Wed To The Montana Cowboy. Carol Arens
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a fair hand with a kettle, ma’am.”
“And I’m not afraid to use it again.”
He touched the back of his head. His long fingers came away streaked with blood. He swayed on his knees.
She hurried to Mike’s abandoned saddle packs, looking for some sort of binding and found a short section of rope.
“Are you twins?” the man asked. “Or just one lady?”
“Triplets... Give me your wrists and don’t try anything.”
“I’ll try not to be sick.”
His hands hung limp at his sides so she snatched them up and made quick work of tethering them.
All at once he lurched forward. His weight knocked her to the ground.
By the saints, this was a muddle. Not only was she lost in the wilderness, but she now had a questionable man’s bleeding head cradled on her bosom.
She wriggled and pushed until the man’s head lay in her lap. Humph! He had long eyelashes, sandy and dark at the same time...and lovely hair that she wanted to... Well, quite honestly, she wanted to stroke it.
Perhaps she should have paid attention to Aunt Eunice, who had announced that she would come to ruin in Montana.
Still, she wasn’t ruined, at least not as long as her captive remained passed out.
A strand of hair streaked with blood lay across his cheek. She brushed it aside with her thumb and felt the rough scrape of his beard under her skin.
She had never been this close to a full-bodied man before, had never smelled the scent of warm masculine breath so close to her face. She certainly had never pressed her hand on one’s chest, feeling muscles and ribs rise and fall.
This, and she could only be honest, was a handsome man.
And as long as she was being honest, what was there to indicate that he had been up to no good?
Her assumption, was all. Thinking back on it, Mike was the one who had been taking liberties.
This man had simply demanded that Mike back away.
Oh, dear, had she beaned her defender? All of a sudden she felt horrible. If his intention had been to protect, she owed him a great deal.
Then again, if he had only wanted to take Mike’s place, she still owed him a great deal.
From a distance not far off, a wolf howled. She glanced at the smear of blood on the man’s cheek, hoping that the scent would not attract predators.
The safety and the warmth that the fire provided would not last all night.
“Wake up, mister.”
She gently patted his cheek but he did not stir.
No matter who he was, she wanted him awake.
By the look of him, and the solid weight of bone and muscle lying across her, he was a fellow who would be able to fend off a wolf without trouble...maybe even a bear.
“I’m sorry I hit you. Please wake up.”
His eyeballs moved under the lids, but other than that he did not stir.
After a while, the fire grew dimmer. The warmth receded and a bitter chill rushed to fill its place. It would haunt her conscience forever if she allowed her captive to freeze to death.
She shrugged her arms out of her coat, draped it over her shoulders, then spread the long tails over her hero or assailant.
It only covered him to his knees, but some warmth was beginning to build between their bodies.
A very curious warmth. It seemed to come from within her.
If she survived until morning, she would think more about it. Just now, the events of the day had worn her through.
She huddled over the man and tried to relax, but she was more than half-certain that eyes peered at her from the brush.
Lantree scented a woman.
He cracked open his eyes but saw things through a dark blur. Yep, his surroundings had been doused in oil. Objects swayed like pond grass underwater.
Apparently his mind was still feeling the effects of the blow to his head, which was to be expected. In all likelihood the woman whose face swam in his smoky vision was not real.
That didn’t keep him from finding her interesting.
She was asleep with her face nodding over him. It seemed that his head was lying in her lap and they were both huddling under some sort of covering.
No one had ever reported that hallucinations came with smells, but he breathed in the sweet scent of femininity.
He didn’t mind that, not one bit. Neither did he mind that the vision had the face of an angel. Long dark lashes rested on high cheekbones. Her eyes moved under her eyelids as though she were dreaming. Pretty lips lay still in slumber. If the hallucination awoke and smiled what would her mouth look like?
Even more, what would it taste like if he could lift his head high enough to give those slumbering lips a kiss?
He wouldn’t try though, because he knew that doing so would make the vision disappear into a puff of forgotten dream.
As much as he wanted to indulge in this fantasy, his head hurt like hell and his stomach churned. He needed to close his eyes.
What a shame though, to wake tomorrow and not recall her.
Regretfully, he closed his eyes and gave himself over to oblivion.
* * *
The lilting melody of “The Morning Suite” from Peer Gynt woke him. It was beautiful, but distressing. Heavenly music could only indicate that he had died from the blow to his head.
Odd, he hadn’t felt it to be a life-or-death wound.
He opened his eyes to see the first rays of daylight touching the treetops. He listened, afraid to move or breathe...but he was breathing.
While dead men might listen to divine music upon fluffy clouds, they did not breathe.
Mortal pain shot through his head. His pulse throbbed and he ached all over. He was most certainly alive.
But there was music.
He sat up, stifling a groan.
He glanced about, looking for the source of the melody.
It had been an age since he had heard a symphonic piece, another lifetime. Only now did he realize how much he’d missed it. Before the epidemic, Lantree had been a frequent visitor to the theater. There had been few things he enjoyed more than sitting quietly and listening to classical melodies.
He turned his head, and a stabbing pain made him wish he hadn’t...until he saw the figure standing on the rise of the hill, half-hidden among the trees.
A woman bathed in morning light drew her bow over the strings of a violin.
She swayed while she played, her trim figure seeming to be one with the music. While he watched she closed her eyes and turned in a circle, her skirt twirling gently about her long legs.
Sunshine glittered on her lips.
So that was what they looked like when they smiled. The memory of her came back to him now. She was the angel from his dream.
He glanced at the sunlight creeping down the trees. From their branches, birds began to sing along with the violin.
In this instant, life was beautiful...ugliness did not exist.
Losing himself in the moment, he was