Bride Of Shadow Canyon. Stacey Kayne
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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