Praise for Stacey Kayne:

BRIDE OF SHADOW CANYON

‘Kayne’s latest is fast-paced, action-packed and filled with sexual tension.’

—RT Book Reviews

MOUNTAIN WILD

‘Kayne’s strong and appealing characters and colourful Western setting deliver just the right amount of flavour to a tough and tender story.’

—RT Book Reviews

MUSTANG WILD

‘Fast-paced and well written, MUSTANG WILD was a delight to devour…Highly romantic, with just the right touch of humour, MUSTANG WILD is one for the keeper shelf. Stacey Kayne has penned a treasure…’

—Cataromance

‘This strong debut is a tale of one woman’s struggle to overcome a father’s deceit before she can find peace, forgiveness and passion with the man meant for her. Each character carries his or her own weight, adding depth and humour to this honestly written story.’

—RT Book Reviews

MAVERICK WILD

‘Excitement, mystery and delight fill the pages of MAVERICK WILD, Stacey Kayne’s latest historical treasure. Kayne can weave a story that will capture you and not let go. She has demonstrated herself to be a talented force in the world of Western romance.’

—Cataromance

‘Kayne carries off a warm-hearted Americana Western with…feisty characters, a loving family atmosphere, small-town troubles and the gritty reality of life in the Wild West.’

—RT Book Reviews

What have I done to deserve this?

Jed froze at the sight of his young bride sleeping soundly in his bedroll.

He suppressed a groan while trying to push the tantalizing image of her perfect, pint-size body from his mind. His gaze skimmed across her pretty face before he forced himself to look away.

Heavens, but he’d never had so much trouble controlling his wayward thoughts. This little bit of a woman, who’d done nothing but glare and shout at him, was making short work of the disciplined control he usually executed over his mind and body.

She didn’t care for him one bit, which suited Jed just fine. The wide stretch of land between them and California required an aggressive spirit. Judging by the glint in Rachell’s eyes and the rigidness of her spine, she planned to fight him like a cornered mountain lion the whole way.

Bride of Shadow Canyon
Stacey Kayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

STACEY KAYNE has always been a daydreamer. If the comments on her elementary school report cards are any indication, it’s a craft she mastered early on. Having a passion for history and a flair for storytelling, she strives to weave fact and fiction into a wild ride that can capture the heart. Stacey lives on a ranch near the Sierra Nevada, with her high-school sweetheart turned husband of eighteen years and their two sons. Visit her website at www.staceykayne.com

Recent novels by the same author:

MUSTANG WILD

MAVERICK WILD

MOUNTAIN WILD

COURTED BY THE COWBOY (part of Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings anthology)

MILLS & BOON

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BRIDE OF SHADOW CANYON was my first completed historical Western romance novel, and is dedicated to my very first readers.

Sometimes it takes a village to raise an author, and I want to thank those in my village who offered to read my early work and provided much-needed guidance and encouragement.

Phyllis Hoatson, Kathy Riemer, Rosli Chavez, Terri Micene, Debra Salonen, Michelle Fitch, Terry McLaughlin, Jackie Rosinski, Diane Haynes, Anne Riemer, Judi Kuehl, Renee Luke, Cheryl Bright, Carla Hughes, Sheila Rae Mohs, and all the RWA contest judges who praised my writing, scolded my heroes and shared their knowledge.

Special thanks to Linda Fildew, Lydia Mason, Maddie Rowe and Joanne Carr, the wonderful editors at Harlequin Mills & Boon, who’ve been a joy to work with.

Chapter One

Colorado Territory, 1870

I’ll stand before God before I lie under Maxwell Sumner!

The silent vow echoed in Rachell Carlson’s mind as she pulled the sheet tightly around her cold body, her narrowed eyes boring into the locked bedroom door. The stench of smoke and alcohol filtered up through the floorboards, along with the roar of a drunken crowd and the clanking of a poorly tuned piano.

If Maxwell’s henchmen thought taking her dress would keep her from running, they were in for a surprise. She’d ride out of this old mining town stark naked if she had to. She wouldn’t return to Missouri or to the man determined to make her his bride.

She turned and walked to the other side of the small room. Securing the bed linen around her chest, she shoved at the high window, and cringed with each creak of wood. The damp night air swirled inside. Chills rippled across her skin as the evening breeze tugged at her loose hair.

Outside, a full moon glowed ten times brighter than the oil lamp on the night table behind her, lighting up the deserted alley below. She pulled the sheet over her shoulders to shut out the cold as she surveyed the steep awning stretched across the back of the saloon. It was a good twenty-foot drop to the ground.

Using both bed linens, she might be able to reach the alley. Anticipation bubbling, she crept back to the door and pressed her ear to the wood. Holding her breath, she listened for signs of Maxwell’s son or one of his ruffians standing guard. The past six days of being dragged from Nevada to Colorado by the three heathens had been a living hell. It had taken months to squirrel away enough money for that train ticket to California, only to be pulled off the train in Lake’s Crossing.

I should have married an English lord when I had the chance. The gruesome matchmaking efforts of Miss Abigail’s Academy for Young Ladies had been a paradise compared to the rambling life she’d endured over the last five years. She’d been singing in saloons for so long, using so many stage names, she hardly recognized her own. California held the promise of a new start, and a life which included her sister.

Rachell sucked in a quivering breath. “Lord, give me strength.”

The whispered words no sooner left her lips than a man’s hand clamped over her mouth. Her startled gasp was trapped behind the warm, calloused palm. The man’s other arm banded her waist and lifted her bare feet off the floor. He silently backed toward the open window—the window he must have just come in through.

She tried to jab her elbows into his sides, but his firm hold prevented even the slightest movement.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m here to help you.”

Don’t be afraid? The man had just crept up on her like a warm fog. The heat of his body easily penetrated the thin bed sheet.

His grip on her waist shifted, spinning her around while he kept one hand over her mouth.

Hard silver eyes locked with hers. Fear shivered through Rachell as she looked at the man towering over her. Dark stubble shadowed his strong jaw.

“You are Rachell Carlson, aren’t you?” His eyes narrowed with growing skepticism.

His hand still latched over her mouth, she did her best to nod.

“I’m going to release you, but I’m warning you, if you scream, we’ll both likely end up with a bullet in our bellies.”

His fingers eased away from her lips.

“I’m Rachell Carlson,” she wheezed, her lungs straining for a full breath.

“Uh-huh,” he said, the deep rumble of his voice barely above a whisper. “Then you’ll know who sent me here to fetch you.”

“My sister.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Last name?”

“Coleburn,” she replied without hesitation.

The stranger cursed under his breath, filling her nose with an unexpected sweet scent. Apples. Before she could question his response, he took a step back and jerked the sheet away from her body with one swift tug. “Let’s get…holy…”

Rachell lunged forward and yanked the linen from his grasp. “They took my clothes,” she choked out, quickly covering herself.

“I see that.” He stared at the bed linen as though trying to penetrate the white barrier.

Rachell assured herself the dim lighting of the bedroom had concealed her brief nudity, but when he continued to stand there, stiff as a board, her skin began to sizzle with embarrassment. Spiteful women were always quick to comment on her scrawny frame. “Mr., um?”

“Jed.”

The single spoken syllable fell from his lips with the weight of a boulder. His eyes moved slowly up to her face. Another shudder claimed her body. She didn’t know if it was the lamplight reflected in the pale shade of gray or the intensity of his gaze, but his eyes held her captive, preventing her from even drawing breath. She lowered her gaze and another chill seized her spine.

The man could have been a shadow, a very large and masculine shadow. His shoulder-length hair was as black as the hat pulled low on his brow and the clothes clinging to his muscular frame. Only his piercing eyes and knee-high moccasins contrasted with his dark appearance. Every hard line of his body spoke of danger.

“Mr. Jed, what are—”

“It’s just Jed. Which one of the jackals downstairs put all those bruises on you?”

“Stewart Sumner,” she said, cinching her sheet a bit tighter. Stewart had more on his mind than taking her dress tonight. Thank goodness she’d convinced him she wasn’t worth the trouble. “He tried to…h-he tried…”

Jed Doulan felt an odd tug in his chest as he watched the petite woman tremble while tripping over her words. His body tensed, stifling an urge to pull the young auburn-haired beauty into a comforting embrace.

“I understand,” he cut in.

He’d seen the filthy lecher carrying a pile of scarlet silks and ruffles out of this room when he entered the saloon. He’d heard Sumner’s lewd comments when he’d joined his cronies at a poker table. Judging by the four bloody scratch marks on Sumner’s left cheek, she’d put up quite a fight during the removal of her dress. But, hell, he hadn’t expected her to be buck naked. Damn if he hadn’t seen a boot-print on her slender hip.

Anger lashed through him. No woman deserved such treatment. Jed’s gaze returned to her large green eyes. Relief had replaced the fear he’d first seen in them.

Jed felt no such relief. The nagging tension in his back told him he had just stepped into a hornet’s nest of trouble, and this was the first of many stings to come. At first glance, he would have sworn he’d tracked down the wrong red-haired woman. This little temptress certainly didn’t look to be the widowed boardinghouse keeper he’d come to retrieve.

Buck’s wife was a short redhead in her early forties and had said her sister was younger, but this woman didn’t look a day over twenty.

“How old are you?” he demanded.

Emerald eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“Your age,” he demanded in a low tone. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna haul the wrong woman clear to California.”

Her posture stiffened. “I’m twenty-three.”

“And what was the name of that boardinghouse you told your sister you ran in Kansas?” He and Buck had peeked inside the carpetbag they’d found on the train. Only one type of boardinghouse had a hostess who wore such scanty red dresses.

Her eyes narrowed until they were slits of green.

Lord save me, she’s gonna be a feisty one.

“I am Elizabeth Coleburn’s sister!” she all but shouted.

“Lower your voice, you fire-haired imp, unless you plan on walking out of here alone.”

Her expression instantly clouded with worry. She tightened her hold on the sheet and took a step toward the window.

She was in a tangle, all right. Clear up to her pretty green eyes. He aimed to find out why. Again, his gaze inadvertently moved across the white linen.

Hell’s fire. The impression of her smooth rosy skin had been burned into his mind. He’d never seen a woman blush clear to her toes. Damn if it hadn’t been a beautiful sight.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” he assured her. “But you’ll have to do exactly as I say. For starters, tie that blasted sheet around you so it won’t be falling off.”

She did as he said, tying it tightly around the gentle swell of her chest. “Mr. Jed—”

She reared back, clutching the linen as he stepped forward. Jed stopped. “My name is Jed, and I won’t harm you, Rachell.”

“You believe me then?”

Aside from being too young and too damn attractive, she’d given him the one answer that mattered. She was Buck’s sister-in-law. As such, he’d do anything necessary to protect her.

Damnation, but he had thought his days of bloodshed were over. “Yes, I believe you. The man downstairs with the cat scratches, he’s the one who’s after you?”

She shook her head.

Why wasn’t he surprised? “Who’s after you?”

“His father, Maxwell Sumner. I worked for him in Missouri.”

Oh, now she’s from Missouri instead of Kansas. “Hold on to that sheet.”

“But—”

“Hush,” he ordered, lifting her into his arms.

She trembled against him. Jed’s muscles tightened in an unexpected lash of desire.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve seen more curves on a fence post!

The internal blaspheme did nothing to ease the heated stir of his body.

“You’ll have to hold on to me.” He lifted his foot to the rim of the window. Her body went rigid as his knee moved between her thighs. He wrapped her stiff arms around his neck then let go of her entirely, forcing her to cling to him. He pulled them up and through the open window. A low groan escaped his throat as she coiled her legs around his waist and pressed her face against his neck.

Buck, you’re gonna owe me dearly for this one.

Stepping out onto the slanted awning, he banded his arms around Rachell’s shivering body and concentrated on keeping his balance. He took broad steps, trusting only the wide-spaced beams to support his weight. Wood creaked beneath his feet with each slow advance.

Delilah ain’t gonna like this, he thought as he reached for the open window emitting a red glow and the heavy scent of perfume and smoke. The saloon owner had just harped on at him about men like the four downstairs and how they were ruining her business by bringing in their own girls. She’d been irate when he told her he planned to rescue the red-haired strumpet.

But he couldn’t ride off with Rachell wearing nothing but a sheet. He also needed to flush out the source of Rachell’s trouble. Stewart Sumner wasn’t likely to greet him in a diplomatic fashion.

The moment his feet touched the floor of Delilah’s room, Jed set her trembling body away from him.

“What in tarnation?” Delilah cried out.

Rachell stiffened. Her wide eyes locked on Delilah still lying on her bed, cheroot in hand.

“Keep your voice down,” Jed grumbled.

“You weren’t worried aboutme makin’ noise just a bit ago.” Delilah rose from the bed and flicked blond hair over her bare shoulder. Glaring at Rachell, she thrust out her bosom which swelled from her well-fitted corset.

Jed bit back a smile. It had been a long time since his wild weekends with this particular woman. He’d been damn lucky when he’d spotted her tonight in this saloon, but he didn’t dispute Delilah’s bluff.

“Why’d you bring her in here?” she demanded.

“She needs a dress.”

“So go buy her one!”

“Delilah.”

She took a leisurely drag from her smoke, and scanned Rachell from head to toe. “It’ll cost you, and I ain’t givin’ up none of my nice silks.”

“Give her a damn shift for all I care, just so she’s not stark naked.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Delilah,” Rachell cut in. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would prefer a dress. Any dress.”

Jed was stunned by Rachell’s steady tone and charming smile as she held Delilah’s hostile gaze. Damn if the woman didn’t manage to look dignified, standing there in nothing but a sheet, her long hair a wild mess of tangles.

“Ain’t got nothin’ that’ll fit ya,” Delilah retorted. “Can’t imagine you draw much business. You got the build of a ten-year-old boy.”

The color already staining Rachell’s cheeks heightened. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’ve not been blessed with your splendid figure,” she said softly, shocking Jed to his core. “I noticed your gown of lavender silk when I was brought in.” She smiled prettily. “A stunning gown, and quite flattering.”

Delilah’s face lit up like a Roman candle.

Well, I’ll be damned. The imp was a charmer, all right.

Walking toward Delilah’s night table, Jed took a thin rolled cigar from her tin. “You gonna give her a dress or not?” he asked, striking a match.

“I suppose.” Delilah crouched in front of a wooden chest at the foot of her bed. “Here ya are, sugar.” She tossed a green calico skirt and waistcoat onto the bed. “Ain’t as fancy as the one you had on when you was brought in.”

“Thank you, Miss Delilah. This will be lovely.”

“Aw, hell,” Delilah said, waving her hand. “It ain’t nothin’.”

“I do appreciate your help.”

Intrigued by the sincerity he heard in her tone and saw in her eyes, Jed couldn’t pull his gaze away from Rachell. She doesn’t seem the uppity sort. Course, what did she have to be uppity about? He knew she had attended some eastern school for upperclass ladies, but a refined, well-educated whore was still a whore. Not that he held her profession against her. Some of the nicest women he knew were saloon girls, or had been for a time.

What he couldn’t tolerate was a liar. So far, none of the information she’d written in her letters to her sister had been truthful. “Enough with the sisterhood display. Put the damn thing on so we can get out of here.”

Rachell met his gaze. “Mr. Jed, will you kindly turn around?”

“Sure.” Flashing a slow smile, he turned his back to her.

Hearing the wisp of her sheet falling to the floor, his mind flooded with the image of her ivory skin. The small room seemed to amplify the sound of the rustling fabric as his mind visualized her delicate limbs slipping into the green garment.

Blazing hell. Think about something else!

Staring at the door, he finished his smoke in a few hard puffs. “You dressed yet?”

“Land sakes, Jed,” cried Delilah. “Who stomped on yer tail?”

He spun around just as Rachell began to button the roomy waistcoat. With two strides he was in front of her. He flicked his cheroot into an ashtray and reached out, brushing her shaky hands aside.

“Woman, I don’t have all night.” He quickly fastened the row of small black buttons, all the while wondering what in the hell he was doing. Finishing, he looked up at her stunned expression. “Just so you know, there’s bound to be gunfire. I prefer not to have you shrieking in my ear. Hold still and keep quiet and we might get out of here lead-free.”

“We’re not leaving through the window?”

Her face lit with fear, and Jed grimaced. “To flush out the vermin you’ve got on your tail, I have to leave a good trail of bait. Sneaking out the back like a coward ain’t gonna get that done.”

Turning away from her, he pulled a pouch of coins from his britches pocket. “Delilah, I’m obliged for all your help. You take care of yourself,” he said as he stuffed the money into the top of her corset.

“I always do, Jed. If you ever get back this way, be sure to stop in for a visit. It’s always a pleasure. That is, if you’re still an unclaimed man,” she added, glancing at Rachell.

“Since when has that ever mattered to you?” he asked. He pulled her against him and planted a firm kiss on her mouth.

She laughed and pushed him away. “Sugar, you know it don’t, but it would matter to you.”

As he turned toward Rachell, she cast him a look of pure fire, hot as her flaming hair.

Without warning, he grabbed Rachell and strode toward the door. She shrieked as he hoisted her dainty frame over his shoulder. “I said no screaming,” he reminded her as he pulled the door open then slammed it shut behind him.

“I can walk on my own two legs!” She twisted in his grip and jabbed her pointed elbows into his back.

“I won’t have you running off or stepping in front of a bullet.” Keeping his arm wrapped tightly around her backside, he descended the stairs.

As expected, the four men sitting at the poker table near the staircase spotted Rachell and jumped to their feet. Hopefully their speed with a side iron matched the meager mentalities he’d witnessed earlier. He hadn’t had a chance to assess the skinny blond kid now standing at the table. He’d been tending their horses when Jed had first entered the saloon.

“Mister, jus’ what the hell do you think yer doin’?” shouted the man who’d been tagged by Rachell’s sharp claws.

Sumner. “Takin’ the lady back to her family, where she belongs,” Jed said as he reached the bottom step.

“The hell you are!” Sumner drew his gun. Jed was faster, dropping Sumner and firing two more consecutive shots. The men on either side of him fell to the floor, their guns clattering on the ground beside them.

Surrounded by silence and the scent of gun smoke, Jed stared at the thin kid left standing at the table.

Every bit Jed’s height of six foot three, the kid couldn’t be older than fifteen. Yet he’d been the only one with enough sense not to draw his guns.

Rachell straightened, forcing Jed to ease her a little down his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his skin. Jed remained motionless at the base of the stairs, holding the kid’s steady gaze.

“Shuck those guns, son, and hit the floor. Unless you plan to join those sorry bastards in hell.”

The kid didn’t flinch, looking him straight in the eyes without a trace of fear. Don’t make me shoot you, kid, Jed silently pleaded, certain the lanky lad could be a lethal adversary if he chose to be.

“You really takin’ Miss Nightingale to her family?” the boy asked, his pale-blue eyes flickering at Rachell.

“I am.”

Relief rushed through Jed as the boy tossed his guns onto the table then stretched out on the floor as ordered. Jed’s gaze swept the silent, smoke-filled room. In what he figured to be a routine drill for a town like Weaver, all had dropped for cover at the first sound of gunfire. His gaze settled on the bartender standing behind the bar, his shotgun in hand. “Sam. You plan to use that against me?”

“Hell, no, Jed. I’s makin’ sure no one else took a mind to join the fight. Yer still fast as a snakebite.”

“A snake headed straight to hell,” he mumbled.

Rachell tightened her grip, keeping her face pressed against his neck, clearly not about to give up her hold until she was out of the saloon. “You got a name, boy?” Jed asked, kicking the kid’s boot.

“Juniper Barns, sir,” the kid called out, keeping all four limbs stretched wide and his nose to the floor.

“Tell your boss Miss Nightingale is no longer in his possession. If he has a problem with that, he’s welcome to come and protest the matter in Shadow Canyon. Sam’ll even give him directions. Ain’t that right, Sam?”

“Sure thing, Jed. I’ll be glad to point the way to any man fool enough to go chasing shadows.”

More than a dozen pairs of eyes snapped up in his direction. Jed’s jaw flexed with tension. Folks sure had a knack for remembering tragedy.

His gaze dropped back to the kid. “Juniper, if you plan to live long enough to see hair grow on your chin, I suggest you use better judgment when choosing who you ride with.” He holstered his gun then grabbed a pair of red leather boots from the pile of scarlet silks on the table. “Sorry about the mess, Sam,” he said, backing toward the door.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Jed eased his hold on Rachell and released a hard sigh of relief. Rachell’s tight grip didn’t relax one bit as he carried her toward his horse.

“Loosen your grip, lady. I need air.”

Rachell pulled in a deep breath and eased away from the bend of his neck, the sound of gunfire still ringing in her ears.

“You killed them?” she asked, her voice shaking from the fear still ripping through her body.

“I wasn’t shootin’ daisies.”

He lifted her back over his shoulder like a sack of oats and swung into the saddle atop a large tan horse. Before she could protest his manhandling, he grabbed her waist and brought her down hard on his lap with her bare feet hanging to one side. A sharp cry escaped her throat as her hip hit against the saddle horn.

“Ah, hell. I plain forgot about that bruise,” he said in a shockingly gentle tone. She gasped as an even gentler hand smoothed across her aching hip. “I’ve got a coat.”

He took a dark range coat from behind his saddle and placed it between her hip and the hard leather.

A blush burned beneath Rachell’s skin. Lord above! He’d seen her entire body.

“You all right?” he asked a moment later as he guided his horse down the dusty, moonlit road.

“Am I?” she asked in a weak voice, feeling completely uncertain and wondering what had happened to the callous man who had carried her out of the saloon.

“We’re both alive. Sounds all right to me.”

Rachell glanced up at her rescuer. His softened expression stunned her. She noted too that he was older than she’d first assumed. He’d removed his hat, and his shadow of a beard and long hair were as black as a midnight sky, the bright moonlight shone on a touch of gray streaking out from his temples. He smiled, crinkling the tanned skin at the outer corners of his eyes.

His smile broadened, spreading charm across what moments ago had appeared to be a face carved from stone. White teeth flashed in the moonlight.

He was clean. She recalled how his skin had smelled of soap, a rarity among men. Could this be the same man who had just hauled her from that filthy saloon?

“Sugar, you plannin’ on giving me a thank-you kiss?”

It’s him, she thought, releasing a huff as she diverted her gaze. A handsome devil with all the manners of a jackass.

“So much for gratitude,” he retorted. “Maybe later.”

“Certainly not.” Real fear raced through her. Saints alive! She was riding off into the dark wilderness with this gunslinger. What type of man had her sister sent after her?

“I reckon you’re out of my price range anyhow.”

“I am not a—”

“Tighten your lip until we’re clear of this town.” He urged his horse into a faster pace.

Startled, Rachell clutched at his chest.

“Lady, there’s hair and skin under that shirt.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, releasing her hold.

“I won’t drop you.” His arm wrapped around her waist as he took the reins into one hand. His large palm slid across her side and covered the flat of her stomach. “Is that better?”

Lord above! No, it wasn’t better. Had she been able to find her voice, she would have told him so.

“We can slow our pace just as soon as we get some ground between us and Weaver.”

After a half hour of riding, Jed was growing increasingly annoyed. They were traveling at a nice easy pace, yet she continued to squirm and shift about, apparently searching for just the right spot to rest her tender backside.

“Sit still, goddamn it!” he finally shouted.

“I beg your pardon, but your lap is far from comfortable.”

“Yeah?” he quipped. “Well, you keep wrigglin’ your backside, and my lap is only bound to get harder.”

She stiffened like an iron rod, sitting perfectly still.

That did the trick, he thought. It obviously hadn’t been her intention to aggravate him, but he hadn’t been exaggerating. Her squirming about had quickly become slow torture.

Hell. He knew she was going to be a whole heap of trouble the moment he and Buck stepped onto that train and found her abandoned carpetbag. Elizabeth had become hysterical when they’d informed her that her sister had been escorted off the train by two men in Lake’s Crossing. Buck needed to stay with his wife, which was just as well. His best friend had helped him out plenty of times in the past, but stalking was not one of Buck’s finer skills.

Walter Buck Coleburn couldn’t sneak up on a deaf blind man, and Jed had a hunch the men who’d escorted Mrs. Rachell Carlson off the train were neither deaf nor blind. As usual, he’d been right. He wasn’t about to lead Satan’s army back to his ranch. Rachell wouldn’t be stepping foot in California until he was sure she was free of trouble.

A grumbling sound distracted Jed from his thoughts. When it sounded again, he grinned, realizing it was Rachell’s stomach.

“You tryin’ to tell me you’re hungry?”

“How kind of you to notice,” she said in a dull tone.

“It’s either that or there’s a grizzly on our tail.”

Rachell glanced up at the man above her, surprised by his unexpected show of humor. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Somehow, his soft expression increased her uneasiness. She wished those chiseled features would return to stone.

“What?” he asked, holding her gaze.

Rachell shook her head, annoyed that she’d been caught openly staring at him, again. She felt a jolt of alarm as he tugged on the reins. “Why are you stopping?”

“Relax. You’re safe with me.” He lifted her from his lap and gently eased her down. She shivered as her bare feet touched the damp ground.

“Sage could use a rest,” he said, dismounting. “I have some dried beef in my saddlebags, and I thought you might want your boots.”

“You have my boots?”

“Red leather’s hard to miss. I grabbed ‘em off the table while I was chattin’ with Juniper.”

She’d been such a bundle of nerves, unable to bear the sight of more bloodshed, she probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d taken the piano. She hadn’t even thought about young Juniper being left alone in that town. He’d been so brave to tag along with the others, doing his best to protect her. “Do you think Juniper will be all right?”

Jed pulled her boots out from under a rope tied around the pack behind his saddle. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling sympathetic toward your captors?”

“I would hardly refer to Juniper as one of my captors, Mr. Jed. He’s just a boy. June isn’t like the others. He’s not bad.”

“If he doesn’t change his line of work, he soon will be,” Jed said with dark certainty as he held out her shoes.

“Only my boots?” she asked with a ring of disappointment.

The coldness came back into his eyes, firming his features. “I had you in one hand and my gun in the other.”

She avoided his harsh glare as she accepted the boots. “Thank you. I didn’t intend to sound ungrateful.”

“Just put your boots on. I want to get as far from Weaver as I can before sunup. We won’t be making camp tonight.”

“The sooner we reach California, the better,” she said as she pulled on a boot. “I was eleven when I last saw my sister.” Sadness washed over Rachell like a winter chill as she recalled the day Elizabeth’s late husband had carted her off to California. Never knowing her mother, she’d been raised by Elizabeth and their housekeeper, Amity. Six months after her sister’s departure, their father had sent her away to boarding school.

For six years she’d lived at Miss Abigail’s Academy for Young Ladies. Six years of being an outcast, a dandelion in a garden of roses. Not a day had gone by that she hadn’t dreamed of returning to the farm and people she loved. When that day finally came, she’d returned home to nothing but a brick chimney stack surrounded by rubble, ruined crops, and the state torn apart by war, along with the family who’d given her up.

“I lost touch with Elizabeth during the war,” she said in a neutral tone, pushing the painful memories from her mind as she tugged on her second boot. “It was a miracle I managed to locate her. I had no idea her first husband had died or that she had remarried. A man came up to me after a show while I was working in Kansas and said he’d heard my last song once before, sung by a little redheaded woman in California as she hung out her wash.”

Securing her boot laces, Rachell smiled at the single stroke of good fortune she’d received in so many years. “He gave me the name of her husband’s horse ranch and Elizabeth and I have been exchanging letters for the past seven months. She was kind enough to find a job for me, at my request. Her husband’s nephew has a ranch not far from his. I only hope Mr. Darby hasn’t hired another housekeeper. I don’t wish to be a burden on my sister.”

“Ben hasn’t hired anyone else.”

Kneeling over her unlaced boot, Rachell looked up in sharp surprise. Jed stood beside his horse, his arms crossed over his wide chest as he stared down at her. She suddenly realized she’d been prattling on without regard to his presence.

His expressionless gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Just who is this man?

“You know Benjamin Darby?”

“Yes.”

“How was it that my sister came to hire you, Mr. Jed?”

“Your sister didn’t hire me. Buck’s a friend of mine.”

“Buck?”

“Your sister’s husband, Walter ‘Buck’ Coleburn. I volunteered to find you and bring you back safely. You’d make that job a whole lot easier if you’d be truthful with me.”

She dropped her laces and glared at him. “I’ve not said one untruthful word thus far.”

Jed grunted. “Why is Sumner after you?”

“I’ve been working in his establishment for the past four months. I knew he’d be angry when he discovered I’d left, but I never imagined he’d send men after me.”

“You worked in a brothel?”

“A saloon!”

“You’re a whore.”

She sucked in a hard breath before shouting, “I am not!”

Her sharp response surprised Jed. He hadn’t said it as an accusation or a question. Just the simple truth. Apparently, she wasn’t ready to be truthful.

She sprang to her feet, her posture stiff as a soldier’s, her expression as hard and lethal as a warrior ready for battle.

“I sing, Mr. Jed. Nothing more.”

“He hired all those men to fetch a songbird?” Jed shook his head. “I don’t buy it. You must have taken something of his or be something of his. You’re not his mistress?”

“No, I am not. Nor am I a thief. Maxwell knew I was intending to leave. He had gotten it into his mind that I was his woman and had tired of taking no for an answer.”

Jed knew there had to be more to the story than she was telling. He turned away from her harsh glare and mounted his horse. He held his hand out to help her up, but Rachell didn’t move a muscle.

“Comin’?” he asked when she continued to stall.

He couldn’t hold back a grin since she stomped toward him making some sort of growling sound. “Sugar, you can’t weigh a hundred pounds,” he said as he lifted her up and onto his lap. “If he wanted you, what was to stop him from taking you?”

“Titus.”

“What?”

“Titus. He’s been with me for the past five years. When I began to sing in saloons, he protected me from Sumner and others like him.”

Jed noted the distinct sadness in her tone as he urged Sage into motion. “I take it this Titus fellow is no longer around. Your boyfriend ran off?”

“He was a friend, not my boyfriend, and no, he did not run off. Maxwell Sumner had him killed.”

“If you’re so all-fire sure of that, why didn’t you just turn Sumner in to the law?”

“Because the sheriff of Mason County wasn’t about to investigate the murder of a black man. More than likely, he’s the one who shot Titus. Maxwell owns the law in that town.”

The words he’s been with me took on a sour meaning for Jed. “I don’t suppose Titus received wages for his protective services?”

“Half of anything I earned.”

Jed’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That’s awfully generous for a hired guard.”

She shifted, lifting her hate-filled gaze. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Are you deaf? Titus was more to me than a hired guard. He was the closest friend I’ve ever had. And now he’s dead, because of me.” She twisted, putting her back to him.

“Here,” he said, holding out the large piece of dried beef he’d taken from his saddlebags. She snatched it with a mumbled thank-you.

Jed guided Sage through the moonlit countryside, silently contemplating her story. He wasn’t a man easily swayed by succulent pouting lips and water-filled eyes, but something about Rachell pulled at the hollows of his chest.

A droplet of moisture hit his hand, telling him the glaze of tears he’d seen in her eyes was cascading down her fair cheeks. Yet she didn’t make a sound, refusing to brush the wet trail from her face and draw attention to her emotional release.

Damnation. He didn’t know what to make of this woman. She was lousy at playing the part of a damsel in distress.

He gave himself a silent word of caution. Imps were cunning little creatures, known for their mischief and trouble.

Chapter Two

The man is a barbarian!

He hadn’t even bothered to wake her before dumping her from his lap, sending her stumbling forward then staggering backward. Disoriented and unable to catch her balance, Rachell fell back onto her sore bottom in a flutter of oversized green calico.

She had never fully appreciated the padding of petticoats until now when she was without them. Her thin skirt offered no protection against the hard ground.

Ignoring Jed’s mumbled words of apology, she gazed about the small town, making no effort to rise. Good Lord. How long had she been asleep? As her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she realized the town was actually a cluster of saloons built inside a narrow mountain crevasse. “Where are we?”

“Charlesville.” Jed stepped down from his saddle. “Get off your butt. We have business to take care of.”

Rachell glared up at the man towering over her with his hands on his hips. Jed turned away and tethered his horse to a hitching rail six feet beyond the double doors of a saloon. Rachell barely suppressed a groan as she stood. The solid, unmoving ground had begun to feel quite good beneath her. She pushed her hair away from her face and gasped as Jed moved behind her, wrapping his hands around the long mass of tangles.

“You need a horse,” he said as he tied her hair back with his handkerchief. “Can you ride?”

“Yes, I can ride.” She stepped away from him the second his hands left her hair.

Jed ignored her inquisitive gaze. Hell if he knew what had possessed him to take the liberty of tying her hair back. Must be my lack of sleep. He’d ridden the entire night, intermittently looking down at the woman sleeping in his arms.

She’d fought hard to stay awake, but he imagined she hadn’t slept much, if at all, in the past few days. Once she’d lost the battle and drifted to sleep, she had slept sounder than he thought anyone possibly could on horseback. She’d curved around him like a warm blanket, damn near crawling inside his shirt.

She’d been pretty in the moonlight, but in the warm glow of the early-morning sun, she’d been downright sensual. Every soft sigh that left her throat as she nuzzled against his warmth had torn at his flesh. When they’d finally reached Charlesville he’d been so desperate to get her off him, he’d simply shoved her from his lap, realizing too late, she’d still been pretty much asleep. He was lucky she’d landed on her butt and hadn’t been hurt.

“We’ll find you a horse then get you into some decent riding clothes,” he said as he walked past her.

“Unless there’s food included in this plan of yours, I’m liable to eat the horse rather than ride it.”

“And food,” he agreed.

“I’m starving.”

“First we’re getting a horse.”

“Food,” she insisted, coming up behind him.

“Horse,” he countered and increased his stride.

“You’re intentionally being disagreeable because you’ve made up your mind not to like me!”

Jed stopped, turning back at the sound of her sharp voice.

Concentrating on keeping up with his long-legged strides, Rachell nearly ran into the rigid surface of his body. She skidded to a stop and met his hard gaze with one of her own.

“It doesn’t matter a whit whether I like you or not,” Jed said matter-of-factly. “You’re Buck’s sister-in-law and I gave my word I’d bring you back safe and sound. Starving you wouldn’t rightly be to my benefit, now would it?”

“Uh, Jed?” called a shaky voice from behind Rachell.

She spun around to find a tall blond man standing behind her with his gun drawn and aimed straight at Jed’s chest.

“Howdy, Emmit,” Jed greeted in a casual tone. “Thought that was you headed this way.”

Rachell’s gaze whipped back to Jed. His lips eased into a smile as though the man had extended his hand in welcome and not a loaded gun.

“Nice shiny badge you have on your vest,” Jed continued in his calm voice. “Who was crazy enough to make you a sheriff?”

“Uh…Judge Widell. Real sorry ‘bout this, Jed, but it seems I have to place you under arrest.”

Jed’s expression stoned over. “Tell me Widell is not in Colorado.”

The young sheriff shifted uneasily. “Wish I could. You gonna come peacefully or…you gonna shoot me dead?”

Rachell and the timid lawman jumped as a burst of unexpected laughter rumbled from Jed’s chest.

“Hell, Emmit. I hope that’s not the line you use to apprehend all your criminals.”

“No, sir,” he said with a slight grin. “I know you ain’t a criminal, as well as I know you could drop me with your sixshooter or the blade sheathed at your waist before I could pull this damn trigger. Judge Widell insisted I approach you armed and escort you over to his courtroom.”

“Then you better unarm me before you shoot the lady by mistake.”

Stunned, Rachell watched Jed lift his arms into the air, surrendering without protest. “You’re just going to let him arrest you?” The insufferable rogue had the nerve to smile. “I can’t shoot

Emmit. We go way back.”

“You haven’t even asked the charge!”

“Murder, ma’am,” replied the sheriff, tucking Jed’s gun into his waistband. He lifted a long menacing looking knife from a scabbard behind Jed’s holster.

“What? My sister sent a wanted criminal after me?”

“Jed ain’t no criminal, ma’am,” the sheriff said in a firm tone she hadn’t thought him capable of. “I’m guessin’ there’s jus’ some confusion that needs clearin’ up. Jed wouldn’t kill a man unless there’s due cause.”

“Do you often find cause?” she demanded. Exhaustion and hunger gave way to a wave of fury. “Just how many men have you killed?”

“Only three in the past twenty-three hours.”

“You mean…but how…that was only last night.”

“Word spreads like wildfire. Ain’t that so, Emmit?”

“Yes, sir. ‘Specially when there’s talk of Shadow Canyon.

Ma’am, you’ll need to come along with us.”

“Get your hands off me.” Rachell’s palm met the back of the sheriff’s hand with a loud snap as he reached for her arm.

“Ouch! I was just tryin’ to escort you—”

“I can manage without your assistance, thank you.”

Jed couldn’t fight his smile as Rachell stomped toward him, her face flushed with anger. He was beginning to see why Sumner had sent four men after this one tiny woman.

“You know this judge?” she asked, moving close beside him.

“Yep.”

“Please tell me he’s another friend of yours.”

“Not hardly. Widell’s a circuit judge from hell.”

A deep sense of dread washed over Rachell as she watched all the warmth drain from Jed’s face. He took her by the elbow and guided her toward the double swinging doors.

Lord, she hated saloons.

A rumble of conversation dropped to low murmurs as she stepped inside. The smell of smoke and whisky was enough to make her gag. She was surprised to see over a dozen men seated at tables scattered across one side of the dimly lit room, many with whisky-filled tumblers sitting in front of them.

Shouts of greeting rang out when Jed strode in behind her. Jed acknowledged a few by name. He followed Sheriff Emmit to a table a few feet in front of the bar. Placed atop the bar was what she assumed to be a makeshift court bench. An elderly judge resided behind the block of polished wood. His chair, placed upon some sort of platform, set him above everyone in the room.

His face a network of folds and wrinkles, the man looked to be a full hundred years old. A pair of wire spectacles sat upon his bulbous nose. His fingers laced across his chest stood out against his ebony robe like long, white bones, lapping over knobby knuckles. A few remaining strands of white hair swerved around his head. The elderly judge looked down at her with squinted eyes as she followed Jed to the table at the center of the saloon.

A large burly man stood in front of the bar with his arms folded across his thick chest. He nodded, his lips showing the hint of a grin as Jed stepped up to the table. “Howdy, Jed.”

“Buster,” Jed replied. Rachell stared up at the man beside her in disbelief. Did he know everyone in all of Colorado?

“Jed Doulan,” croaked the judge. “Must be near fifteen years since I’ve seen yer mug. Should’ a known it was too good to last.”

So the ogre does have a last name!

“What’s this, the sixth time I’ve seen you before my court?”

“Judge Widell,” Jed responded in a dry tone. “I believe it is. Figured you’d have put down stakes by now, or did you run out of cattle rustlers and horse thieves to hang in Texas?”

“Stakes? Why should I limit myself to one stuffy courthouse when there’s dens of sin all over this land needin’ my justice? Trouble is, I seem to find you in every one of ‘em. I knew you was a hellion the first time I laid eyes on you in Texas.”

Rachell watched the two men exchange a quick smile, yet Jed had implied they weren’t friends.

“Damn shame what happened to that little squaw of yers. You did the world a favor by huntin’ down that pack of vermin. Don’t suppose I’m seein’ you today under those type of circumstances?”

“No.”

Rachell peered up at the man beside her. His little squaw had obviously met some horrible fate, yet Jed’s staunch expression never wavered. Cold gray eyes stared straight ahead.

“Whelp, you and the lady know why you’re here, so let’s get this started. Buster!”

The burly man walked forward and held out a large Bible.

“If you’ll each place your right hand on the Bible,” Buster instructed.

Rachell pulled in a deep breath as she lifted her shaky hand and placed it next to Jed’s.

“Do you swear before God to tell the truth?”

“I do,” she said in unison with Jed.

Judge Widell leaned forward, peering down at them like a beady-eyed vulture. “You sure got some bigwig stirred up with yer business in Weaver. He’s harpin’ murder to every rail-town in the area. Seems you shot his boy. This Sumner feller’s also claimin’ you kidnapped his fiancée.”

“I am not his fiancée!”

Judge Widell didn’t pay any attention to Rachell, but kept his eyes on Jed.

“Are you tellin’ me all this ain’t on account of yer lady, there?” Judge Widell continued, motioning toward Rachell.

“Mrs. Carlson is not my lady.”

A white eyebrow rose high into his forehead. “Is that so? She was sure fussin’ at you like she was yer lady.”

The room echoed with low chuckles as he turned his gaze toward Rachell. “Missy, you got petticoats on under that skirt?”

The skin of Rachell’s face sizzled as Jed released a low groan. “I, uh—” She glanced up at Jed, but he offered her no assistance, keeping his focus on the judge.

“Spit it out, missy. Either you do or you don’t.”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Jed, what are you doin’ ridin’ around with a woman on yer lap who ain’t even wearin’ petticoats? Where’s her husband?”

“She’s a widow. He died in the War Between the States.”

“Blue or gray?” the judge barked.

“Gray?” Jed finally glanced down at her.

“Yes. He was a lieutenant in the Confederate army.”

“Honorable, honorable,” the judge said, nodding his head. “Lost too many good men on both sides. Let’s move on to the charges at hand. Three counts of murder, destruction—”

“Now wait just a damn minute,” Jed roared. “I no more murdered—”

“No one raises their voice in my courtroom but me!”

“Damn it—”

“One more profane word out of you, Jed, and I’ll have you tossed into jail and leave you there. Have you forgotten the month you’n yer injun’ friend spent behind bars for such behavior in my courtroom? You shot three men dead. The charge is murder.”

Rachell watched Jed’s muscles flex against the strained fabric of his shirt in his obvious attempt to control his temper.

“I can see you’re itchin’ to tell yer side of the story, so let’s jump right to it. I suppose you’re gonna say you fired that side iron of yers in self-defense?”

“Damn straight!”

Widell narrowed his eyes. “A Yes, Yer Honor will suffice. So you did nothin’ to provoke those poor dead souls?”

“I suppose they weren’t too pleased by my taking Mrs. Carlson, but she gave her full consent to leave the premises under my protection. I didn’t draw my weapon ‘til I saw them go for theirs. I’d have been just as willing to leave without a ruckus.”

“But y’all knew that wudn’t gonna happen. Didn’t ya?”

Rachell glanced up at Jed who only shrugged his wide shoulders.

“If she ain’t yer lady, why are you blazin’ yer gun for her?”

“She’s Buck Coleburn’s sister-in-law. I came to escort her safely to California.”

Judge Widell’s face lit with a wide smile, lifting a web of wrinkles. “A woman finally branded that ol’ horse peddler?”

“Yep.”

“Well good for him! Ain’t nothin’ better for a man’s soul than a good woman.” He paused, leaning forward onto his elbows. “So, yer takin’ the little lady to California then?”

“That’s what I said,” Jed seethed in a tone of clear impatience.

Rachell had the impression that Judge Widell was enjoying Jed’s riled state.

“I suppose you’ll be rushing her to California straight away?” he said, peering over the top of his spectacles.

“No.”

Rachell’s head snapped up. “No? But—”

“Hush yer mouth, missy. When I want to hear from you I’ll address you directly.” Judge Widell reclined in his chair, a slow smile stretching his lips as he returned his attention to Jed. “So, the pretty lady has trouble on her tail, does she?”

“That seems to be the case.” Jed glared down at her with his wintery eyes. Rachell glared right back. It wasn’t her fault!

“Usually is with the pretty ones,” the judge commented. “So, just where do you plan to take the lady?”

“Nevada.”

“Uh-huh. You could wait here for ‘em. I’ll see that you get a fair trial after the killin’ and be happy to serve swift justice to those who go against you and manage to keep livin’.”

Rachell sucked in a gasp. She could have sworn he’d just given Jed permission to kill and offered assistance with the leftovers. He was visibly agitated when Jed declined the offer.

“Suit yerself,” he snipped. “Is she a lady of a respectable stature?”

“She claims to be.”

“Uh-huh.” Judge Widell skimmed her over, his expression reflecting Jed’s skepticism. Rachell told herself it didn’t matter what any of them thought.

“So, you’ll be traveling alone,” the judge added.

There was a distinct change in Jed’s posture. His stance widened, his strong body seemed coiled to strike as though someone had pulled a gun on him. “What are you getting at, Judge?”

“Just gettin’ the facts straight so I can make a fair judgment. So you’re claimin’ you fired yer gun in self-defense. You got collaboration to that effect?”

“Mrs. Carlson will attest to the fact. You won’t find a soul in Weaver who’ll say different.”

“All right then, self-defense it is. As for disturbing the peace and destruction of property, yer fine’s three hundred dollars.”

Rachell sucked in a sharp breath. Three hundred dollars!

“Fair enough.”

Shocked, she looked up at Jed’s relaxed expression. Hopefully he had three hundred dollars. She didn’t have a dollar to her name.

“Five dollars for the marriage license,” the judge said quickly, “and we’re done.”

“Marriage license?” shrieked Rachell.

“Wait just a damn minute!” Jed roared simultaneously.

“You know the law, Jed. She’s an unchaperoned lady traveling in the presence of a man.”

“We’re not in Texas and she’s a widow!”

Judge Widell stood, shouting over them. “Defendant is found innocent on all counts of murder, by the powers invested in me I now pronounce you man and wife!” He rapped his gavel. “Court adjourned!”

Rachell suddenly felt dizzy. “This can’t be legal!”

“Damn it, Widell! You have no cause to—”

“I’m old, not blind, Jed! I watched you ride into this town. I saw the way you was lookin’ at her before you dumped her in the dirt. You ought to be thankful I’m thinkin’ of yer soul.”

His words reduced Jed’s protest to muffled curses. Rachell gaped up at him. Surely not! The man couldn’t stand her.

Buster strode toward them and placed a document on the table.

“If you want to ride out of this town with the lady, you’ll sign the paper,” said Judge Widell.

Jed held the judge’s gaze for a long, silent moment before he took the pen from Buster. He scribbled his name onto the bottom of the marriage document then held the writing quill out to her. “Sign the damn paper.”

Dear Lord, she did not want to be married to this man. But she supposed a temporary bind didn’t really matter. After all, she’d already spent a year of her life in a paper-bound marriage.

“My gun and my blade,” she heard Jed say to the sheriff as she signed her name.

“Here’s how it’s gonna work,” called Widell. “If you can get that pretty redhead to California without consummatin’ the marriage, you’ll have no trouble gettin’ an annulment. Although, if I’s a bettin’ man, I’d wager yer married for life, Jed Doulan.”

Laughter erupted throughout the now crowded saloon. Rachell was hauled up and slung over Jed’s wide shoulder. “Put me down,” she shouted, trying to ignore the lewd comments following them from the farce of a courtroom.

“Button your lip, wife.”

He swung into his saddle, still holding her like a sack of potatoes.

“I am not your wife! Put me down!”

His hands clamped around her waist as he brought her down onto his lap. “I swear, woman, if you don’t shut that—”

She slammed her fists against his chest. “I will not be tossed about like a sack of oats!”

“You better get control of those hands before I hog-tie you and throw you over the back of this saddle.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Rachell froze as her gaze settled on his fierce expression. He looked mad enough to do that and worse. She hoped he didn’t see the fear that spiked through her at the sight of his cold eyes. “Why aren’t we going to California?” she asked, annoyed that her voice was soft as a whisper.

“I know trouble when it’s biting me in the ass,” he said as he urged his horse into motion. “I’ll be damned if I’m taking it back to my ranch.”

“Your ranch?”

“The Double D. The Darby and Doulan Ranch. Ben is my partner. He has two young boys and his wife recently had a baby. They don’t need your trouble. You won’t step foot onto our place ‘til I’m sure you’re not being followed.”

“You can’t—”

Jed reined his horse to a hard stop. Unrelenting eyes glared down at her. “Lady, let’s get somethin’ straight. I’m in charge of this rescue operation. I can do anything I damn well please.”

“What about the horse and clothes? Food! You said—”

“I changed my mind. I’m getting out of this damn town before anything else goes wrong.”

Try to do someone a favor and get saddled with a wife!

The scenario was all too familiar. How many times can a man be wed against his will in one lifetime?

For Jed, that total had just hit twice in his thirty-nine years. The marriage he’d blindly walked into a lifetime ago suddenly seemed as though it had happened only yesterday. He’d been nineteen when he’d tracked down the two Indians who’d jumped his friends in their sleep, robbing them of all but their boots and drawers. He’d been amused to discover Buck and Tom had been hog-tied and shystered by a ten-year-old Ute Indian boy and his eighteen-year-old sister.

Raised by a Cherokee and able to speak a few Indian dialects, Jed learned that Running Bear and Malika were trying to get home after escaping from a rival tribe. Had he even suspected that their father would give him the hand of the very daughter he’d brought home in appreciation for their safe return, he wouldn’t have escorted them into their camp.

Before he had a firm handle on their language and what was happening, he’d been shoved into a teepee with his pretty young bride. And there’d been damn little either of them could do about it, without bringing shame upon Malika and insulting her father.

In the three years they spent traveling between the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevadas they’d had their enjoyable moments, but in all that time, she’d never been truly happy with him. Jed was certain he had loved Malika. He respected her courage and strength. He’d spent three years trying to prove his worthiness of her love, as she proved that all the passion in the world couldn’t penetrate a heart betrayed by fate.

Despite the passion they’d discovered in one another, he wasn’t the brave she’d pledged her love to, the brave who’d died trying to protect her the night she’d been abducted. She’d reminded Jed of that fact until her very last breath.

He wasn’t a man who had to learn a lesson twice. He’d offer his soul to the devil before opening his heart to another woman.

As frustrated and angry as he was about his current situation, Jed couldn’t ignore Rachell’s hunger. She wasn’t any happier about the unexpected turn of events. Unlike his marital tie to Malika, his marriage to Rachell could be easily severed.

He reached back into one of his saddlebags and pulled out an apple. “Here,” he said, holding it out.

Rachell stared at the green fruit for a long moment before glancing up at him. “You’ve had this all along,” she accused before snatching it.

“You’re not starving to death. But don’t worry. You’ll be having meat for supper.” Her green eyes lit up, bringing the start of a smile to Jed’s mouth. “Didn’t those bad men feed you, Imp?”

“My name is Rachell Carlson.”

“Actually, sugar, your name is Rachell Doulan.”

Her eyes widened, and Jed laughed out loud.

“You don’t seriously think—”

“Calm down. We’ll get an annulment as soon as we reach California.”

She shifted, taking a loud bite from the apple as she turned her back to him.

Unable to fight his smile, Jed knew his lack of sleep was affecting his mind. He should still be steamed over Widell’s underhanded courtroom shenanigans, but Rachell’s flashing green eyes and stricken expression at his announcement of her new last name had somehow taken the edge off his anger.

This woman didn’t care for him one bit, which suited Jed just fine. The wide stretch of land between them and Nevada required an aggressive spirit. Judging by the glint in Rachell’s eyes and the rigid set of her spine, she planned to fight him like a cornered mountain lion the whole way.

Chapter Three

The afternoon sun glared overhead as Jed reined in his horse. Rachell felt him pluck his black hat from her head, where he’d placed it hours earlier, saying her fair skin didn’t need any more sun. The man’s dark mood and harsh tongue certainly contrasted to his unexpected consideration and gentle touch, which continued to catch Rachell off guard.

“Sage is done for the day,” Jed said, lifting Rachell from his lap. “We’ll make camp here.”

She managed to suppress a groan as he eased her to the ground. Her body ached from head to toe. She was tired, hungry and, after not having had a bath for days on end, she was filthy. Hearing the distant sound of rushing water, her mood began to brighten. A bath would improve her spirits considerably.

“Mr. Doulan—”

“Damn it, woman,” he said as he slung out of his saddle. “My name is Jed.”

“I prefer to call you Mr. Doulan, thank you.” Rachell thought it best to keep as much formality as possible between herself and her temporary spouse. The slow smile etching across his lips reaffirmed that decision. Calculating gray eyes warmed as he gazed down at her. Not with merriment, but pure mischief.

Rachell tensed. He had no right to be so almighty confident, and dreadfully good-looking.

“Suppose I prefer to call you Mrs. Doulan?”

“You will not.” She fumed as his smug smile widened. A single black eyebrow arched high into his forehead.

Blast it all! She did not like this man. “Fine,” she conceded. “Jed, do you have any soap? I’ve been collecting trail dust for over a week and wish to clean up a bit.”

He studied her for a long moment. “If you’d like to wash your hands before we eat, sure. If you’re askin’ to lather some all over your smooth ivory skin, the answer’s no.”

“Very well,” she said in a light tone, refusing to show her disappointment. It took no small effort. She’d not had a decent bath in two weeks, but she would make do with the fresh water. “Do you have a cloth then?”

He reached into his saddlebags, pulled out a white rag and tossed it to her. “Don’t be all day about it. We have a camp to set up. I’m not your damned servant. And don’t be splashing about like a duckling,” he called after her. “You never know who or what might be in the area.”

“Thank you,” she chimed, walking away.

As Rachell approached the river’s edge, listening to the rush of the rapid current, watching the white caps of water twisting and slapping against the rocks, her heart began to thunder in her chest. Spotting a shallow cove a few yards down, she continued downstream. She stopped at the edge of the clear, still pool and stared at the rocks beneath the cold water.

She hated rivers. She also hated being filthy. She sat on a nearby boulder to remove her boots, then slowly approached the shallow pool. Three feet deep, four at the most, she told herself. Not enough water to go above her head.

She knew how to swim, but so had Andrew. Rachell hadn’t been in a river since she was nine and watched her twelve-year-old brother slip under a deceptively calm veil of water and never resurface. Luke and Isaac, her older brothers, had frantically searched the water for him, but they couldn’t save him from the river.

This small cove was beyond the reach of the deadly current. There was no undertow to hold her under. She sucked in a deep gasp of air as she took another step toward the edge, striving to shut out the sound of the deadly rushing water only a few feet away.

Rachell glanced at the white cloth in her hand. A sponge bath was not going to do the job. She reached for the bottom of her waistcoat. There was no sense in wasting time on the buttons. The garment hung on her like elephant skin. She whipped it over her head, tossing it aside then quickly dropped the large skirt which barely clung to her hips. She paused as her toes met the ice-cold water.

“You can do this, Rachell.” Drawing another deep breath, she hurried to the center of the shallow pool. Air rushed from her lungs and she sank into the freezing water. Shivering, she briskly ran the cloth over her body. The number of dark bruises marring her arms stunned her. No wonder she was so sore. She was a mess!

Cringing from the very thought of dunking her head, she sucked in another deep gasp and went under, digging her fingers into the dirt-filled tangles. Rachell sprang from the water, her teeth chattering as she hurried toward her discarded clothes.

After wringing the water from her hair, she reached for her dress. As she carefully pulled the skirt over her black-and-blue hip, she thought of Jed’s gentle hands. Jed was a mountain of muscle, yet whenever he stopped to rest or water his horse, he was always careful not to bump her hip. His large hands continually handled her with extreme tenderness.

Unexpected, given his temperament.

Shivering, she picked up her boots and hurried back to their campsite barefoot. She was overjoyed to find a fire burning when she returned. A pot of water sat on a grate above the flames and a bedroll had been spread out beside the fire. But Jed was nowhere to be seen.

Chilled to the bone, she didn’t hesitate as she slid under his blanket. Once she eased her chill, she’d be ready to help with supper. She sighed with relief as she pulled the thick wool over her cold body, surrounding herself in its warmth, and a surprisingly pleasant masculine scent.

Dear God, what have I done to deserve this?

Jed froze at the sight of his young bride sleeping soundly in his bedroll.

Why did I have to look downstream?

He suppressed a groan while trying to push the tantalizing image of her perfect, pint-size body from his mind. Crouching beside his pack, he pulled out a cast iron skillet and dropped in two fish. He reached into a deep pouch on his saddlebag and pulled out his last lemon. Cursing his short temper, he carried everything to the fire. He should have taken the time to buy more supplies. What he had left wouldn’t last long, and he surely wouldn’t be finding any fruit trees until he reached his ranch in California.

As he seasoned the fish, his gaze kept wavering to the vision across the fire. He’d been doing his job, he reasoned. After watching her approach a shallow pool of water, he’d scouted a decent perimeter for any signs of danger. Satisfied that all was clear, he’d returned to the river’s edge to catch some trout for supper. Rachell was still standing on the rocky shoreline, staring into a calm pool of water.

And then, before he’d realized what she was about to do, she was as naked as the sunrise, with all its shimmering splendor. The sight had knocked the air from his lungs and all the sense from his head. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from her ivory skin and long auburn hair that radiated in the sunshine. She’d shocked him again by slipping into the frigid water, completely submerging herself. Only then did he find enough sense to step back from the river’s edge.

She must have been desperate for a bath. He wasn’t against bathing in cold mountain streams, and had every intention of bathing later this evening, but most women would go without, rather than endure the bite of the cold water. He almost felt guilty for not allowing her to use his soap.

Almost. The last thing he needed was for this woman to be more enticing. Even his bitter lye soap would be too sweet a scent on her soft skin. His gaze skimmed across her pretty face before he forced himself to look away.

Blazing hell, but he’d never before had so much trouble controlling his wayward thoughts. This little bit of a woman, who’d done nothing but glare and shout at him, was making short work of the disciplined control he usually executed over his mind and body.

Lord save him if she actually tilted those delicate pink lips upward and flashed him a smile.

Deciding not to disturb her sleep, he prepared their food and finished his meal in peace before he went to wake her. His hand barely grazed her shoulder when her arm shot out, fast as a striking snake to combat his touch.

“Jed,” she said, releasing a slow breath as she sat up.

“Good thing you don’t wear a gun,” he said. “Or I’d surely have a hole between my eyes.” He wasn’t sure she’d heard him. Her wide eyes had fastened to the plate he held in his hand, her hunger as transparent as her pale skin.

“You caught fish—biscuits!” She dragged her eyes away from the plate, which he imagined hadn’t been easy for her, and glanced up at the pink-streaked sky behind him.

“Gracious! I didn’t mean to sleep so long.” Guilt-filled eyes met his gaze. “Sorry.”

He couldn’t fight his laughter. “Don’t worry,” he said, handing her the plate. “We’ll find a way for you to earn your keep.”

He read her startled response before she said the words.

“I am not a—”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re Elizabeth’s sister for cryin’ out loud. Just what kind of a bastard do you take me for?”

“I just—”

“Thought I’d take advantage of a woman stuck in my care. Well, sugar, I’m not in the practice of badgering women with unwanted advances.”

“I didn’t intend to be insulting,” she said. “But I know you don’t believe me. I’m not a prostitute.”

Jed held her angry gaze, wanting to press her with questions about the man chasing her, but now wasn’t the time. She didn’t trust him. And at the moment, her word didn’t carry a whole lot of weight.

“Why won’t you believe me?” she demanded.

“Did you lie to your sister about living in Kansas?”

“Only because I was—”

“Did you lie to her about running a boardinghouse?”

“Yes, but—”

“If you’ll lie to your own sister,” he continued, talking over her, “why should I expect you to be truthful with me? I read your letters, Rachell.”

That seemed to surprise her. “Your sister thought the information may be of some use, but we both know those pieces of paper were full of nothing but fabricated stories.”

He saw the anger growing in her eyes, but continued anyway. “I’ll tell you what I do know. You dress like a saloon girl, you admit to working in a saloon, and you’re on the run from a man who either believes you belong to him in a personal manner or views your absence as a profit loss. Now, you can shout innocent songbird all you like, but I say…if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck—”

“I am no more a duck than I am a prostitute!”

“Fine. Sing for me.”

Her eyes popped wide. Her posture stiffened. “What?”

“You say you’re a songbird. Prove it. Let’s hear the voice that drives a man to send a posse across the country just to keep you in his saloon.”

Seemed a fair enough request to him, but judging by the burning rage in her glare, she didn’t agree. The three words that exploded from her mouth confirmed that notion.

“Go to hell!”

He didn’t need this aggravation. “Eat your supper. You have dish detail. There’s water on the fire.” He turned away, grabbed his saddlebags and slung them onto his shoulder. Reaching into one of the pockets, he pulled out one of his shirts and tossed it onto the blanket next to her. “See about working that into some sort of bonnet. Your nose is already starting to peel.” He dropped a rawhide pouch on top of the ivory shirt.

Stunned by his sudden change from hateful to considerate, Rachell watched him grab his rifle and head toward the river.

Now, why did he have to do that? She didn’t want to accept anything from a man who thought she was a liar. Her stomach churned loudly as she eyed two fish fillets, three biscuits and half an apple. More than she’d eaten in a week. That too surprised her.

Most folks attempted to starve her, judging her appetite by her size, but she was certain Jed had given her exactly half of all the food he’d prepared. The succulent aroma tortured her senses. Hungry enough to eat her boots, she broke off a piece of fish and popped it into her mouth. She shuddered from sheer delight. He’d seasoned it—with lemon juice and salt.

After spending a week eating mostly dust and a bit of dried beef, she was certain no finer tasting food had ever touched her tongue. The man knew his business when it came to cooking. She wondered if there was anything he couldn’t master. The probable answer to that question sent a frown sliding across her face.

Pompous know-it-all.

For all his skill and know-how, Jed Doulan was positively infuriating.

After eating and doing the chores he’d assigned her, Rachell sat by the fire, stitching the fabric she’d cut up with the shears she’d found in the leather pouch, and intermittently looking at the bedroll spread out on the other side of the low flames.

I don’t need his lousy blankets, she told herself, trying to ignore the cold shivers shaking her body. She and Titus had slept outdoors without such comforts plenty of times in the past five years, although, she’d been smart enough to keep her hair dry and had been wearing more than one thin layer of cotton.

Things just seemed to keep going from bad to worse.

Her life had been a downward spiral since the age of eleven, the day her father had stuck her on an eastbound train. His departing words often played in the back in her mind.

For once in your life, Rachell, try to do as you’re told and stay out of trouble.

Good advice she hadn’t quite mastered. Here she was, in the deepest trouble of her miserable life. Miss Abigail had depicted her future as one of a penniless spinster. A wide smile of satisfaction would surely stretch the old woman’s wilted lips if she could see her now. Her headmistress had been nothing short of elated when she’d informed Rachell that, due to her father’s untimely death, she was being sent back to Louisiana, straight into a war.

Had it not been for her second cousin and childhood friend, James Carlson, she would have been arrested for treason the moment she was escorted off the train by two Confederate officers. Instead, she’d been pulled into James’s arms and kissed flush on the mouth.

The tension she saw behind his dashing smile was enough to keep her from questioning his strange welcome. Only when they were alone, after a rushed wedding ceremony, did she learn that her father had been hanged for treason after her brothers had joined the Union army, and she was suspected of conspiring with the north, passing them information. James had vouched for her, insisting she’d been his loyal intended.

The following day, James had taken her to see another old friend. Titus.

Rachell choked on a sob as the vision of his dashing smile flashed in her mind. Tears scalded her cheeks. She could still feel his strong embrace closing around her as she leapt into his arms. In that moment, she’d felt a true sense of homecoming. James instructed Titus to take her back to the Carlson estate and watch over her until he returned, warning them that the news of their marriage hadn’t been well received.

James had severely understated his family’s animosity toward her. They’d merely tolerated the presence of a Yank’s daughter. James had only managed two brief visits over the next year, until his older brother Malcom had returned home, informing her that her husband was dead. Both of her older brothers had already been reported as casualties to the North. A week later, Malcom cornered her in the stables, claiming he would take over James’s husbandly duties. Titus came to her aid, knocking him out with the back of a shovel.

They had to leave.

They’d stayed constantly on the move. Singing had always paid far better than the seamstress work she sometimes took, and though Titus hated her being in the saloons, he couldn’t deny they needed the money. If she hadn’t been in those saloons, she never would have found her sister.

It was their plan to go to California, but progress was slow. They’d been saving to purchase supplies for the trip. When she took the job with Maxwell Sumner, she’d hoped it would be her last. They’d been so close, intending to leave within the week. But they had stayed too long and Titus paid for their mistake.

Pain surged through her as she remembered his strong body sprawled on the back stoop of the apartments, his blood pooled around him. She must have been in shock, or she never would have allowed Maxwell to lead her into his private upstairs office. In the four months she’d worked at the Nightingale Saloon, she’d never been up there. Her attention had immediately fixed on an enormous portrait hung behind his desk. A woman with auburn hair, green eyes and pale skin lounged on a green velvet couch. Her scarlet dress resembled the gowns Maxwell had given Rachell for her shows. She had immediately asked who the woman was.

Maxwell stunned her by responding, “You, my love.” He’d clamped hands over her wrists so forcefully she’d thought he would crush her bones. His eyes had been wild with fury as he told her she wouldn’t get away from him again.

The man was delusional. He didn’t even know her true name. Knowing The Nightingale Saloon drew a large crowd and would pay well, she’d walked in and introduced herself as Miss Nightingale. Maxwell had hired her on the spot, and he’d paid her well. And then he killed Titus.

Because of me.

She knew Maxwell was taken by her, but never could have imagined to what degree. It wasn’t her he was obsessed with—it was the woman in the portrait. Seeing the conviction in his eyes, she’d never been so terrified, until she saw his son board the train in Nevada.

He wouldn’t let her go.

Dear God. She hadn’t thought of bringing such danger into her sister’s home.

Pulling in a shaky breath, she lifted her gaze and was startled to find Jed’s silver eyes staring back at her. He stood at the edge of the clearing, silent as a shadow, barely visible in the darkness.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She turned her back to him and wiped roughly at her tear-streaked face, annoyed he’d caught her crying.

“What were you thinking about to put such fear in your eyes?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re shivering,” he said as he approached her. “Here, this will warm you up a bit.”

She shrugged his long coat from her shoulders and threw it back at him. “I don’t want your coat!”

“Suit yourself.” Jed shrugged it back on, walked around the fire and sat on his bedroll.

Damn, but she’s a stubborn woman. Her flimsy dress wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Long, damp hair clung to her shoulders and back in tangled clumps. She rested her head on her raised knees, clamping her arms around her legs, and still she shivered.

Her choice, he thought as he stretched out on his bedroll. He folded his arms under his head and gazed up at the night sky. For a lady schooled in the fine laws of propriety and proper etiquette, she sure had a hot temper. But her temper hadn’t shadowed her tear-glazed eyes before she’d caught him staring at her. He’d seen fear.

It’s not my business, he reminded himself. Just as soon as he shook the trouble off her tail, she’d be Buck’s problem, not his. She’d surely hate him by the time they reached California and would have no intention of staying on at the Double D.

He hoped.

A half hour later, Jed had watched Rachell shiver for as long as he could stand. The little fool’s teeth had started chattering. He stood and silently walked around the fire.

Rachell gasped as she felt herself being lifted into Jed’s warm arms. He easily suppressed her struggle, pressing her firmly into the warmth of his chest. Lord, was he warm, and strong. “Jed, I—”

“Hush. You’re freezing.”

He set her onto his bedroll, and Rachell was hit by a shaft of panic. She instantly tried to move away as he stretched out beside her.

“Damn it, Rachell!” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back beside him.

Paralyzed by fear, Rachell stared up at him as he loomed over her. His silver eyes shone like twin moons in the low light of the fire. He was convinced she was a prostitute and she was legally his wife. Lord help her if he insisted on taking a husband’s liberties, she was nowhere near strong enough to stop a man his size.

“Rachell? Do you really think I would harm you?”

Jed could feel her heart pounding against his arm and was stunned by the fear clearly visible in every line of her face. He eased back, loosening his hold on her. “I’d never force myself on you, or any woman. You’re safe with me.”

He felt her shudder as she continued to stare up at him, and hoped it was in relief. “Go to sleep,” he said, turning her away from him. He pulled her close, wrapping her inside his coat with him then pulling his blanket over them.

He reached out, capturing one of her hands in his. It felt like a small block of ice in his palm.

“You truly would have frozen to death! Turn around here and shove those hands inside my coat.”

She didn’t argue, allowing him to shift her position. He gathered her close, lifting her head onto the cushion of his arm, again closing her inside his jacket.

Her cold nose pressed against his neck as she shivered against him. As cold as she was, he was surprised she had the strength to put up the fight she had. Her stubborn pride wasn’t only aggravating, it was damn hazardous.

“Jed?” she called a while later.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you…for—”

“It’s been a long day,” Jed cut in. “Just go to sleep.”

The sound of her voice and the feel of her breath against his neck wasn’t helping the stimulating effect her tiny body stirred inside him. And he surely didn’t want her to say something in a moment of exhaustion she would regret tomorrow. They had a long way to travel under such close quarters. Her temper was as good a barrier as any to keep between them.

“I never meant to cause so much trouble,” Rachell whispered a few minutes later.

Jed’s deep laugh surprised her.

“Don’t worry, Imp. I’ll get you to California safe and sound. Count on it.”

His deep, gentle tone sent shivers clear to Rachell’s toes, shivers that were a far cry from the cold tremors that had shaken her body moments ago. He obviously felt them and tucked the blanket tightly around her.

For a hard man, Jed could be incredibly tender.

Under all his harsh glares and rude remarks, Jed Doulan was a good man. She closed her eyes and settled against the warmth of his body, awed by the feeling of safety she felt while lying in the arms of a complete stranger.

A stranger who had bathed, she realized. A strong scent of lye lingered from his warm skin.

He had bathed with soap!

Chapter Four

Hearing a soft, feminine voice call his name, Jed slowly roused. He opened an eye, peering at the fire-haired woman lying on her back beside him in the dim light of early dawn.

“Yeah?” His other eye opened. Both eyes blinked as his vision cleared. His brow creased in confusion at her curious expression. Her green eyes were wide as saucers.

“What’s wrong?” Surely he would have awakened at the slightest sound of approaching danger.

“Your hand,” she said in a quivering breath. “It’s—”

Jed suddenly became aware of smooth soft skin beneath his palm. “Holy smoke!”

He pulled his hand away from the soft swell of her breast and scrambled backwards. How the hell had his hand gotten under her waistcoat?

“I swear I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“I know,” she said, sitting up, banding her arms around her chest as she turned away from him.

“Why didn’t you push me away?” Jed sat back on his heels. The feel of her breast under his palm had shocked him awake and damn if he wasn’t already fully aroused! He rubbed his hand against his thigh, trying to rub out the tingling sensation the firm tip of her breast had left in his skin.

“I tried, but you only pulled me closer and…you’re quite strong.”

Jed’s eyes moved over her trembling body. From her side profile, he saw red staining her pale cheeks. For a working girl, she sure acted like a woman who’d never been touched.

Oh, Lord. Perhaps he’d been rough and hurt that petal-soft skin in his sleep. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She vigorously shook her head, swaying the twisted, tangled flames of her hair across her back and shoulders.

“You’re all right, then?”

“Yes,” she said, although her voice was barely audible.

“Rachell, look at me.”

He waited for her flushed face to meet his gaze. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure,” Rachell assured him, stunned by the sincerity of his concern. He hadn’t hurt her at all, in fact, her pulse still hammered in her veins from the volatile effect his roaming hand had had on her surprisingly sensitive body. She stood and stepped over the rumple of blankets. “I need to go…find a privy.”

By the time she came back from the bushes, Jed had a small fire started. He picked up his saddlebags as she walked into camp.

“I’m gonna go down to the river and see about catching some trout. Make yourself useful by whipping up some biscuits and coffee while I’m gone. There’s supplies in my pack.” He motioned to a large canvas sack.

“Biscuits?” Rachell looked back to tell him she didn’t know the first thing about cooking, but he had disappeared into the trees.

How does he do that? The man had to weigh a good two hundred pounds. Her gaze moved between the fire and Jed’s supplies. “Biscuits?”

She’d never attempted such a feat, but how hard could it be?

“Oh, fiddle!”

Rachell’s mouth twisted into an unhappy curve as she stared into the cast-iron skillet. She had used flour, salt and water, and though the white lumps were in the shape of biscuits, they didn’t have that fluffy feel. Again she tapped her fork against the rocklike surface. Should I try again? She had already tossed two batches of stones into the bushes and had used up most of the flour. Why wouldn’t they stay soft?

“What the hell is that?”

Rachell jumped at the sound of Jed’s hard voice directly above her. “Biscuits?” she ventured, glancing up at the man who was peering over her shoulder.

Lord! She stared up at the dark hair of his muscular chest. As her eyes roved his exposed body, she discovered she wasn’t the first person who’d been aggravated enough to shoot the man, for someone had done just that. His body bore two scars from bullet wounds. One in his left shoulder, the other above his right hip.

She felt slightly dizzied as her eyes followed the narrowing trail of dark hair across the sculpted muscles of his abdomen before the thin dark strip disappeared beneath the low waistband of his buckskin britches. Never in her life had she seen such a magnificent—

“You can’t even cook?”

Rachell’s gaze darted up from the staggering view of Jed’s muscular torso. She shook her head. Anger crept across his face, tightening his sharp features.

“Then why did you waste my supplies?”

“I tried—”

“What type of woman can’t cook a damn biscuit?” he shouted as he grabbed the skillet, tossing the petrified clumps into the fire. “Didn’t they teach you anything useful in that goddamned ladies’ academy? Of course not!”

He turned away from her and stormed toward his supplies. “That’s what servants and slaves are for, isn’t that right, Mrs. Carlson? Well I’ll be damned to the deepest, darkest regions of hell before I’ll be your servant. You got that, Mrs. Carlson? So you better figure out how to do something besides sit there and look pretty.” He crouched beside his pack and began rummaging through his supplies.

Oh, goodness. He’s not going to be happy when he finds the near-empty sack.

To her surprise, he closed the bag and sat back on his heels, not saying a word. He rolled his broad shoulders, flexing the tight muscles beneath the bronze, scarred skin of his back.

He’s mad.

His gaze snapped toward her, his narrowed eyes seething with anger.

No, he’s furious.

She didn’t understand the foreign language that fell from his mouth as he stood and dropped the skillet into the dirt, but she was certain he wasn’t spouting sonnets. He shrugged on an ivory shirt. Then, grabbing his rifle, he stomped toward the woods.

Rachell didn’t draw an easy breath until he was gone from view. She sat back, pushing her hair away from her face. Her heart thundered painfully in her chest.

She hadn’t actually comprehended his words as he shouted over her, she’d been too stunned by the sheer power she saw in his flexing muscles. But as she sat in the silent tranquility of the woods, his words echoed back in her mind with crystal clarity, and she was quite offended by his insults.

She could cook…meat…maybe. If she tried, she was sure she could! Biscuits were just fickle little things. Plenty of women couldn’t cook biscuits, she assured herself. Why, some people didn’t even eat biscuits!

Her eyes were drawn to his saddlebags. While looking for cooking supplies, she’d found his soap. Not just one, but three full bars. She glanced at the trees Jed had disappeared through then looked around their campsite. No sense in sitting about like a lump when she could be scrubbing off two weeks’ worth of grime.

Returning from the river, Rachell felt a pang of guilt as she followed a mouthwatering aroma back to camp and spotted Jed crouched beside the low-burning fire, preparing his breakfast.

Needing to warm herself after the freezing cold but worthwhile bath, she continued toward the fire.

“All primped up?” Jed asked in a cool tone, keeping his eyes on the skillet he held over the flames as she sat across from him.

“You can use those powerful legs to take a long leap straight to hell, Mr. Jed,” she snapped before she could restrain her flippant tongue.

Heavens. She was regressing into the belligerent tomboy of her youth.

“Too much longer with you, and I’ll go willingly, just to be free of your worthless hide.” He didn’t spare her a glance as he flipped the flat bread he was cooking over the fire.

A moment later he dropped a plate in front of her. Rachell’s mouth watered and she looked at the tin plate filled with chunks of meat and two steaming pieces of a strange flat bread. She closed her eyes, trying not to breathe in the heavenly scent.

She wouldn’t accept his food. She’d eaten a large supper. Surely she could hold out until later, when she could hunt for something herself.

Jed ate most of his breakfast before he glanced up. He was surprised to find Rachell sitting with her eyes closed and her plate still on the ground, exactly where he’d dropped it.

Her stubbornness was going to drive him insane.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked in a deceptively even tone.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, meeting his gaze for only a moment.

“Lady, you can eat enough to fill a full-grown cowpuncher, and I don’t care to listen to the roar of your stomach all afternoon. Swallow some of that stubborn pride and eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she repeated, crossing her arms and staring into the fire.

“The hell you’re not!” Thunderation, the woman was impossible. “You’re just mad because I stormed at you for wasting a week’s worth of supplies to sculpt stones.”

She didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” he said, biting out each word. “Is that better?”

Narrowed green eyes met his gaze. “No, you’re not.”

Heaven help him, he was going to throttle the woman. “I don’t say things I don’t mean and I don’t lie.” He was sorry he had yelled at her. He should have taken her over his knee and tanned her sassy little ass. Next time he’d know better.

“If you don’t lie,” she said, arching a slender eyebrow, “why did you tell me you didn’t have enough soap for bathing? I found three bars in your saddlebags.”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did. You said you didn’t have enough to waste on a bath.”

“No. I said I didn’t have any I’d let you use for a bath. I didn’t say there wasn’t enough.”

She continued to glare at him over the fire. “Last night, when you walked down to the river, you bathed with soap. I could smell it.”

“It’s my soap. What are you griping about? You helped yourself to all the lather you pleased while I was cooking. I can smell it from here.”

“You lied.”

Damn it! When he saw her sink into that freezing water, he knew this one would come back to bite him in the ass. He should have given her the damn soap. But he wasn’t about to admit it. He’d already apologized for shouting at her, which was more than she deserved, and what did she do, but throw it back in his face?

Time to nip this in the bud, he thought, pushing his plate aside as he rose. He crouched in front of her, picked up her plate and held it out to her. “Rachell, if you don’t take this plate and eat your damn food, I’ll hold you down and feed you every last bite myself. That’s a promise.”

If looks could kill, her devil eyes would have put him six feet under, but she took her plate and shoved a piece of tortilla into her mouth. “That a girl,” he said with a wide smile, patting her on the head before dodging her fist.

“That just cost you a tortilla,” he said, snatching one from her plate as he stood. “Eat up. We’re leaving as soon as I saddle Sage.” He turned and strode off in the direction of his hobbled horse.

She’s in a tizzy about something, Jed thought as he walked back into camp a short time later. Rachell’s face was flush with anger as she dug through his pack like a dog with its nose in a gopher hole, making one hell of a mess.

What the hell?

He felt a jolt of alarm when her hand emerged with a knife. At first he thought she might be planning to go after him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been attacked by his own bride. Malika had had one hell of a violent streak.

Rachell reached around and grabbed a fistful of hair. Realizing she was about to cut it off, he ran into the clearing, grabbed her from behind and secured her hand just before she dragged the blade across the long red strands.

“Let go!” she shrieked, twisting like a wild cat caught by the tail.

“Damn it, woman! Stop before you slit your own throat!” Jed tightened his arm around her, restraining her movement. She was strong for such a tiny thing.

“I’m going to cut my blasted hair!”

“The hell you are,” he said, prying the knife from her hand. He tossed it back into his pack. His hands clamped over her shoulders, turning her to face him. “What the blazes is wrong with you?”

She drew a ragged breath as she glared up at him, her cheeks flushed, her face creased with rage. “I’ve been without a brush for over a week. I can’t get the knots out.” Her green eyes glistened with moisture as she forced each word through clenched teeth. She tried to twist from his grip. Unsuccessful, she lowered her head, struggling to conceal her tears as they spilled down her cheeks.

This was a woman clearly near her breaking point. He didn’t need a half-cracked lunatic on his hands. Jed was tempted to pull her into his arms, sure the emotions she was trying to cap off would rush to the surface in a heavy wave of tears, but he had a feeling her pride wouldn’t take such an emotional release in its stride. She definitely had some strong feelings against him seeing her cry. And he sure as hell didn’t need to be holding this woman in his arms.

Spotting his brush on the ground by her feet, he picked it up. Keeping a hold on one wrist, he turned and led her to a patch of sunlight streaming through the surrounding trees. He sat down and tugged on her wrist. “Sit down.”

She stood rigid in front of him, staring at him as though he were the one who’d lost his mind. He tugged her down in front of him and turned her so that she sat between his legs with her back to him.

“It’s no use,” she ground out as he set the brush against her scalp. “Just cut it!”

“I’ll do no such thing.” He eased the brush through her hair. She gasped when it snagged, gripping her head as though she expected him to muscle it through, ripping the hair from her scalp.

“Move your hands. I won’t hurt you.”

When she didn’t respond, he set the brush down and lifted her hands from her hair. She trembled as he crossed her arms over her stomach and held them there. He lowered his head, talking close to her ear. “Trust me. I can get the knots out without scalping you. Do you trust me not to hurt you?”

Jerkily, she nodded her head. Jed released her and again took the brush. Rachell remained perfectly still as he pulled the coarse bristles through her damp hair. He took his knife from the scabbard at his waist and carefully cut out the stubborn knots that refused to be brushed loose.

When he finally had her hair brushed free of snags, the thick auburn mane flowed across her back like a brilliant, beautiful wave of fire. Jed slid his fingers across the center of her scalp, separating the shimmering mass, revealing her long, slender, kissable neck.

He pushed the two sections over her shoulders then called himself ten kinds of fool for doing something so stupid as running his fingers through the silken flames of her hair. Not just stupid, dangerous.

Damn his ignorant hide. He shouldn’t be attracted to this little charlatan who’d caused him nothing but trouble. So why wasn’t that stopping him?

“Are you braiding my hair?” she asked in a tone of disbelief.

“Yes,” he said, annoyed to discover his voice was so thick, it clogged his throat. “This is a surefire way to keep those tangles out.” She sat perfectly still while his fingers worked the three strands into a long weave.

“Did you braid your wife’s hair?”

The question took Jed by surprise. Had he ever braided Malika’s hair? “No,” he answered a second later, certain Malika would never have allowed him the privilege of such an intimate task. “Just my own.”

Her head whipped around, pulling the near-finished braid from his hand. She gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Your hair? Are you of Indian blood?”

To his surprise, the question carried no negative implications. Pure curiosity sparkled in her eyes.

“No. My sister married a Cherokee Indian when I was six. Laura died in childbirth a year later. I was raised by Shuhquoy.”

“I’m sorry. Did the baby survive?”

Jed shook his head.

“How horrible.” Her shoulders slumped as she dropped her gaze toward her lap. “My mother died in childbirth with me,” she said in a quiet voice. “When I returned from the Academy in New York, Olivia Carlson told me I was the spitting image of my mother. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was part of the reason why my father sent me away, because I reminded him of her.”

She glanced up with somber eyes, and Jed was struck by her youthfulness.

“Although, I really don’t see how my appearance mattered to him in the least. I was rarely in his range of vision.” She took a deep breath. “But that’s neither here nor there.” Her lips tilted slightly upward, her expression brightening.

Jed was amazed by the wide range of emotions that flittered so rapidly across her face. The woman’s eyes were as readable as an open book.

“Elizabeth and Amity raised me.”

“Is Amity another sister?” Jed asked, certain Elizabeth had never mentioned the name.

“No. She was our housekeeper, but more like our mother. I always seemed to be in the way, so I spent a great deal of time in the stables and fields with Titus.”

“You must have been close,” Jed said, noting the sadness that darkened her eyes at the mention of Titus’s name, and somewhat interested to learn more of her past.

“We were raised together. Amity was his mother. He wasn’t a full year older than me. Folks at church used to tease Amity about us being the strangest twins they ever saw. I sang quite a few songs from church on stage. No one seemed to mind, or perhaps they were too drunk to notice.” Her brow puckered as she said, “Hopefully the Lord saw it as missionary work and didn’t take offense at my singing spiritual hymns in such filthy places.”

“Missionary work, huh?” A smile tugged at Jed’s mouth. He was certain that in the complex workings of Rachell’s mind, she truly believed singing hymns in a saloon could be perceived by the Heavens as missionary work. “My folks were missionaries,” he felt inclined to mention. “My father was a preacher. I don’t recall him ever—”

“I’m so sorry,” she cut in. “I didn’t mean to be offensive.”

“Sugar, if you’d let me finish, I was about to say that I don’t recall them ever fishing for lost souls in saloons, but I reckon that’s as fine a place as any to find those who’ve strayed from the Lord.”

That hadn’t been what he was about to say, but something in her sad eyes pricked at his conscience and having said what he did, it did seem to make some sense.

Rachell eyed him warily, apparently just as caught off guard by his supportive statement. After a moment, her lips twisted into a wry grin.

“You’ve obviously adopted much of the Cherokee heritage.”

“I have. With my dark hair and skin, I’m sure most folks we came across took me for a full-blooded Indian boy. Had hair down to my butt ‘til I was seventeen.”

Rachell flashed a devastating smile. “Did you wear a headband?”

Damnation. It was bad enough to be talking of such personal matters with her sitting between his legs. He didn’t need to see her smile. He never could have guessed just how enchanting her full smile would be. He’d pictured it in his mind, but he hadn’t come close. “Turn around so I can finish,” he instructed, taking her by the shoulders and twisting her back around.

“Well, did you?” she asked a moment later.

“Did I what?” he said as he separated one side of her hair into three even sections again.

“Wear a headband?”

“What the hell difference does that make?”

“I saw what looked to be a leather headband in your pack. I was just wondering—”

“Yes, I wore a headband, and yes, sometimes I still do. I’ve answered your questions, so now you can answer a few of mine?”

“All right,” she said in a bright voice.

“Why is Sumner after you?”

Her spine stiffened. “I told you, I’m not his—”

“You’ve told me what you’re not, but you haven’t given me a good reason, by any stretch of the imagination, why this man would resort to murder, and track you across the continent to keep you in his saloon.”

“There is no good reason.”

“Sugar, a man doesn’t go through this kind of trouble and expense unless there’s one hell of a reason. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with before I meet up with him in Shadow Canyon.” Jed felt a shudder rack Rachell’s body. “Are you frightened of the man for no reason?”

“He killed Titus,” she said in a strained voice.

“Why?”

“I didn’t know he was in danger. Not until afterward. Titus was dead and Maxwell took me into his office and there was a picture of a woman, but it wasn’t me. He told me he’d not let me go. I did nothing to encourage such behavior. He’s a…a crazy old man!”

“Relax,” Jed said, securing the end of her long braid with pieces of rawhide cording he kept tied to the end of his brush. “You’re not on trial.”

Rachell didn’t respond. Jed tossed the finished braid over her shoulder then turned her head so he could tackle the other side. He had a list of questions he wanted to ask her, but now wasn’t the time. Not with her emotions on edge.

“What happened to your parents?” she asked, breaking the stretch of silence. But if he couldn’t get any answers, he didn’t see the point in talking.

“Why don’t you concentrate on sitting still while I finish this braid?”

“Such an age difference between you and your sister,” she continued, ignoring his comment. “There’s eighteen years between Elizabeth and me, but we had three brothers between us. Do you have other siblings?”

Lord, she must have been deprived of conversation. “No,” he said in a hard tone. “Laura was my half sister. My mother was a widow when she met and married my father.”

“How did they die?”

Hell, she was persistent. “From what I recall, they set out for an Indian camp and didn’t return. I reckon they met some Indians who didn’t much care for the preaching of a white man.”

“Oh my goodness! Do you find it ironic that you were raised in the very culture your parents were trying to convert?”

“I didn’t say they were killed by Cherokee,” Jed clarified. “And I was raised by Shuhquoy, in California mostly. We tended to roam. But I read the Bible and prayed to the God Shuhquoy called Laura’s God. What I do find ironic is my telling you I’d not be your servant, yet here I sit, braiding your hair as though I’m your damn chambermaid.”

“Why did you cut your hair when you were seventeen?”

“Because, like you, it was a pain in the ass to take care of.”

Rachell didn’t say anything, but Jed sensed her smile. He’d also noticed how her posture had relaxed as she sat chattering between his thighs. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand reach toward his raised knee. Her fingers grazed the fringe at the top of his tall moccasin, sending a lightning charge straight to his groin.

Damnation!

He didn’t like the power this woman had over his body. He shook his head in self-disgust and secured a leather thong around the end of her silky hair. Twenty-three. She’s twenty-three! Ben’s wife was only a year younger, a girl he’d helped raise and considered his daughter in every way that mattered. Rachell was too damn young for him.

“Finished.” He flipped the braid over her shoulder. He pulled out the bonnet he’d tucked into his waistband while folding up his bedroll, and tugged it onto her head.

“Thank you.” Rachell scooted out from between his legs before she got to her feet.

Jed actually winced as he watched her rise, the vivid image of her sweetly shaped backside flashing in his mind. Dear God, he was pathetic. He hung his head like a whipped dog, resting his forearms on his raised knees.

What in blazes is wrong with me? He wasn’t a man deprived of the physical pleasures of a woman, yet his body was behaving like that of a sex-starved coal miner. Having seen every smooth inch of Rachell’s skin hadn’t helped matters.

“Jed?”

“Yeah?” he said without looking up.

“Are we leaving?”

“Yeah. Just…give me a minute.”

“Are you feeling ill?”

“Not exactly,” he mumbled.

He took a deep breath, then rose to his feet, obviously a bit too soon. The blunt proof of his stray thoughts still pressed against the confinement of his pants. Rachell’s wide eyes seemed to home right in on it.

“What the hell do you expect to happen when a man has a beautiful woman sitting between his legs, all soft and smiling?”

Her gaze darted up as her cheeks flamed to a bright red. “I, I didn’t mean…that is, I wasn’t—”

“I know!”

Why did I have to braid her hair? Now she truly looked like a frightened schoolgirl in braids and a bonnet.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he turned and walked away. “I’m not a rutting beast. I can control myself.”

At least he used to be able to.

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