Luke's Cut. Sarah McCarty
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crate. Her eyes were closed. She looked pale and lethargic in the yellow dress. In need of support. “I could have been useful all along,” he muttered, helping Tia down.
Tia just rolled her eyes as she stepped back.
Luke slid his hand between the rough wood and Josie’s head. Her hair was silky against his palm. Her breath an airy caress as he tilted her face up. “You gave us a scare, my darling.”
She blinked at him, whether at his endearment or his touch, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. She was still a little green around the gills.
“Sorry.”
He smiled at the weak apology that could have covered anything. “You’ve got to be feeling pretty badly not to be taking a swing at me right now.”
She licked her pale lips. “At least the darn wagon has stopped moving. All that back and forth...” She shuddered. “It’s worse than being on a ship.”
“You get motion sick?”
She nodded and swallowed hard.
He scooted back a bit. Just in case. His boots couldn’t take another attack. “You feeling sick now?”
“Not yet.”
That yet was ominous.
“Do you feel as if you could sip a little water?”
There was nothing lethargic about her “No.”
“We have a problem with her dress, hijo. I cannot reach around to fasten it and she does not yet seem ready to stand,” Tia interrupted.
“I can handle that.”
“I thought you might be able to,” she agreed drily.
He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know Tia was watching him with assumptions brewing. He’d never called anyone “my darling” before within her hearing. Hell, he hadn’t done it within his own hearing, but what was done couldn’t be undone. Tia would just have to speculate and he’d just have to deal.
“Turn for me just a bit, Josie.”
Using his body as a brace, he turned her enough to see what he was up against. The dress had a little collar and buttoned down the back with over a dozen cloth-covered buttons. It was made of heavy cotton, and within the gape of the material, he could see red spots on her neck where the previous dress had chafed.
“She’s got some prickly heat here. Do we have any ointment?”
“Of course.” Tia called out instructions to Ed.
While he waited for the ointment, Luke began working from the bottom. Her camisole protected her modesty. He could see the deep creases in the fine material from her corset. He was equally sure that beneath it, her skin bore the same imprints. He traced a wrinkle with his fingertip. “No more corsets.”
Her lack of argument settled a little of his annoyance. The satisfaction lasted a good five seconds, until she began to retch again.
“Son of a bitch!”
Letting gravity flip her forward, Luke barked a warning to Tia. Placing his hand against the wagon in front of her, he gave Josie something to brace against as she vomited. When she was done, Tia gingerly stepped closer and held out a fresh cup of water.
“You will feel better when you rinse your mouth, hija.”
Luke took the cup and held it to Josie’s pale lips. Cupping her hand around his, she attempted to take control. He circumvented the move through a simple application of muscle.
“I don’t need help rinsing out my mouth,” Josie muttered.
“Humor me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
She took a sip, rinsed and spat. Half her bun was straggling around her shoulders in a dark, sleek fall. “I’m trying not to be so obedient.”
Interesting. “What have you got against obedience?”
“It’s not part of my plan.”
He humored her. “I see.”
She seemed oblivious to the fact that she was half naked in his arms. He took advantage of the position to work on the buttons of her dress. The bottom seven were hopeless—the dress was cut to go over the corset, which held her in—but when he got to her rib cage they fastened.
“Here’s the balm,” Tia interrupted, handing him a small pottery jar.
“Thank you.”
He pulled the cork out and set it on the mattress. He motioned with the jar. “You’re going to have to lift your hair for this.”
With one hand Josie held her dress against her chest, and with the other she lifted her hair. It was all very cooperative for someone dead set against obedience.
Dipping his fingers in the cool ointment, he smoothed the cream on her neck. She sighed and let him.
“What? No maidenly protests?” Luke asked.
“Always you are contrary,” he heard Tia mutter.
Josie shook her head. “I’m saving them until I have the energy to scream them.”
He chuckled. She suddenly clutched the side of the wagon.
“Are you going to be sick again?” he asked.
She swallowed twice before answering, “I haven’t decided yet.”
“If there’s an option, my vote’s for no.”
“I’ll bear it in mind,” she muttered.
He smiled as he handed the jar and cork to Tia and went back to buttoning Josie’s dress. The thin beige muslin of her camisole was transparent where it stuck to her skin, giving him peek-a-boo glimpses of soft skin everything male in him craved to explore. For sure she was a lush little thing.
He fastened the final button at her neck. “There. You’re done.”
He helped her down, avoiding the vomit. Her skirts hung limply without the support of the petticoats.
Standing, she reached behind her and clutched at the unbuttoned section at the small of her back. “Not quite.”
“I’ve got a plan for that.”
“You always have plans.”
She didn’t sound pleased about it. He shrugged. “I believe in being prepared.”
From around the side of the wagon, Zach called, “If the photographer is better, we need to resume.”
“Company coming?” Luke called back, keeping the concern out of his query. They were ill defended for a Comanche attack.
Josie stiffened.
“It does not seem so,” Zach answered. “Lobo is keeping an eye on them.”
“So we have time.”
He heard the snap of leather against leather. Zach was impatient. “Not if we wish to avoid others who may be on the move. There is no cover here.”
He knew that. “True enough.”
“So if you could encourage the photographer...”
“I’ll work on it.”
“I have a name,” Josie muttered.
“Tell him that.” Luke waved in Zach’s direction.
“I can’t.”
He raised a brow. “Don’t tell me Mrs. Not-So-Obedient is afraid...”
She shot him a look that spoke volumes.
He grinned. “Not as afraid