Sweet Silken Bondage (13 page)

Reality returned with jarring distress, and Reina
found herself blushing a bit as she realized that she'd
been very close to gawking at this man. As she tore her
gaze away from his, she gave herself a fierce mental
shake. She was Sister Maty Regina now, she scolded herself
angrily. Surely, no self-respecting nun ever oogled a man!
Trying to regain her composure, she glanced back toward the stagecoach.

"Poke's alive?" she repeated.

"Yes," Fred called out in answer. "He's not conscious,
but his pulse is steady. As soon as we get him bandaged
up here, we'll head for the nearest waystation."

"Thank goodness," Reina said with heartfelt emotion,
surprising herself to find that she really cared what
happened to the old man.

Clay had been totally captivated as he stood there
gazing at Reina. Though he could only see her face,
there was no doubt in his mind that she was absolutely
gorgeous. Her complexion was perfect, her mouth soft
and inviting, her eyes wide and dark and so intriguing
that he was sorry when the other woman had called out
to them, interrupting the moment and causing her to
look away from him.

It was only then, when Clay saw Reina blush, that he
realized he'd embarrassed her by staring so boldly. A
wave of guilt washed over him. Shes a nun, for Gods sake! he berated himself, trying to distract himself from his
thoughts of her beauty. Yet, even as he fought to dismiss
the attraction he felt for her, he couldn't understand why
a woman of such obvious loveliness would want to join a
convent. Surely men must have pursued her before
she'd taken her vows. He wondered why she had chosen
to lock herself away from the real world. Puzzled, he
moved to holster his gun, and it was only then, when the
pain stabbed at him, that he remembered his wound.

His painstaking action drew Reina's attention, and
for the first time she noticed the makeshift tourniquet on
his arm and the blood on his shirt. "You've been hurt!"

"It's only a scratch." Clay tried to discourage her
concern, but Reina knew simple scratches didn't bleed
that heavily.

"You must let me bandage it for you," she offered
quickly.

"No, there's no need."

"There's every need, Mr....?"

"Cordell, Clay Cordell," he answered.

"You risked your life for us, Mr. Cordell. The least I
can do is tend to your wound. Come over here," she
insisted, reaching out to his good arm in an effort to
urge him toward the stagecoach. The feel of his strongly
muscled arm beneath her hand sent a tingle of awareness through her. The sensation was so strong that she
almost let go as if burned by the contact, but she knew
she couldn't do that without creating a scene. "Why
don't you sit down here in the shade, while I get a
canteen and see if there's anything we can use for
bandages," she directed.

"Fine," Clay agreed. He sat down and leaned back
against the wheel of the stage, closing his eyes for a
minute as he fought for control. The gentle touch of the
nun's hand on his arm had wreaked havoc on him, and
he was glad she was leaving him alone for a minute. She
was too pretty, and there was something about her that
stirred feelings within him he didn't want to deal with.

"Ruth, Mr. Cordell has been wounded, too. Is there
anything I can use to wrap his arm?" Reina asked as she
hurried to the door of the stage.

"Yes, Sister," the other woman answered from where
she and Fred were busily tending to Poke. "Here..."
She held out some strips of cloth she'd torn from a
petticoat Melissa had retrieved from their suitcase.

"Thanks." She took them, got a canteen of water and
started back to Clay.

"Do you need any help?" Ruth asked, since they had
done just about all they could for Poke under the
circumstances.

"No, I'll be fine," Reina was startled to find herself
discouraging the other woman's help. She had no time
for interest in men right now, and even if she did, she
surely wouldn't have chosen one like this. Why in the
world did she want to be alone with him?

Clay saw her coming. "I can take those and fix it up
myself."

"It's no problem, Mr. Cordell," Reina refused. "After
all, you did save our lives. It was most unselfish of you,
and this is the least I can do to pay you back for your
bravery."

"You were the brave one, Sister," Clay told her, watching her every move as she knelt down beside him. It
amazed him that she showed no concern over getting her
white habit dirty. She seemed only intent on helping
him. This generosity of spirit was something he was not
accustomed to in women. "Not everyone could have
stood up to those men the way you did."

"But you were the one who really saved us. If you
hadn't managed to come along when you did, well, who
knows what would have happened?" Reina pointed out.

Clay listened to her praise and felt even more guilty.
His motives hadn't been unselfish at all. He'd had a
reason for being there, and a reason for wanting to save
the stage from attack. Reina Alvarez.

"I'll have to tear your shirt so I can see what we've got here," Reina told him.

"Why don't I just take it off? That'd probably be the
easiest way," he offered, removing the bandana from his
arm and then unbuttoning the shirt. That done, he
started to strip it off. Until that moment, Clay hadn't
realized how bad his arm really felt. He paled a bit and
paused in mid-effort.

"Here, Mr. Cordell. Let me help you..." Reina had
seen his color go slightly ashen and knew he had to be in
pain. She tried to remain very business-like and detached as she slipped the garment from his broad shoulders. But when she accidentally touched the hot, hard
width of his hair-roughened chest in the process, a surge
of excitement shot through Reina unlike anything she'd
ever experienced before. She looked up in surprise and
once again her eyes met his. Reina colored deeply as
Clay gave her a questioning look.

"Sister?" he asked, concerned.

"Can you finish?" she mumbled nervously, quickly
diverting her gaze downward away from his. She discovered immediately that she'd made an even bigger mistake for she found herself staring pointblank at his
deliriously muscle-sculpted chest. Knowing she couldn't
move away without revealing the crazy feelings that
were tormenting her, Reina remained as calm as possible as she waited for him to finish removing the shirt.

"Sure," Clay answered, realizing that Sister Mary
Regina was probably unused to seeing men's bodies. It
troubled him that he'd caused her embarrassment
again. Still, being so close to her, he couldn't deny that
he was physically attracted to her. It was an attraction,
though, he wouldn't act upon. She was a very special
woman. He respected her and would not hurt her in any
way. "There, all done."

"Thanks. I was afraid that I might hurt you trying to
get it off your arm," she lied smoothly as she began to
check the gunshot wound.

"You wouldn't have hurt me," he said softly, his words washing over her in a velvet caress.

Reina paused in her actions. "How can you be so
sure?"

"Because I don't think you've ever hurt anyone in your
entire life," Clay's voice was suddenly low and deep and
slightly husky for he was speaking straight from his
heart.

Reina shivered in spite of the heat. "I hope your faith
in me is justified."

"It is," Clay responded.

Reina hadn't meant to look up at him again. She'd
meant to concentrate only on doctoring his arm, but
somehow she found herself almost compelled to glance
up. Reina realized instantly that she'd made a serious
tactical error as his probing, innately sensual, stormygray gaze caught and held hers.

Dazedly, Reina found herself thinking that he had
absolutely the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen. She
was held enraptured, a captive of his mesmerizing masculinity. This time she couldn't bring herself to break off
the contact, and her heart pounded wildly in her breast
as the moment seemed to stretch on indefinitely.

Clay, too, was trapped by the flaring tension between
them. She was a woman pledged to God, a woman who
devoted her life to helping others, and yet he was sure
she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen. There
was no deceit in her manner, no cunning in her soul.
Her dark eyes, gazing up at him so trustingly, held him
spellbound, and he found himself beguiled by her innocence and gentle openness. Suddenly, Clay wanted
more than anything to take her in his arms and kiss the
soft sweetness of her mouth.

The blatant, hot desire that surged through him at the
imagined embrace, surprised Clay and left him feeling
deeply shamed. He grew angry with himself for not
being able to control his lusty thoughts. Sister Mary
Regina was a woman who spurned worldly goods and
carnal behavior, not some whore he could enjoy for an hour and leave without a second thought. She deserved
his complete respect and consideration, not his heated
musings. He was contrite, and he searched, for something to say to break the taut silence that stretched
between them.

"How's it look, Sister?" He almost didn't recognize his
own voice for it sounded hoarsely disconnected, as if it
belonged to someone else.

For an instant, Reina wanted to smile dreamily and
tell him that his eyes looked fine, that he had the most
gorgeous gray eyes she'd ever seen in her life and that she
wanted to spend hours gazing into them. Only his use of
"Sister" broke the mood and kept her from forgetting
who she was and what she was doing here.

Inwardly, Reina raged at her own stupidity. She
stiffened her resolve and turned her full attention to his
arm. She was pleased to find that the bullet had passed
completely through.

"You're in luck," she told him when she found her
voice. "It looks clean. The bullet went through."

"Good. Listen, there's a flask of whiskey in my saddlebags," Clay said, thinking he could certainly use a stiff
drink to help ease not only the pain from his arm, but his
lecherous yearnings as well.

"Of course, we can use that to sterilize it."

"I wasn't thinking of wasting all of it on the wound,
Sister." He grinned at her.

The smile, meant solely for her, left Reina flustered,
and she quickly got up. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking...
I'm sure your arm must be hurting you terribly."

Reina hurried to his horse to get the whiskey. She dug
through the packed saddlebags and finally got a hand on
the slim flask that was practically buried at the bottom.
When she pulled it out, though, something else came
loose with it and dropped to the ground at her feet.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, embarrassed by her clumsiness. The object looked to be a small, framed picture
of some kind, and she bent to pick it up from where it had fallen in the dust.

Reina had had no intention of prying into his personal effects. She had merely planned to put the picture
back without comment. But when she found herself
staring down at the small portrait of herself her father
had commissioned two years before, her heart almost
skidded to a halt.

All vestiges of color drained from Reina's face as she
stared at her own likeness. She was sure she looked as
shocked as she was feeling, and she was glad that she had
her back to Clay.

Clay Cordell had a picture of her! There was only one way he
could have come into possession of her picture, and that was
through her father. Fear shook Reina to her very depths.
She swallowed convulsively against the sudden, paralyzing tightness in her throat and fought to keep her hands
from shaking uncontrollably. Dear Lord! What was she
going to do now? This man was after her!

Reina strove for control. She couldn't panic, she just
couldn't! Obviously, Cordell hadn't recognized her.
Surely, if he had, he would have said something. She'd
come too far to let anything stop her now. Drawing a
deep breath, she stuffed the picture back into the saddlebag and tied it shut.

"The woman in the picture is very beautiful," Reina
complimented herself as she turned back to Clay, a tight
rein held on her runaway emotions. She carefully
schooled her features into an expression of only mild
interest. Relief swept through her when she found that
he hadn't even been watching her, but had leaned back
against the wheel again and closed his eyes. Thank heaven
he hadn 't seen how upset I got! she thought.

"Yes, she is," Clay answered flatly. Reina Alvarez. Just
the thought of her sent a shaft of white-hot fury through
him. If it hadn't been for that spoiled little witch and her
equally arrogant father, he wouldn't be out here in the
middle of nowhere, winged in the arm. Instead, he and
Dev would have collected their reward for Denton by now and been happily on their way. Damn her, anyway!

Reina waited expectantly for him to say more, and
she grew irritated when he didn't offer any other information. She was desperate to find out exactly what was
going on.

"Is she your fiancee?" Reina asked, forcing herself to
act as though nothing unusual had happened as she
walked back to him with the flask.

"No," he answered, taking the whiskey when she
offered it. "As a matter of fact, Sister, I've never met the
woman." Clay wasn't sure if that was a blessing or not as
he opened the whiskey and took a deep swig. The
burning warmth of it spread through him like a healing
balm.

"Why do you have her picture with you then?" Reina
tried to come across as just being curious without
sounding avid or hungry for details. She didn't want
him to suspect her of more than just a passing interest.

"I'm a bounty hunter," he explained. "The girl ran
away from home, and her father hired me to bring her
back. He gave me the picture to help me identify her
when I find her."

"I see." Reina was thrilled that her father hadn't had a
newer portrait of her, but she couldn't understand why
he hadn't come after her himself. The fact that he'd hired
a bounty hunter to track her down, frightened her. She'd
never imagined he would resort to anything like this!
"Where do you think she's gone?"