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“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—”
