The Barefoot Bride (5 page)

She cocked her head sideways, her red hair falling over her breast. "Then why'd you act so dang-blasted hotheaded today when I was a-tryin' to hep you?"

"I'm not used to women like you. I apologize."

Satisfied with his answer, Chickadee nodded and went to the bed. "It's a-gittin' late. Move over."

Saxon's eyebrow rose rakishly. Things were moving right along, it seemed. Was this how he was to repay her? Well, she
was
a pretty bit of female, he mused. And they
were
alone in a secluded cabin. And it
had
been weeks since he'd bedded a woman.

He started to move over for her. But as he did, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. If he could barely slide over in the bed without his wound aching, how could he perform in it?

Chickadee sighed impatiently. "I said move—"

"I heard you!"

"Then git over so's I can git in too!"

His shoulder throbbed painfully. What if he tried making love to her and couldn't do it? Weighing the risks, he decided a wound to his pride would be infinitely worse than the one to his shoulder. "I thought you were going to sleep on the rug," he finally said.

Chickadee turned and looked at the bearskin. "That's a skin, and I ain't a-sleepin' on it when I got this bed right here."

Saxon bunched up the quilt around him and proceeded to get out of the bed. Chickadee pushed him back. "Whar you gwine?"

"The bearskin looks comfortable enough to me. This is your bed, and you've every right to it."

Chickadee wrinkled her nose. "We can share the bed."

As soon as I'm able,
he promised her silently and stood, his head reeling. Chickadee allowed him to go, a mischievous grin on her face as she slipped into bed. Propping herself up on her elbow, she watched Saxon shuffle to the bearskin.

As Saxon neared it, Khan's head went up. When he came closer, the wolf eyed him warily, and when his toes touched the edge of the rug, the animal bared his teeth. Saxon jumped back immediately. As he did, he stepped on the quilt and accidentally yanked it out of his hands.

The sight of his bare backside brought a peal of laughter from Chickadee. When Saxon bent to retrieve the blanket, Khan snapped at his hand, and Chickadee could barely control herself. She laughed so hard, the bed shook.

Saxon never took his eyes off Khan. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and beat what little sense she possessed out of Chickadee, but he didn't dare. The wolf was snarling, and nude or not, Saxon wouldn't have moved a muscle if the Queen of England herself had been behind him.

Speaking quietly, he asked, "You knew he was going to do that, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"Why didn't you warn me?"

"Some thangs are better larnt by yoresef. Now you know that thar skin belongs to Khan. He don't mind you a-settin' on it durin' the day, but he don't share it at night."

Saxon let out a slow breath. "Well, now that you've belatedly informed me of that fact and had your laugh for the day, would you mind helping me out of this predicament?"

"Git yoresef outen it. Yore a man, ain't you?"

Her challenge narrowed his eyes. Hesitantly, he bent for the quilt, and once again Khan growled. "Chickadee, come over here and help me before I've got his teeth marks on me as well as those of the bear."

"Say please. Don't you got no manners?"

He gritted his teeth. "Please."

Chickadee snapped her fingers, and Khan laid his head back down and closed his eyes. Saxon reached to the floor and jerked up the quilt. He whirled on Chickadee and started toward her, but another low growl from Khan warned him that what he had in mind would be a grave mistake. So angry he could barely see straight, he searched the room for any other place he could possibly sleep. There was none. The bed, with Chickadee, was his only choice.

"You afeared I'll rape you? Is that why you don't want to sleep with me?"

His jaw dropped. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever—"

"Don't think I could do it, do you?"

"I've no doubt at all you could, were the circumstances right, but there are other factors to be considered."

"Y'mean yore wounds?"

He swallowed his impatience. He'd never imagined he'd one day be standing naked in some mountain cabin with a brute of a girl talking about her raping him. And the addle-brained little thing didn't even realize why it was impossible! For someone who was obviously well-acquainted with the sight of male anatomy, she sure didn't understand much about how it worked.

"Since you're taking great pleasure in trying to embarrass me, Miss McBride, allow me the same pleasure. Could it be that under that experienced exterior of yours there lurks a virgin?"

She smiled at him, not at all flustered. "I ain't never laid with a man afore. T.J. Howe kissed me once, but I didn't like it much so I never let him do it agin. Buck Hawkins tried to touch my tit last year whilst we was a-pickin' blackberries, but I hauled off and let him have it. He ain't never bothered me agin."

"Then why did you bring up the subject of rape? If you don't know what lovemaking is all about, how do you think it possible to violate me?"

This was the most ludicrous conversation he'd ever had with anyone in his whole life. But as absurd as it was, he was determined to see it through and back Chickadee into a corner out of which she couldn't escape. Surely with the Harvard education he had, he could beat this little mountain twit at her own game.

And the best way to do it would be to call her bluff.

"Well?" he pressed.

She watched the mellow reflection of firelight sway through the ice-blue of his eyes, and a funny little feeling jumped around inside her. "I seed animules a-doin' it. Don't look to me like thur's much to it."

He raised his eyebrow. "Oh, really? Would you care to try it then?"

She laid back down and stared at the ceiling.

Saxon sported a triumphant grin, sure he'd bested her. He walked-to the bed, but just before he got into it, she answered his question.

"I'm gwine on eighteen. Ain't old, but I reckon it's old enough. Shore, I'll try it with you."

Saxon's knee slid off the bed. Without a word, he went to the farthest corner of the room and spent a long, uncomfortable night there.

*

The aroma of simmering meat woke him. His fever was gone, his back felt fine, and his shoulder didn't hurt as much as he expected it would. What sort of mysterious medicine was in Betty Jane's puffballs?

Her back to him, Chickadee didn't realize he was awake, and he was content to watch her move about. She was humming some happy tune, her red curls bouncing on her slight shoulders. Her arms were as slender as the branches of a young tree, her waist was about as big as his thigh, and her bottom was small and firm. That amazing strength she possessed was apparently in her legs, he decided. Though she was doing nothing but ambling from corner to corner, he could see the ropes of muscle beneath her breeches.

Chickadee heaped meat onto a plate and carried it to a small hickory table that already held a platter of eggs and bread. This done, she wiped her hands on the sides of her breeches and turned toward Saxon.

"How long you been a-gawkin' at me?" She looked away from his penetrating, robin's-egg-blue gaze, finding it strangely disturbing.

"Awhile," he answered lazily.

His voice, like a fresh mountain breeze, cooled her despite the warmth of the cabin. Unaccustomed to the shivery feelings, she shrugged them off. "Well, come on and git yore mouth greased up. Once these vittles is cold, that's the way you'll eat 'em. I ain't gwine keep 'em hotted fer you."

Saxon dressed quickly, no easy task since he held on to the quilt at the same time. Then he joined Chickadee at the table and helped himself to a generous portion of the meal. Cool, delicious water accompanied it, and Saxon couldn't remember ever enjoying a breakfast as much. As they ate, he tried to draw Chickadee into conversation, but she only muttered short answers and never once looked up from her plate.

"Mealtime's fer eatin', outlander," she finally said and sopped up meat juice with a piece of cornbread. "Thar's a place fer talkin', and the table ain't it."

"But conversation can make a meal more pleasurable. Food should be enjoyed at a leisurely pace. Savored."

"You eat the way you want, and leave me to eat the way I want. I enjoy my meals jist fine."

"Well, at any rate, thank you for the breakfast. I don't think I've ever had meat as tender as that was."

"Bahr meat allus eats good iffen you cook it right."

Saxon glanced at his empty plate, the meat he'd eaten suddenly heavy in his stomach. "Why didn't you tell me it was bear? I thought it was—well I don't know what I thought it was, but I had no idea it was bear!"

She picked at her teeth with her nail. "Didn't think it'd differ. Ain't bahr meat good enough fer a outlander?"

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"It's what you are, ain't it?" she answered smoothly.

"Yes, but the way you say it makes it sound like it's an undesirable thing to be."

Chickadee leaned back in her chair and studied him. Again, her insides seemed to coil. "What's it like, a-bein' a outlander? You live in a big, fancy city?"

"I live in Boston," he replied, scrutinizing her just as blatantly. "And I don't think there's any way to define what an outlander is. It's all a matter of what you're used to."

"You been around the world? You ever seed a real Chinaman?" She leaned forward expectantly.

Saxon watched her breasts strain against the closing of her shirt. "I've seen Chinese people. Does China interest you?"

"What about Mexicans? You seed them too?"

"Yes, I've seen Mexicans too."

"You ever shooted a elephant?"

Saxon grinned. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Fer them teeth. I seed a paintin' o' one one time, and I ain't never fergot them long white teeth that stick outen thur mouths. Wonder how many bullets it'd take to brang one of 'em down?"

"Is that all you ever think about? Killing things?"

Chickadee pondered his question, her hand absently rubbing Khan's head. "I ain't never kilt nothin' that didn't insist on it. I kill to eat or to keep from a-bein' et mysef. I like them elephants' teeth, but I wouldn't really shoot one jist fer that. I ain't much fer people who hunt fer the sport of it. Feels real wrong to me."

Saxon watched Khan lay his huge head on Chickadee's dainty lap. "I wasn't aware white wolves lived here."

"Khan's from Canada. A while back thur was this trapper who come up here. Said he'd been up in Canada and shooted a wolf thar. Felt bad about it when he seed her babies come a-runnin' out to her. One run away, but Khan stayed by his mama. When that trapper come here, he give him to me. Said he couldn't take keer o' him no more."

"How did you come up with his name?"

"Didn't. The trapper did. I woulda named him snow on account o' he blends right in with the snow."

"Khan suits him better. It's a much more noble-sounding name than Snow." Saxon continued to watch her tanned fingers slip in and out of the thick fur on Khan's neck and couldn't help wondering how those same fingers would feel playing through his own hair.

"His middle name's Snow," she decided quite suddenly, determined to make her preference clear to Saxon. "Khan Snow McBride. Onliest family I got,"

"What happened to your parents?"

Chickadee's features clouded. "Mama died four years ago. Tuk real sick, and not even all them yarbs Betty Jane used could keep the breath from a-slackin' in her throat. Never did even find out what ailed her."

Saxon reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. He realized he liked holding it, so he rubbed his thumb over it in a slow, light caress. "I'm sorry. It must have been hard for you."

Her hand began to perspire in his. "I managed. Betty Jane and George Franklin looked after me till I growed."

"You lived with them?"

"Lived right here. I was only thirteen, but I knowed how to take keer o' mysef. Betty Jane did thangs like a-makin' my clothes and soap, but I fed mysef."

"What about your father?"

Her expression darkened, "His name's Barton Winslow, but I never knowed him. He was from up North. Maybe New York, but I ain't shore. Anyhow, he wandered up here a-lookin' fer gold in the streams, and Mama? Well, she tuk a heart-burnin' to him. Warn't no preacher-parson around, but up here a man's word's his bond, and Barton Winslow tole Mama he was gwine marry her. But when she was a-childin' with me? Well, he jist up and tuk off, a-takin' ever'thang Mama had. Even her little bit o' gold."

She cleared the table, her face still troubled. "I never knowed what Mama was like afore I was born, but Betty Jane says she was the happiest woman in these here parts. But after Barton Winslow left her, she was low in the mind. She was a good enough mama, but she didn't smile much that I can recall. One day I'm gwine find Barton Winslow and make him suffer the way he made Mama suffer."

"Murder is against the law, Chickadee."

"Didn't never say I'd kill the man. 'Course, never said I wouldn't, neither. Y'see, I got a mind to git out and see this country one day, Saxon. Ain't never gwine leave these hills ferever, but thur's a passel o' thangs I don't know nothin' about. And who knows? Maybe whilst I'm a-travelin', I'll come acrost ole Barton Winslow. The world's big, but thur's only so many places a man can hide."

Saxon folded his arms across his chest. Funny, he almost pitied this Barton Winslow. Like she said—there were only so many places a man could hide.

And woe unto the man who really angered Chickadee McBride.

*

Saxon spent the day alone in the cabin, Chickadee having gone out to do God only knew what. He'd wanted to go with her, but she was adamant that he stay and rest, and she stationed Khan at the door to make sure that's exactly what he did.

She left him a flask of the same potion Betty Jane had given him. When she returned he was asleep, the empty bottle still in his hand. "Cain't hold yore likker, Saxon Blackwell." She laughed to herself, and after starting supper she went back outside, Khan trotting behind her.