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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.
Chapter Three (#ulink_e1a4e645-c1a9-55b7-86ed-37fb3a6146c5)
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 certain that the melody came from the woman rather than the instrument.
Then a bird screeched. Not a pretty morning coo or a gentle twitter, but a grating on the ears that had to be disturbing the peace for miles around.
The woman lowered her instrument. She pivoted with a scowl.
“Be quiet, Screech! You don’t need to copy every—” Her eyes widened when she saw him. “Oh! Good morning... By George, you don’t look half-bad considering...well, that you were hit by a kettle.”
Beauty incarnate gazed, wide-eyed, at him...so did the young prostitute from the dock.
She hurried down the rise in long strides. She stopped at a large travel trunk and put her violin inside then closed the lid.
He stood up because she was walking toward him now and he wanted to judge how tall she really was.
He was used to women much shorter. The top of her head would neatly tuck under his chin were he holding her in an embrace.
The temptation to get aquatinted in a carnal way was hard to ignore. With her size, he would not have to worry about hurting her during—
He wouldn’t know her that way, of course. He’d taken the Hippocratic oath. It went bone deep in spite of how things had turned out. That bit about doing no harm meant something to him. To consort with such a woman, especially one so new to the trade, would most certainly do her harm.
“Well, to be truthful...” She stood four feet away and she smelled the same as she had last night...sweet and female to the core. “I’m the one who hit you with the kettle.”
He nodded and glanced about the campsite, wondering what had become of his team and wagon.
“I do beg your pardon.” She wrung her hands in front of her. “I thought you were a thief...or worse.”
“Reckon that’s understandable since I did sneak up on you in the dark.”
“Sit down here, mister. Your skin still looks like milk.”
She pointed to a spot beside the long-cold embers of the campfire.
He did feel peaked so he eased down onto the spot.
“Can you eat something?” she asked then hurried toward a pair of saddlebags. She rifled through them, frowning.
“I figure Mike owes me a meal... Oh, here’s some jerked beef, at least.”
The soiled dove knelt before him, looking fresh as morning. Women of her kind tended to look drawn and haggard at this time of day due to being active all night.
“Can you eat some, do you think?” She held the dried beef toward him. “I’d feel ever so much better if you did.”
In spite of how his stomach still felt queasy, he took a bite. It wasn’t half as bad as he feared so he took another.
The relief in her expression made him take a third bite and nod his thanks while he chewed.
With a smile, she sat across from him, her legs tucked beneath her. He couldn’t help but wonder what legs like that would look like in all their bare, long-limbed glory.
For a dollar, he’d be able to find out. If he were another kind of man—one like Mike, say—he would.
Instead, he sighed and wondered.
“It’s not my business and you can say so, but why did you come out here with Mike, that is, why did you leave the safety of town?”
“First of all, I doubt that Coulson is all that safe. But Mike and I had business together. Business which he reneged on.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, that was for the best.”
“I can’t imagine why you would think so.” She reached across the cold fire pit. “Here, turn your head so I can see that lump.”
“It’s not the worst I’ve ever had. I’ll do.”
The young whore broke a piece of the jerky off then leaned sideways to give it to the bird.
“Yummy,” the green-feathered creature said three times while holding the beef in one claw and happily nibbling on it.
“I’ve got to go see to my team and wagon. But wait here, I’ll be back,” he said.
“I’ve already taken care of them. I heard your horses neighing after...after things settled down last night. I brought them here. See, there they are down by the stream.”
“You wandered away from the safety of the fire?”
“There wasn’t much help for it unless I wanted to leave your poor beasts unattended.”
“There are wild things out there, miss. You’re lucky you didn’t meet up with any of them.”
“I’d prefer a wild beast to a wild man. When was the last time you heard of a bear stealing a woman’s savings? The same cannot be said of Mike.”
“He is a bad one.” A lecture might be out of line but hell if he could keep himself from giving it. “I’m sorry about your money, miss. Have you spent a long time earning it?”
“I began when I was fourteen.” She sighed, clearly disgusted. “To think of the hours I gave to the single gentlemen of Kansas City. I wore myself out, up all hours, often by candlelight, and all so that miserable creature, Mike, could ride off with what I had earned.”
“There’s more than money you might have lost...your health for one thing.”
“I feel fit as a fiddle, thank you very much.”
