Reckon you ought to know... General Sully is looking for you.”

Cutter shrugged apathetically. “So let him look,” he replied tersely. “It ought to make you pretty happy when he doesn’t find me, Sulzberger.” And with that, he touched his hat brim in dismissal, spurring his mount closer to Elizabeth’s. Snatching her reins out of her hands, he turned his back to the gawking pair, and led her away without another word.

“Be seeing ya, now,” Magnus called after them, staring.

“If y’ say so,” Cutter responded without turning.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, for all that she tried, couldn’t tear her gaze away from the duo behind them. When the younger man touched the smooth butt of his revolver, she tensed, and started to scream out a warning, but Cutter eyed her sternly.

Elizabeth stiffen, and Cutter said, again without turning. “Draw that gun up out of there, Blue-boy... and you’d better be prepared to use it.”

Astonished that he had known, and dazed by the peculiar exchange she had witnessed, Elizabeth lagged behind and turned to look at his back with something akin to awe and then again to the disgruntled pair behind them. Magnus gave the younger man a vigorous shake of his head, and the youth immediately abandoned his revolver, muttering an inaudible curse.

“How’d the bloody son of a bitch know?” Elizabeth heard him ask.

“Savage in him,” Magnus replied sourly, spurring his mount in the exact opposite direction Cutter had indicated. “Last man to underestimate him ended up with a .44 between his baby blues—but don’t you worry none, O’Neill, he’ll come into his own someday. Real soon—damned redskin-lovin’ deserter!” With that declaration, he cast them a backward glance, smiling with promise at Elizabeth. Tipping his hat, he gaffed his mare.

When they finally disappeared from view, Elizabeth urged Cocoa up beside Cutter’s mount. “How did you know, Cutter?”

“With that look on your face?” Cutter shrugged. “It was evident someone was going after their gun. Sulzberger’s been round long enough to know better... That left little Blue-boy back there.” He shook his head. “Kid like that’s always rarin’ to show off his gun hand. Thing is, he’s like t’ end up six feet under before he ever shaves his first whiskers.”

He led her up the bluff, following the same path the Indians had taken, leaving the river at their backs. Again, Elizabeth lagged behind, musing about what he’d just revealed.

“No,” she said at last, catching up with him once more. “Not that. How did you know that those men would search in the opposite direction?”

Cutter adjusted his hat and sat back in the saddle to better see her. There was wonder in her eyes. He grinned engagingly. “Didn’t,” he admitted with a gleam in his eyes. “Never thought anyone could be so contrary that they wouldn’t believe God’s truth when they heard it... till I met you. Just took a gamble, and it paid off.”

Elizabeth gasped, her eyes widening at the affront. “Contrary! You are... are just... just... ” She couldn’t find the words to describe him. What kind of man could make love to a woman and then insult her in the next breath? “The worst!”

Chuckling, Cutter responded, “That bad, huh?” And with that, he winked at her, turning his attention to the steep trail before them.





They reached the bluff-top to find rolling hills as far as the eye could see, white oak and cottonwood trees flecking the view. Having abandoned the riverbed and bluffs, Cutter made use of every last watering hole they encountered. While the horses fed late in the afternoon, they lunched, then set out again and didn’t stop until they reached the Grand River. By then, Elizabeth had fallen asleep in the saddle.

Seeing her waver, Cutter snatched her up into his own saddle with no small measure of concern. The last time she’d slept in his arms, she’d given him a healthy fear of doubling up on one horse, but he couldn’t very well just let her drop from exhaustion—sure was tempting, though. As they rode, that part of him was never very far from his thoughts. And because of it, he was as cagey as a stallion in a brood mare’s stall by the time they made camp.

It had been dark for over an hour when they stopped for the night. With sleepy murmurs Elizabeth allowed Cutter to tuck her into her bedroll. He placed his own next to hers, and having satisfied his hunger earlier in the day, gnawed on a tough slice of jerky as he contemplated the night before.

Lizbeth had grit—had to give her that much. With a grin, he thought about her temperament, deciding that she must have had a full-blooded Scot hanging somewhere on her family tree.

He closed his eyes and ruminated, thinking that they’d made real good time all day. But time was something he was swiftly running short on. He shifted uneasily, his eyes seeking out her huddled form in the darkness. He swallowed the last bite of jerky. Remembering the rattler necklace he’d made for her, he pulled it out of his denim pocket, staring at it a long moment. Scooting closer to Elizabeth, he carefully placed it over her head, tucking it reverently into the space between two of her buttons.

He had to make her see things his way—just couldn’t let her hire on someone else. He just wasn’t sure how to convince her of it.

Trying not to think about the ache in his foot, as well as the one in his britches, he jerked up his own blanket and drew it over Elizabeth—two blankets wouldn’t hurt her none—and then he threw a protective arm over her for good measure, and willed himself to sleep.

The next morning he was still thinking over some way to convince Elizabeth to let him stand in as her husband while he prepared to shave. After breakfast, he hung his mirror from a tree and then filled his bowl with water. He’d scrubbed his face and then lathered his whiskers, and was about to draw the folding razor across his chin when Elizabeth walked up to him, a bundle of dirty clothes squashed in her arms. He watched her approach in the mirror, admiring the soft sway of her hips—if not the bulky, ugly, ragged fabric that covered them.

“Cutter?”

With his hand still in midair, he glanced at her.



Cutter was bare-chested, his skin taut and dark, and it was difficult to remain coherent at the sight of him. Elizabeth had thought, when she’d felt the light mat of hair on his chest and arms, along with the tightness of the skin across his ribs and belly, that nothing could be so incredible. But seeing him was. It fair took her breath away.

“I—I wanted to thank you for the necklace,” she said hesitantly, her hands trembling as she clutched the bundle of clothes. She yearned to reach out and touch him, the necklace at least, but couldn’t because her hands were full. With the necklace, he’d given her a keepsake, something tangible that she could hold on to and remember... after he was gone. Something that would prove it had all been real and not a wonderful, magical dream—the most beautiful night of her life. She didn’t fool herself; she’d been available, and he in need. He just wasn’t the marrying kind, she knew, nor would it have worked out for her... not when she wanted her niece so desperately. She couldn’t take that chance.

He was still staring at her, his eyes probing, as though he were trying to read her soul. And then he gave her a nod and returned to his mirror, his thoughts obviously preoccupied. As she watched, he lifted the razor.



“Did you make it from the rattler we ate?” Elizabeth asked, her brows furrowing as she peered into the bowl, then at his beard, and again at the razor in his hand.

“Yeah,” Cutter replied, and then turned to look at her again, thinking that she’d come a long way—from not being able to even mention her body’s inborn callings to feeling at ease gawking at his own rites. There was something inherently satisfying in that, Cutter mused, and then he realized that she was scrutinizing his face a little too intently.

“I thought Indians didn’t have to shave,” she said abruptly, obviously befuddled by the fact that he was about to do just that. “I’d always heard, you see... and the others... well, they didn’t seem to have any—so why do you?”

Her question, so innocently asked, took Cutter by surprise, and he didn’t immediately reply. Elizabeth looked so interested in his response that he didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was likely the most asinine question he’d ever heard. With a confounded look, he scratched his temple with his thumb. “Hell, Lizbeth, how should I know? Maybe it’s the white in me,” he added caustically.

Averting her eyes, Elizabeth nodded, shrugging, obviously embarrassed that she’d asked such a personal question. “Just wondered, is all.” Pulling her bundle more closely against her breasts, she walked away, and for a moment Cutter just stared at her, dumbfounded, as she headed toward the river. And then it struck him suddenly, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

Seeing himself suddenly in a different light, he studied his reflection in the hazy mirror. Hell, he thought, Jo had been right... he really didn’t look like much of an Indian—less so with a beard. If it weren’t for his dark coloring, and the way he wore his clothes, most folks would probably never suspect. His Irish blood was just as prominent as the Indian, showing itself in the wavy texture of his hair, for one... and his body hair—didn’t have lots, but... more than he should have had.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there gawking at himself, his expression incredulous, but his dark eyes turned suddenly cunning. A slow smile lifted his lips as he washed the caking lather from his face, and dried himself briskly with a small towel. Then he meticulously trimmed his beard and, once satisfied with his appearance, went in search of Elizabeth.

He found her scrubbing laundry in the river, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her ragged skirt sopping up the water. She was washing his favorite green shirt, putting heart and soul into it, and he smiled at the image she made. The sight of her, her clothes damp and clinging to her delicate curves, at once shifted the nature of his thoughts, and his smile turned devious.

“Mind scrubbing something else for me?”



Startled by his husky baritone, Elizabeth leapt, nearly losing the shirt she was laundering in the slow but steady current of the river. Cutter stood on the bank, his arms crossed, his eyes dancing with mischief. For some reason, his imperious manner pricked at her. “No, I don’t, but must you always sneak up—” Her protest ended abruptly with a gasp of surprise. “You can’t—Cutter!”

He chuckled at her stricken expression, but his hands never ceased unbuttoning his denims. “Ain’t nothing here you haven’t already seen, Doc,” he told her coolly.

Or felt, Elizabeth wanted to add, her face heating fiercely. Still, it wasn’t the least bit proper. “Cutter,” she protested weakly. But her gaze never wavered as he began to shuck off his pants... and then his drawers, stepping out of both. Finally he stood before her as naked as the day he was born—unashamed and even a bit arrogant in his stance. To her dismay, she remained transfixed, her heart pummeling her ribs.

“If there’s anything needs washing, it’s these,” he revealed huskily, dropping the clothing in question into the pile of laundry she’d left on the bank. As

Elizabeth gaped, he waded into the cool river, and dove under the rippling surface.

To her dismay, she didn’t even realize that she was still gawking, her fingers clutching at his wet shirt in her hands, until he surfaced near her, shaking his head like a wet puppy, flinging droplets of water everywhere. Yet even as the cool droplets pattered her face, she stared.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Need help?” he asked.

The water had come to midchest where he’d first surfaced, but as he stalked toward her, it dipped to his waist, his thighs... his...

“H-Help?” Elizabeth stammered, when he stood before her at last. “I—I—” With some difficulty, her eyes lifted to his face as he began to pry the soaked cloth from her hands. With a nod, he tossed it upon the bank and then turned to face her, his eyes smoldering with that same hunger she recalled so vividly. And then a tremor passed through her as they darkened before her eyes.

“Help,” he repeated, his fingers touching her shoulders, gripping them firmly and then kneading them for a moment.

Elizabeth’s legs went as limp as the water she was standing in. His fingers went to her braid, untwisting it, while she stood, like a ninny, staring up at him.

“I like it down,” Cutter revealed, his voice so warm and masculine that it sent shiver after shiver down her spine. Still, she couldn’t move. His eyes twinkled as he spread her hair about her shoulders, smoothing it with his fingers. His hand moved from her hair to her face, his fingers caressing at first and then cupping her face as though it were his greatest treasure. He made her feel so very beautiful, made her believe...

“Y-You do?” she whispered.

“I do,” he said with a nod, and then he slowly dipped his head to her mouth.

Elizabeth’s knees went weak as he descended. His lips touched her briefly, then withdrew, and reclaimed them in a soul-searing kiss. His mouth moved with slow finesse, coaxing a response from her. Instinctively Elizabeth opened for him, shivering when his tongue slid deep like velvet heat over hers.

“Cutter.”

“Yes?”

“The laundry...” Reaching out instinctively, Elizabeth threaded her fingers into the thick waves of his hair.

“It’ll wait.”

Elizabeth nodded in profound agreement, her mind becoming more hazed with every moment he held her. His arms swept about her waist, lifting her up against himself, until she could feel every wet, solid inch of him through her own clothing. He was aroused... she could feel him, and her breath quickened in awakened response. She threw her head back, offering him everything he would take of her... anything.

Like a man drunk with desire, Cutter allowed his lips to feast on the flesh of her neck. “I’ll even help when we’re through,” he promised huskily, his breath tickling the hollow of her throat.

But not his breath, Elizabeth realized suddenly... his beard. “You didn’t shave?” she asked dreamily.



“No, I didn’t,” Cutter agreed, trying not to chuckle at the airy quality of her voice. Her lids were falling, and he lifted her face, kissing them closed, reveling in her artless reaction to him. “Thought it might be best.”

“Mmmmmmhhh,” Elizabeth agreed, arching into him. He gave her lips small, cherishing pecks, and she sighed. “Best... for what?” she asked breathlessly.

Cutter winced and considered not answering her question—at least not until afterward—but it was what he’d come to the river for, he reminded himself. With a sigh of resignation, he forced himself to speak, knowing it would be too easy to refrain. “You’re not hiring on someone else,” he said, bracing himself for her anger. For the longest moment Elizabeth remained in her dreamy state, her eyes closed in pleasure, and then her eyes flew open.