Beloved Outcast (9 page)

“I guess I’m going to have to be blunt.”

His roughly voiced announcement raised faint tingles of uneasiness. “When have you
not
been blunt?”

Something hot and predatory glinted in his eyes. She had the uneasy sensation that her attempt to put him in his place
had somehow given him permission to cross an invisible line that might have existed for her own protection.

His hand dropped to the front of his trousers. “Men have needs.”

Her gaze innocently followed his action. Her eyes widened in mortification as she watched him adjust the clothing covering his lower person.
Blunt?
Oh, he was crude beyond redemption.

“We grow hard and hurting when it’s been a long time without female.comfort. When that happens, and we find ourselves getting too close to a woman, we stop thinking with our heads, and—” He broke off.

Victoria held her breath. She feared what he might say next, but found herself fascinated by his explanation. In the space of a few minutes, she’d discovered more about life in general and men in particular than she’d learned in all her twenty-four years. It had been an embarrassing education, but she was hopelessly ensnared by her unlikely tutor.

If anyone knew anything about a man’s baser instincts, surely it was Logan Youngblood.

“You’re too damned pretty and innocent for your own good.”

The compliment came as a shock to her.

He thought she was pretty? She regretted the warmth that flowed through her, but she couldn’t suppress it. As for her naiveté, good grief, if he just continued talking for another five minutes, she would consider herself an expert on male needs.

“A man will reach out and grab what he wants when it’s within touching distance. A woman has more restraint. That’s why I suggested you keep your distance.”

“I see.” He really had more confidence in women than she thought was warranted, for she remembered the moment when she’d almost pulled him to her. If that wasn’t grabbing, she didn’t know what was. “Uh, you know, I might be able to help you, Logan.”

A look of absolute astonishment swept his features.
“What?”

“You needn’t act so surprised,” she grumbled, irritated that he didn’t seem to think she was capable of solving his dilemma. “As you stated, I am a woman, and therefore I am the perfect one to solve your little problem.”

He took another step toward her.
“Little?”

“As I see it, your main difficulty is that you’ve been deprived of feminine companionship.”

He raised his hand and ran his fingertips across her cheek. She shivered at the contact.

“You’re just full of surprises, Victoria.”

Another compliment…She found herself smiling at this not-so-complex man.

“It’s really very simple, Logan. All we have to do is reform you. We’ll change your wayward ways, and while we’re at it, we’ll mend your deplorable lack of manners.”

He dropped his hand as if he’d been burned. “Will you?”

She nodded, pleased at her inspired suggestion. “It’s the perfect solution,” she continued enthusiastically. “I can teach you how to be.civilized. That way, you’ll be able to find a good, decent woman who won’t reject you. Then you won’t be lonely any longer. And, once we’ve reformed you, you won’t be locked up in any more abandoned forts.

“Of course, you will have to marry the object of your affections,” she pointed out, warming up to her subject. “But once you do, you’ll have a constant supply of…I believe you called it ‘female comfort.”

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to thank her for her highly generous offer.

“Hell.”

V
ictoria tramped alongside the lumbering wagon and fumed at Logan’s pigheadedness. It must be clear to anyone with a grain of intelligence that he needed all the help he could get. No doubt it was his pride that kept him from accepting her offer of assistance.

She swatted at the pesky deerfly that circled her head. When she returned from her morning’s call of nature, she’d found Logan trying to wrap his own ribs with a length of sheeting. Even though she was exasperated with him and his rude rejection, she’d swallowed her wounded feelings and volunteered to help with the bindings.

He’d announced that he was capable of tending to his own needs. Well, the foolish man obviously had no idea how to take care of himself, or he wouldn’t be residing in abandoned prison cells.

Suspecting it would be a waste of time to point out that his obstinacy was only hurting him, she’d sat on a stump, eating from the tin of peaches he’d opened. Periodically she’d glanced in his direction as he awkwardly secured the strip of cloth around his muscular torso.

Naturally, she’d been obliged to notice his darkly furred chest. Again. It was a puzzling development, this preoccupation with the man’s magnificent.er, adequately formed chest. It was hard to believe she’d cradled her cheek upon it
last night. She frowned, wishing she hadn’t slept through the experience.

Without warning, Victoria’s toe caught on a narrow protruding root in the trail’s loosely packed soil. Abruptly she and her wayward thoughts went flying across the uneven ground. She came to rest upon her hands and knees, nose to nose with a terrified squirrel clutching a tiny pinecone. Within the blink of an eye, the small creature darted away.

She stood, brushing swirls of dust and dried pine needles from her dress. The wagon continued up the path, its wheels spitting more dust and pine needles behind it. Shafts of shifting sunlight highlighted columns of dancing motes trapped like fireflies in the luminescent ribbons of brightness.

Obviously, she needed to keep her mind on what she was doing, instead of dreaming about Logan’s chest. Little the worse for wear, Victoria started walking again. Except for the narrow strip of flattened ground beyond which the wagon had already proceeded, breathtaking mountain scenery surrounded her.

She swallowed a disgruntled sigh. Evidently, if she didn’t keep up with Logan, he would go on without her. He probably wouldn’t miss her until dark. Were all Western men so impatient?

Her earlier sympathy toward him evaporated.

She’d found the books, the ones he’d thrown away, no doubt thinking she wouldn’t discover his foul deed until they reached Trinity Falls. But she’d found her precious volumes of William Shakespeare, and when Logan wasn’t looking, she’d returned them to the wagon.

The man was a barbarian. As far as she was concerned, he’d demonstrated that he was capable of anything. He would probably defile a holy shrine if it stood between him and his objectives.

Plus, there was the matter of his sneakiness, the way he’d succeeded in slipping past her tired defenses and lulled her into a false sense of security. Again, she vividly recalled the
previous night and his comforting tenderness. He’d fed her, given her something to drink and virtually tucked her into bed. He’d even massaged her feet! No one had ever done that for her. She was still astonished that his humble act had felt so…splendid. If she were a cat, she surely would have purred. Reflecting back on it, he’d done everything but tell her a bedtime story.

He’d only known her two days, and she’d almost destroyed him. Logan knew his body would never be the same after he’d held Victoria in his arms until he was ready to explode and then had to release her. No man was meant to take that kind of punishment.

Victoria Amory was a menace to herself and to everyone with whom she came into contact. He’d wager that the wagon master who had ridden ahead without her and Dodson with the shot foot had both counted themselves lucky they’d survived their association with the infuriating woman.

He thought back to last night, when he’d played the role of Good Samaritan. She’d been so worn out she wasn’t able to string two coherent sentences together. For reasons that baffled him, her vulnerability had touched him. Suddenly it had seemed the most important thing in the world to care for her, to make sure she didn’t go to sleep on an empty stomach.

He’d done everything but sing her a lullaby.

Logan scowled. When he went to bed, his intentions had been honorable—to get a good night’s rest. He’d lain several feet from her under the wagon. The muffled sound of her breathing had almost lulled him to sleep.

He’d been awake, though, when she rolled in his direction, and he’d noticed things like her scent; it was elementally female. He’d also noticed how her lips were slightly parted; he’d had to strain to see that in the moonlit darkness. And he’d noticed how she looked as if she would fit perfectly in his arms, if she would turn just one more time.

He must have lain awake another hour, waiting to see if she would close the infinitesimal distance between them. And then she had. He hadn’t suffered a pang of guilt when he gathered her to him. It amazed him how much satisfaction he’d derived from simply holding her. Her mind might be full of hairpin twists and turns, but her feminine shape was soft and inviting.

He hadn’t taken advantage of her. Exactly. Only a bastard would resort to such unfair tactics. But he had allowed his hands the furtive pleasure of making a fleeting sweep across her when he settled her more comfortably against him.

Lord, she did fit.

Her head had rested on his shoulder. Her palm had lain against his chest. Her legs had slid between his. To hold a desirable woman in his arms and proceed no further was slow torture, more painful than anything a white man or an Indian could devise. His body had protested the drought of his prolonged abstinence.

The kiss had been unplanned. But he’d been hard and hurting for so long that when he rolled on top of her, he’d gone momentarily crazy. There was something in those green eyes of hers, something that hinted at passion untapped.

It had been a damn fool thing to do, to kiss her. But if a man was going to make a fool of himself, he ought to have the foresight to do a thorough job. He should have taken opportunity where he found it and acquainted himself with the taste and texture of the inside of her mouth. He would gamble all the money in the bank’s vault that, despite her tart manner, she was a sweet-tasting woman.

He didn’t delude himself about her innocence. It was that innocence that made her pure trouble. She’d actually offered to bind his ribs, which showed just how naive she was. After the hot kiss they’d shared, did she really think he could stand to have her nimble fingers brushing against his
bare flesh and
not
take things further than they’d already gone?

It was as obvious as the golden freckles dusting her nose that Victoria Amory had no knowledge of a man’s passionate inner workings. Nor did she have any idea of the narrow escape she’d had this morning. Even if it killed him, he intended to deliver her to Trinity Falls in that untouched condition.

Which was really ironic, when he considered that she thought him lower than river scum. But it didn’t matter how she viewed him. He had his own code of ethics, and that code didn’t include seducing Bostonian bluestockings in search of. What had she called it? Oh yeah, a Western adventure. Logan grimaced at the overly romantic phrase. His mood turned darker when he realized he never was going to find out how she tasted.

A cooling breeze swirled around him. Curious about the lateness of the hour, he reached for his timepiece. It took a moment to realize it was gone. He’d noticed it was missing when he came to in the stockade. No doubt one of the soldiers had helped himself to the gold watch. He studied the lowering angle of the sun and gauged that it was close to dusk. A twinge of guilt pricked him. He’d stopped only once to allow Victoria to rest.

“Whoa!” he called. The oxen halted. He put the hand brake in place. Rising, he made a quick study of their location. Another couple of miles would bring them to where he planned on making camp. They were now deep in Night Wolf’s territory. It would be safe to have a fire. He climbed down from the wagon and waited for her to close the ten yards that separated them.

She walked with her head down, her gaze trained on the trail. He took in the weary droop of her shoulders, the lopsided slant of her limp bonnet and the torn right sleeve of her green dress. His guilt intensified. The woman looked as if she’d battled a mountain lion and lost.

“What happened to you?” The anger he heard in his voice was directed at himself.

At his abrupt question, her head snapped up. Her green eyes flashed fire every bit as spectacular as the northern lights. He wanted to grin, but checked the impulse. She would probably take offense, thinking he was amused by her sorry state. The truth was, he was impressed that there was enough fire left in her to prevail over any obstacle.

“Nothing happened.” She stopped. “I’m having a grand time, strolling through this park you call the Idaho Territory.” She waved her arm to encompass the pine scenery that bordered them. “I’m just getting my second wind. So why don’t you hop back on the wagon, and we’ll walk another hundred miles before sunset?”

From her flushed cheeks and narrowed gaze, Logan concluded she’d been pushed to the limits of her endurance. Her smile presented a lot of dainty white teeth. He wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her growl.

He sighed. She had every right to be upset.

The rip at her shoulder seam held his attention. He reached out and touched the soft, slightly sunburned strip of flesh the tear revealed. When his fingers brushed against her pinkened skin, he expected her to flinch or pull away. She surprised him by remaining still and looking at him with somber eyes.

“Did you fall?”

She nodded mutely.

His body tightened at the contact of his fingertips resting against her shoulder. No scrape marred the finely boned joint. He found himself fascinated by her delicacy.

“You should have called out. I’d have stopped for you, honey.”

The endearment sprang of its own accord from his lips. He mentally counted off the seconds before she took issue with the overly personal term. He got to three.

“Don’t call me honey.” Her slightly slanted green eyes glinted militantly. “I’m capable of keeping up with you.”

“You tore your dress.” It was a trivial observation. He was having trouble getting his fingers to stop caressing her. No. He wouldn’t lie to himself. He
was
caressing her.

“It’s old.” She stepped back. “The seam just gave way.”

He turned, trying to think of something other than her sweetly curved body.

“It’s only a couple of more miles to where we’re going to camp for the night, Victoria. The trail ahead is relatively even. You won’t get too jostled riding in the wagon.”

“I can walk another couple of miles.”

“Suit yourself.”

Victoria sat on a fallen log, staring into the low-burning campfire she’d built while Logan caught their dinner in a nearby stream. She’d fried the mountain trout, along with a pan of buckwheat biscuits, over the fire, and they’d topped off their meal with more canned peaches.

As darkness closed around them and the stars multiplied in the night sky, Victoria felt full and content. The red-andgold flames had died down, and she suspected that they would soon burn out. Still, the fiery tendrils had enough life in them to produce a hypnotic effect.

“I wonder what makes fire so fascinating?” she asked idly, pulling her attention from the flickering glow to Logan.

Cast in a shadowy silhouette that seemed to merge with the night fabric that had begun to enfold them, he sat on the other side of the campfire.

“That’s like asking why grass is green or the sky is blue.”

There were times when logic was irritating, she thought. “I remember when I was a little girl, I used to stare for hours into our fireplace. Sometimes I would see dragons like those that knights of olden times fought. Other times I would see castles or stormy seas or herds of racing cattle. What do you see when you look into the flames?”

A distinct pause greeted her question. She wondered if Logan was incapable of using his imagination. There were people like that, she knew. Her father was one of them.

“Actually, it’s not a good idea to stare into the flames.”

“Why not? Is there some Western rule against it?”

“You might say that.”

“Well, by all means, share it,” she said, not understanding why his practical attitude vexed her.

“It’s a matter of survival. If you look into a fire for any length of time, it causes a kind of night blindness. If something unexpected happens—say a cougar or, for that matter, a two-legged intruder shows up—and you need to use your gun in a hurry, you won’t be able to shoot accurately because all you’ll see is a lingering image of flames.”

Victoria shivered. When Logan referred to a two-legged intruder, she was certain he referred to a lawman who’d once been on his trail with the specific mission of arresting Logan. What a horrible way to live, always expecting trouble from respectable society. Had he ever known any other kind of life?

“You’re a strange man, Logan Youngblood.”

“How many times do you suppose you’ve insulted me since we met, Victoria?”

There was a wry quality to his question that made her flush.

“I wasn’t trying to be insulting.”

“That makes it worse,” he said, unperturbed. “Because your opinion of me is so low, you don’t even have to try to find something rude to say.”

She stiffened. “I don’t have a rude bone in my body.”

“I think we’re better off not bringing your body into this.”

What did he mean by that? Didn’t he approve of her body?

“When I said you were a strange man,” she said through gritted teeth, determined to make him understand that her
observation hadn’t been mean-spirited, “I meant that you were peculiar.”

“Well, that’s makes all the difference,” he muttered dourly.