Sagebrush Bride

chapter FIVE





Maybe she was too embarrassed to admit she didn’t know which direction he’d pointed out?

Damned Cutter’s guilt wasn’t gnawing at his gut.

A frown crossed his features as he tore at the other half of the jerky. He’d tried to give it to her multiple times, but she’d refused him outright. She needed some kind of sustenance, he knew, so he reached back into the saddlebags, withdrawing another cut and stepped up his pace, intending to offer it again, certain the she-wolf was starved by now... hopefully enough to overlook her stubborn female pride. He shook his head.

Damned females; you couldn’t live with ’em, and you couldn’t shoot ’em.

He studied her stiff back as she marched. She sure as cuss looked like a woman who thought she knew where she was going; those feet of hers never faltered once.

Maybe she was just plain contrary, he decided.

“Sure you don’t want a lift?” he asked, watching with ill-concealed amusement as she irritably swatted the chin-high buffalo grass out of her way. They didn’t have much further to go, but suddenly he couldn’t wait to see her expression when they happened along town.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Mr. McKenzie—I’ve had quite enough of you, as it is!”

His shoulders shook with mirth. He’d never understood how a woman could nurse her anger so long. “Cutter,” he asserted, his lips curling faintly.



“Mr. McKenzie!” Elizabeth shot back through clenched teeth.

With every hot mile, her temper grew more foul. The morning gray of the sky had turned to a cloudless blue, and the sun shone down without mercy.

He shook his head in censure, his lips quivering slightly with laughter. “Now, now, Doc, ain’t no call to be so rude. Just thought you might like t’ ride, is all. You’ve been on your feet—” Scanning the puffy blue heavens, he guessed at the time—”oh... a good hour and a half at least.”

Didn’t she know it!

Coupled with the fall she’d had, the walk was nearly killing Elizabeth’s poor limbs. Her face flushed with anger as she turned to glare up at him.

“Mr. McKenzie, why would I get on that horse with you? So you can manhandle me again? Why should I trust you?” she asked without turning.



Cutter had the good graces to flush.

Hell, he’d forgotten what she’d awakened to, and felt suddenly like a kid who’d gotten caught with his fingers in the proverbial cookie jar. He scowled, completely at a loss for words. He wasn’t in the habit of squeezing women’s limbs while they slept, but he didn’t know how to tell her so. And he hadn’t touched anything of any importance—not really, just a leg, and an arm or two, he reasoned. He’d just wanted to be sure that she had enough meat on her bones… for the journey. She seemed so scrawny.

The minutes stretched by as he contemplated how to get around her anger, but any way he looked at it, she had a right to it, and so in the end he decided just to drop the subject. “Suit yourself,” he relented.



Elizabeth gave him a puzzled frown.

There had been a long enough stretch of silence between them at this point that she’d somehow managed to forget what they’d been talking about.

Suit herself?

What in creation did the man mean by that remark? Suit herself? Nothing about this miserable outing suited her in the least! Had she missed something? She’d been so lost in her own musings that she’d shut him out completely... almost completely. She was only too aware of the fact that he was right behind her, his horse trotting at a snail’s pace. The way that he watched her unnerved the dickens out of her!

He came alongside her suddenly, leaning forward in the saddle, his forearm resting upon the saddle horn, his smile knowing and crooked as he offered her the almost forgotten slice of jerky. Elizabeth hadn’t realized how hungry she was until he waved it in front of her, but her mouth began to water in anticipation. Still, she eyed the strip of meat as though it were a pit viper he were proffering. Her stomach grumbled in protest when she didn’t immediately reach out to take it, and she glanced up through her lashes, wondering anxiously if he’d heard.

She found him still smiling—curse him to high heaven and back! Oh, she despised him! Heaven help her, she did! Elizabeth, who had never despised anyone as long as she’d lived—not even her mother for leaving—really and truly despised him!

Giving him her most lethal scowl, she kept marching, but he seemed completely unaffected by her dismissal, and that made her all the more irate. How dare he be so nonchalant when she was ready to burst with fury!

Why should she starve herself only to spite him?

Feeling his presence beside her like a thorn in her side, she turned, snatching the jerky from his still-outstretched hand. Shoving it angrily into her mouth, she ripped a slice from it as though it were his head and she were snapping it off. Rage as she’d never known before spiraled through her, making her vision darken at the edges.

If he laughed... if he so much as uttered a single inconsiderate, heartless chuckle at her surrender...

A hundred terrible words lay teetering on the tip of her tongue as she plodded onward, alternately ripping off and chewing her jerky. How she managed to contain them was beyond her, but she did, though her breast filled with mute anger. Had she been a mite bigger, she might have yanked him down from the saddle to meet her fists. As it was, that notion seemed so ridiculous that she merely cursed him under her breath. It wouldn’t be long, she told herself firmly, before she’d be rid of him. And then, as far as she was concerned, she never needed to set eyes on the man again!

Though why did that notion seem to bother her? It shouldn’t bother her at all! She should be jumping for joy over the prospect... and she would, indeed, the moment she set eyes on Sioux Falls.

She glanced back over her shoulder, catching his arrogant grin—curse the man! Looking down, she noted, not for the first time, that her poor clothes were covered with grass seed and stained with dirt. Her torn hem dragged the ground behind her. She supposed she looked a sight. Ignoring the “whys” of her caring over that fact, she pondered what people would think of her, dirty as she was and being followed by a grinning idiot to boot?

Would they think the worst?

To her consternation, Cutter began to whistle, and though it was a fine, clear tune, it didn’t even begin to improve her mood. Rather, it grated on her nerves.

Of course they would think the worst!

The odd tune was familiar, but she couldn’t place it, and it provoked her.

Desperately she tried to ignore him.

She couldn’t wait to get home and bathe, and it was that thought with which she consoled herself: a bath... How wonderful it would be to sink into a warm tub of water.

A great believer in cleanliness, Elizabeth loved her baths and had ordered a tremendous porcelain tub from the catalog, one of the very few luxuries she’d ever afforded herself. There was just something about treating so much infirmity that made one want to soak a lifetime in soap and water. Besides, as much dusty ground as she covered making house calls, a bath was almost always necessary at the end of the day.

It helped her to forget. Forget that her dear father was no longer around to hum her to sleep at night. For a while, after her mother had gone, she had been afraid of the silence. Not the dark so much, because that in itself was never so terrifying. It was rather soothing, really. Only the silence had terrified her, because in the silence she was alone. So Papa would sit in his own room, one door down, and hum to himself. She’d never asked him to, but he’d done so nonetheless. For her. Because he’d known—to reassure her that he was still there.

Cutter’s whistling pierced her thoughts, and again she concentrated on that bath—that warm, cleansing bath.

Her father, too, had believed in cleanliness, and she was thoroughly convinced, though there was no real medical evidence to substantiate the claim, that cleanliness was an integral part of any cure. She always cleaned her instruments in strong water. Truth to tell, it was the only thing whiskey was good for—besides getting decent folks into trouble.

This morning was a very good example for the record.

She surveyed the landscape, fretting. Nothing! Nothing at all seemed familiar to her! Surely she’d made enough house calls outside of town that she should know the area by now? But to her dismay, she found that she didn’t recognize a single thing. Not one thing!

Of course, she reminded herself, worrying at her lower lip, it was hard to see much for the tall grass. Grassland was grassland, after all, and there wasn’t much different about any one stretch of it to distinguish it from the next. Right?

Yes, of course, that was what it was. She nodded, as though to settle her fears. And so it was a complete shock to find herself suddenly staring at a gathering of blurry, nondescript, and very unfamiliar buildings in the immediate distance. Her first reaction was to reach for her spectacles. Finding them gone was her undoing. Her eyes widened in alarm. How could she have been so absorbed in her thoughts that she wouldn’t have noticed her spectacles were missing? Halting abruptly, she whirled to face Cutter, hands on her hips.

“Where are they?”

Cutter came up beside her, his brow lifting in response to her question. “Where’s what?”

“My spectacles!”

“Took you long enough to notice they were gone, don’t y’ think?”

Elizabeth ignored his goading. What business was it of his anyway? She turned her palm up impatiently, certain that Cutter had her spectacles somewhere on his person, and silently pleading with him to give them back.

There was an odd glitter in his eyes as he stared at her hand. Then his gaze flicked up to her eyes, considering her. They were so dark, and fixed on her so intently, that for an interminable moment Elizabeth felt as though he were looking straight into her soul, searching out every dark corner to reveal it.

Feeling unsure of herself, she withdrew her hand slightly. The moment was excruciating. She felt utterly bared to his scrutiny, as though he knew all of her secrets somehow, every fear, every last little ache in her heart. More than that even, she once again had the notion the man pitied her, and a strange pang nearly overcame her outrage. Nearly.

A quiver passed down her spine, breaking the spell. “Well?” she asked. Unnerved, she watched as he turned from her finally and reached into the saddlebag, retrieving her bent frames. Without speaking, she accepted them from him, quickly placed them upon the bridge of her nose, then turned back to the cluster of buildings in the distance, fully expecting them to have reconfigured themselves somehow. The images only became sharper, more distinct, and her shock was audible. She gave a startled little cry.

She pointed at the buildings. “What is that?”

Cutter lifted the brim of his hat slightly, his brows rising as he peered speculatively at the structures in question. “Why,” he drawled with distinct mockery, his gaze immediately reverting to hers, “can’t be too sure, Miz Bowcock, but seems to be a town.” His mouth lifted slightly at the corners, yet lift it did, and Elizabeth had suddenly reached her breaking point.

“Not Sioux Falls, it isn’t!”

“Never said it was.”

“But you... you did say... and I-I thought...” Torn between anger and embarrassment, she groaned, and her cheeks began to heat again. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” she cried out in frustration. “Why didn’t you say something? You knew I was walking in the wrong direction!”

To her alarm, he began to chuckle, and then to laugh outright, and suddenly Elizabeth couldn’t help herself. She flung herself at him, snatching him by the arm and yanking downward with all her might.

Never had anyone infuriated her so!

To her discredit, he barely budged from the saddle. Instead, with his free arm he clutched at his side, hooting all the louder as she pulled in vain on his other arm. Crying out in frustration, Elizabeth pounded his thigh.

His laughter slowing to chuckles, Cutter tried to seize Elizabeth’s wrists, to save his leg from any more injury. But in her fury, Elizabeth was quicker, and he took two cuffs on the hand he’d held out as a buffer.

Without warning, she found herself hoisted from the ground, onto his mount. One arm imprisoned her while he simply sat there and laughed into her flyaway mass of hair—another thing she hadn’t noticed! Just how had her hair managed to come loose from its braid? Though as soon as she considered it, she knew, and her cheeks burned brighter at the very thought of the liberties he had taken with her. Good night! What else might he have done without her knowledge? And how dare he make fun of her! She wiggled, to no avail, trying for the second time in the same day to free herself from his merciless hold.

“Heathen savage!” she accused him, mindless with fury now. With her hands trapped by his embrace, she had no alternative but to use her teeth to gain her freedom. She lunged at his neck, like a viper, but the shock of his warm male flesh on her tongue made her suddenly bolt backward in alarm. Or maybe it was Cutter’s quick reaction that pulled her away from him. Elizabeth wasn’t quite certain. All she knew was that he tasted of salt, smelled purely of man, a scent so mind-jarring that her body quickened wildly in response. It startled her so much that she simply sat, staring at him in utter bewilderment.



As he heard the words Elizabeth flung at him, Cutter’s mirth ceased abruptly, and his eyes narrowed upon the mouth that had nearly taken a chunk from his neck.

Foremost in his mind was the brief kiss he had stolen the night before. And then his mind focused on that key word.

Stolen.

She’d never have given it freely. He made the mistake of looking up, into her eyes, and a familiar twisting began in his gut. Elizabeth was looking at him, through spectacles aslant, as though he were a two-headed rodent. He’d felt the stab of prejudice many times before, but that she should stoop to flinging insults caused long-buried scars to rip and burn. His anger flared.

Why had he thought she would be any different? How could he have allowed himself to forget? Because she was Jo’s friend? He damned well should have known better. And it shouldn’t bother him. But it did. Because for the first time in a long time, he’d allowed himself to forget, to feel easy with someone. He’d let down his guard.

His mistake, but he wouldn’t make it again.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” Cutter warned. A chill hung on the edge of his words, and his eyes held hers “As it is, you’re damned lucky you’re a woman.” Despite his outward calm, there was the threat of violence in his voice.

Faced with his anger, Elizabeth looked suddenly ashamed of her childish outburst. “Just how far have we come?” she asked grudgingly, straightening her spectacles.

For the longest moment, Cutter couldn’t bring himself to respond to her simple question.

He oughta turn back now and take her high-minded self back to Sioux Falls. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. In spite of his anger, he just couldn’t, and his displeasure over the fact burned in his gut.

“Like I said before, too far to turn back. If I’m not mistaken, that’s Indian Creek up ahead. You can come along with me, or run back home with your tail tucked between your pretty little legs. Either way, it’s your decision, but if you choose to go home, you go it alone.”



The change in his demeanor was frightening.

Gone was the imperturbable cad. In his place was someone else entirely. The other provoked her, infuriated her, but she’d never hesitated to respond in kind. This man, she was unsure of. Still, she reminded herself, he was Jo’s brother. Jo wouldn’t have let harm come her way—not even by way of her baby brother.

“How do I know what you intend, Mr. McKenzie? You might be a raving lunatic, or bent on murder, for that matter.”

His dark, enigmatic eyes revealed nothing. He nodded slowly, lips thin with displeasure. His hand held her arm, squeezing firmly but painlessly. “True enough. But don’t you think that if I’d aimed to do you harm, Doc... I’d have done it long before now?”

His silky tone mesmerized her. Unable to tear her gaze away, she swallowed, opening her mouth to speak, but he shook her suddenly, startling the words from her tongue.

“Look,” Cutter said, before she could gather her thoughts. “You don’t know me all that well, that’s true enough, but I’m willing to help you for nothing—Christ knows why! You can’t say the same for someone else,” he said bluntly. “You can’t even count on help for pay, because who’s to stop them from taking your money and tossing up your skirts, just for the hell of it? Maybe even putting a knife between your pretty little shoulder blades, at that—to guarantee your silence?”



His intent was to tell her the brutal truth—all of it—even if it spooked her.

To Cutter’s way of thinking, Elizabeth needed a little dose of fear to make her understand this wasn’t a Sunday picnic she was planning.

Her eyes went wide as his grip tightened upon her arm. She fidgeted, trying to ease his hold, but he never gave an inch.

“Stop... please—stop!” she cried out. “You’re hurting me!”

“Good. Am I frightening you, too? Sure as hell hope so!” His free hand found its way into her tousled hair, his fingers curling around the back of her neck to secure her as he finally released her arm. He touched a loose tendril, examining it, then winding it carefully about his finger. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Because I’d hate to see this—” he tugged at it softly, bringing her closer, so that their lips were separated only by a whisper “—dangling from a scalp belt.”



Forcing her attention away from his lips, Elizabeth grimaced, meeting his angry gaze.

“And you don’t take scalps?” she asked with more calm than she felt, and then she shriveled suddenly as an odd look passed over his features—pain, if she didn’t know better—before his jaw turned taut and his eyes grew harsh.

He released her abruptly, and she nearly fell off the horse. She had to reach out and catch his shirt to steady herself, but his gaze never wavered. His expression was cold and proud.

“I’m riding into that town,” he said, his voice soft but daunting. “And you’re coming with me, Doc. You take tonight to think about whether you’re wantin’ my services or not.” His eyes were black, sparkling with fury. “Then... bright ’n’ early tomorrow mornin’, I’ll expect your answer. It’s up to you. I don’t aim to force you, Lizbeth—or beg, either. It’s purely your decision.” He leaned backward, reaching into the saddlebags, groping blindly, never taking his eyes from hers as he brought up a small pouch and pressed it into her hand.

No sooner had she accepted it when he lifted her, turning her around to face away from him. Too stunned to speak, she explored the pouch with her fingers without opening it. Coins. He’d given her money.

“I can’t accept it,” she told him.

“Take it up with Jo,” he said. And then, reaching over her, he gathered up the reins, leaning briefly against her back. She flinched, sensing his anger in every rigid plane of his chest.

“If in the morning my answer is still no?” she prompted, her shoulders lifting slightly, her expression wary.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing the top of her ear as he spoke, his tone lacking in emotion. “Then I’ve said all on the matter I aim to. If you don’t have the good sense to say yes, Miz Bowcock... I don’t care to see you again. Use the money Jo gave you to buy yourself a ticket home.” Having said that, he touched his spurs to his horse, and it lunged forward.

Elizabeth’s hand swept out to catch her spectacles as she was hurled back into Cutter’s chest. She cried out at the impact. Cutter, on the other hand, never so much as grunted as his body absorbed the blow without yielding an inch.