Sagebrush Bride

chapter SEVEN





Blinking twice, Elizabeth struggled to brush the cobwebs from her brain.

“Offer? Oh, oh, yes... that offer!” she declared. Straightening abruptly, she shrugged out of Cutter’s embrace, her face flaming. Once again, she wondered what was wrong with her that she would turn to mush with just a single touch from him. Good night, she was as shameless as Bess! Shivering at the strange look in his eyes, she stepped away from him, retreating into the protective shadows. “That is, I—I intended to,” she said peevishly in order to cover her mortification. Her traitorous heart continued to pound frantically. “Until you brought that... that... woman—”

Cutter allowed her withdrawal, never stirring. Leaning more fully upon the door, he casually shoved a fist into his front pocket. “Just for the record, Doc. I didn’t bring any woman anywhere.” His tone was smooth and calm, nothing like the storm simmering in his eyes. “The old girl followed me home from the Rushing Bull.”

Annoyance creased Elizabeth’s brow. “She didn’t seem all that old to me!” she returned petulantly. “In any case, I’ve thought on it—all day, in fact—and you’re right. I can’t trust anyone else to take me to St. Louis.” Her tone was resigned. “You win, Mr. McKenzie.”

One brow rose. “I win?” he asked softly. He straightened, drawing his hand out of his pocket, and Elizabeth took another cautious step backward.

“Stay there!” she said anxiously. “And... and turn around, while you’re at it.” She made a little circular motion with her hand when he only looked at her. “Please.”

Sighing, Cutter threw his hands up into the air and turned toward the door, shaking his head. The moment he turned away, he heard her bare feet pattering softly across the wood floor. She lifted the bedcovers. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Elizabeth froze. “Do what?”

“Hide in the bed,” he said, his tone curt. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“That—is—not—what I was about to do, Mr. McKenzie!” Wrapping the coverlet about herself like a protective cape, Elizabeth moved away from the bed, indignant that Cutter would assume she would give such a blatant invitation—and wounded somehow that he had taken such exception to the notion. “I’m not Bess,” she exclaimed. “You can turn around now.”

“Izzatso?”

“Yes, it is. Now... if I’m going to allow you to escort me to St. Louis, McKenzie, there are a few conditions by which you’ll need to abide.”

After tonight, she wasn’t so certain that it was Cutter she should mistrust, but herself.



The hairs on the back of Cutter’s neck bristled.

“Such as?”

Her chin lifted a notch. “Such as,” she proposed, “you will never, ever, try to—to kiss me again! And you will not touch me. And you will not spend your leisure time with—with women like Bess! You’re supposed to be traveling as my husband, after all.”

“If you say so.”

“And,” she continued, “I’ll need my own mount. And my own bedding,” she added hastily. “Furthermore, we will never sleep in the same bed—or even the same room! Not if it can be helped!”

Cutter was prepared to accept every one of her shrewdly given demands, and hated himself for it; his voice fell to little more than a seething whisper. “Anythin’ else, Doc?”

“Yes!” Elizabeth said, disregarding his scorn. “I mean to hire someone else once we’ve arrived safely in St. Louis. For obvious reasons, I cannot present you as my lawful husband.”



As horrible as it sounded, she had no choice but to tell Cutter the truth.

He flinched noticeably, as though she’d actually slapped him, then his expression shuttered. Elizabeth took another step backward, thinking that he looked ready to pounce suddenly, and tear her limb from limb.

“Cutter,” she appealed, as he turned abruptly and reached for the knob. “Try to understand!” An awful sinking sensation stirred in the pit of her stomach as he jerked open the door so ferociously that a rush of air whisked by her face.

“It’s just that I can’t—” Cutter didn’t wait long enough to hear her explanation. The door slammed shut so violently that it jarred the frame, “—chance losing my niece,” she finished lamely.

Stunned by Cutter’s brusque departure, Elizabeth simply stood, gaping at the door, unsure of what to do next. Bewildered, she came forward and leaned upon it, needing the support. Her legs felt oddly insubstantial beneath her.

Surely he didn’t mean to refuse her now? Not after all that she’d had to endure? Good lord! Was she supposed to hunt him down now and beg his assistance?

It was an agonizingly long moment later when she realized that she’d not heard Cutter’s door close—nor open, for that matter—and her heart skipped a beat. Surely he didn’t mean to just leave her where she stood... without a way back to Sioux Falls?

Without any money either. She doubted she had enough to pay for both the room and a horse! Maybe he’d already paid for the room. Had he? Muddled as her mind was, she couldn’t remember. Numbly she locked the door and leaned back against it, her mind reeling.

After a long moment, she walked to the bed, stumbling over the bedcovers on the way. There she sat, pressing a hand to her temple. The tiniest headache had persisted all day, and now threatened to explode.

Merciful heaven, what was she going to do?

Think, she told herself firmly.

Come on now, Elizabeth, don’t panic. “It won’t help a thing,” she whispered to herself. Slipping her thumbnail between her teeth, she chewed it contemplatively.

She grimaced suddenly as a thought occurred to her. She wouldn’t put it past McKenzie to have paid for his own room, leaving her bill unsettled.

Well, she determined with a heartfelt sigh, she couldn’t worry about that just now. There was too much else to fret over. Her thundering head, for instance. Wearily she lay back upon the small bed, and covered her forehead with her damp palm.

First thing in the morning she would go to the livery and purchase a sturdy mount for herself. Either way—whether it was on to St. Louis or back to Sioux Falls—she’d need a reliable horse for the journey. Calming somewhat with that decision, she took a deep breath.

Things would work out; surely they would.

They had to.

But what if she didn’t have any money left over after buying the horse?

Somehow she would sneak out of the hotel... and if she was able to raise the funds, she’d come back to pay right away. If not, then she could always send restitution later... when she was safely away. She simply couldn’t take the chance that they might... well... detain her. Her head began to pound without mercy. Gracious day, she’d never been in trouble with the law before. But... they didn’t know her identity and wouldn’t know where to look for her, she consoled herself. Cutter had not—whether by design or by accident, she didn’t know—given her name at the desk.

They did have his signature, though, and it would serve him right if they came looking for him, dragged him off to jail, and threw away the key.

Shaking her head resolutely, she thrust away that awful thought with a frown. Just now, she refused to think on that possibility. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry herself sick over it all. Tonight she needed rest. Already she was feeling the aftermath of too much liquor and too little sleep—Cutter’s fault!

And with that sober reflection and a wide, unladylike yawn, she curled herself deeper within the coarse wool blanket she’d wrapped around herself, drawing her arms within to shield them against the chill night air. Trying to keep the morose thoughts from her mind, she turned on her side and gazed blankly at the hazy moonlight that filtered in through the window. She watched listlessly as a few dust particles swirled within the stream of soft light, and after a while, she managed to close her eyes and sleep.





Getting out of the room proved easier than Elizabeth expected.

She’d awakened just as the sun was beginning to peep into her room. After dressing, she’d contemplated the window for a good half hour, considering it as a possible exit. The ground was not but a ten-foot drop, more or less, and there was a short awning that dipped downward, besides, making it a perfectly feasible solution. The thing that kept her from crawling out was the notion of someone catching her in the act.

It seemed more dignified, if just as immoral, for her to simply steal out the front door. And after mustering her courage, she did just that. The fact that nobody had been attending the clerk’s desk made it absurdly simple.

Still, her conscience was having a field day with her as she headed for the Hotel d’Horse. Silly name for a stable, she thought. It was even a tad deceitful, for the hotel in question was little more than a raggy barn, with boards all askew. Point in fact, it looked near to collapsing. Yet the clerk at the trade store, Mr. Monroe, had assured her that the gentlemen who owned it ran a fair business and would look after her interest. Now all she needed to do was to be sure she had enough cash left over to purchase supplies... as well as hire someone new once they reached St. Louis.

That was, assuming Cutter agreed to take her.

Her eyes skimmed the street ahead. Noting the lack of people milling about, she began searching for movement within each building she passed. She wasn’t searching for Cutter, she told herself as she craned her neck to see beyond the Rushing Bull’s swinging half door. She hadn’t seen him all morning, and finding there was no sign of him within, she had to concede that he had, in fact, left Indian Creek.

“Just wait until I see Jo,” she grumbled to herself.

Surely Jo had no idea what a rounder her brother was! Without a doubt, Elizabeth was going to enlighten her good friend as soon as she saw her again. And maybe she’d even give Jo a piece of her mind. Despite the fact that Jo had meant well, she’d certainly played an enormous part in this ill-fated scheme that had brought Elizabeth absolutely nothing but grief.

It seemed that annoyance was fast becoming a natural state for her, and it had all begun with Cutter.

The odor of horseflesh and stale hay assaulted her nostrils as she entered the dusky stable.

“Hello,” she called out. “Hello... anyone here?”

A tall, robust man stood up within the second stall. His face screwed in annoyance, though when he saw her, he smiled brightly, revealing a missing upper tooth. Resisting the urge to finger her own straight teeth, she locked her hands into a fist and held them in front of her. “I’m sorry if I intruded?”

“No, no,” the man assured, shoving at the stall door and coming toward her. He wiped his soiled hands upon his already filthy denims. “I was cleaning the stall some... Birthed a mare.” He gave her a guilty smile, then wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Anyhow, name’s Pete Monroe, ma’am; what can I do for ya?”

When she heard that his name was Monroe, Elizabeth’s brow creased. Suspicious, to say the least. Still, she had no choice but to deal with the man. She proffered her hand, trying to look as fearsome as she was able. “Elizabeth Bowcock, and I need a good mount, Mr. Monroe. I’m willing to purchase it outright.” He gave her a skeptical look. “I’ve got cash,” she assured, thinking that was what he was contemplating. “Mr. Monroe—” she emphasized the name “—at the trade store.” Mr. Monroe nodded. “He said you would deal fairly with me.”

Pete Monroe acknowledged that fact with a brief nod. “Yeah?” He winked at her. “Well, Miss Bowcock, if my cousin Will sent you, I’ve just the thing. Haven’t really been sellin’ my horses outright, but this once, I’ll make an exception.” He smiled suddenly, his missing tooth conspicuous. “Anythin’ for a pretty gal like you,” he told her.

Turning, he started into the dusky building, launching into what promised to become a sad sales tale. “Just please don’t breathe a word o’ this, or I’ll have the townsfolk at my door. You see... I haven’t had any new blood in stock for a good while now, and old man Rutherford has been after me ta sell him what I got... but he keeps jiggerin’ em, and I ain’t willin’ ta let him do that to anymore o’ my horses. They’re like family ta me.”

Family? Not likely! As they went deeper into the stable, the smell of stale hay became rank, almost sour. No man served his family spoiled rations—at least, not if he could help it. But then, maybe he couldn’t help it. She considered that a moment. Indian Creek wasn’t exactly a prospering town.

Mr. Monroe led her to the very last stall, where a mustang mare stood staring emptily back at her, its liquid dark eyes blinking at her somberly. All thoughts of duplicity fled her at once as she stepped forward, seeing only the reflection of herself in the ebony eyes, her misery, her loneliness, and she was at once in love.

The mare stretched its neck forward to investigate the newest trespasser to its stall. Elizabeth was surprised by the warm welcome; her eyes widened slightly and she turned to smile warmly at the big man beside her.

“She’s beautiful!” Reaching out cautiously, she stroked the mare’s forehead, brushing its forelock gently with her fingers. Her markings were exquisite: white with scattered spots, ranging from dark gold to deep cocoa.

Elizabeth’s hand slid down to its flaring nostrils. There she held it, letting the animal become used to her personal scent, all the while keeping alert for some sign that it would balk. It never did, and finally she moved to caress its fine muzzle.

The mare retreated somewhat at that, but Elizabeth continued to caress the animal reassuringly. Abruptly she withdrew her hand, placing it at her side, waiting to see what the animal would do next. After a long moment, the mare moved forward, as though seeking out her gentle touch, and Elizabeth’s heart swelled with pride of accomplishment. She stood without speaking for the longest moment, admiring the animal’s beauty, reveling in her good fortune.

“I’ll take her,” Elizabeth declared, without the least hesitation.

Mr. Monroe smiled shrewdly, giving her a pleased nod. “Thought so,” was all he said. “Now, as ta the price, Miss Bowcock.”