Stacey Kayne - Bride Of Shadow Canyon

“I prefer to call you Mr. Doulan, thank you.” Rachell thought it best to keep as much formality as possible between herself and her temporary spouse. The slow smile etching across his lips reaffirmed that decision. Calculating gray eyes warmed as he gazed down at her. Not with merriment, but pure mischief.

Rachell tensed. He had no right to be so almighty confident, and dreadfully good-looking.

“Suppose I prefer to call you Mrs. Doulan?”

“You will not.” She fumed as his smug smile widened. A single black eyebrow arched high into his forehead.

Blast it all! She did not like this man. “Fine,” she conceded. “ Jed, do you have any soap? I’ve been collecting trail dust for over a week and wish to clean up a bit.”

He studied her for a long moment. “If you’d like to wash your hands before we eat, sure. If you’re askin’ to lather some all over your smooth ivory skin, the answer’s no.”

“Very well,” she said in a light tone, refusing to show her disappointment. It took no small effort. She’d not had a decent bath in two weeks, but she would make do with the fresh water. “Do you have a cloth then?”

He reached into his saddlebags, pulled out a white rag and tossed it to her. “Don’t be all day about it. We have a camp to set up. I’m not your damned servant. And don’t be splashing about like a duckling,” he called after her. “You never know who or what might be in the area.”

“Thank you,” she chimed, walking away.

As Rachell approached the river’s edge, listening to the rush of the rapid current, watching the white caps of water twisting and slapping against the rocks, her heart began to thunder in her chest. Spotting a shallow cove a few yards down, she continued downstream. She stopped at the edge of the clear, still pool and stared at the rocks beneath the cold water.

She hated rivers. She also hated being filthy. She sat on a nearby boulder to remove her boots, then slowly approached the shallow pool. Three feet deep, four at the most, she told herself. Not enough water to go above her head.

She knew how to swim, but so had Andrew. Rachell hadn’t been in a river since she was nine and watched her twelve-year-old brother slip under a deceptively calm veil of water and never resurface. Luke and Isaac, her older brothers, had frantically searched the water for him, but they couldn’t save him from the river.

This small cove was beyond the reach of the deadly current. There was no undertow to hold her under. She sucked in a deep gasp of air as she took another step toward the edge, striving to shut out the sound of the deadly rushing water only a few feet away.

Rachell glanced at the white cloth in her hand. A sponge bath was not going to do the job. She reached for the bottom of her waistcoat. There was no sense in wasting time on the buttons. The garment hung on her like elephant skin. She whipped it over her head, tossing it aside then quickly dropped the large skirt which barely clung to her hips. She paused as her toes met the ice-cold water.

“You can do this, Rachell.” Drawing another deep breath, she hurried to the center of the shallow pool. Air rushed from her lungs and she sank into the freezing water. Shivering, she briskly ran the cloth over her body. The number of dark bruises marring her arms stunned her. No wonder she was so sore. She was a mess!

Cringing from the very thought of dunking her head, she sucked in another deep gasp and went under, digging her fingers into the dirt-filled tangles. Rachell sprang from the water, her teeth chattering as she hurried toward her discarded clothes.

After wringing the water from her hair, she reached for her dress. As she carefully pulled the skirt over her black-and-blue hip, she thought of Jed’s gentle hands. Jed was a mountain of muscle, yet whenever he stopped to rest or water his horse, he was always careful not to bump her hip. His large hands continually handled her with extreme tenderness.

Unexpected, given his temperament.

Shivering, she picked up her boots and hurried back to their campsite barefoot. She was overjoyed to find a fire burning when she returned. A pot of water sat on a grate above the flames and a bedroll had been spread out beside the fire. But Jed was nowhere to be seen.

Chilled to the bone, she didn’t hesitate as she slid under his blanket. Once she eased her chill, she’d be ready to help with supper. She sighed with relief as she pulled the thick wool over her cold body, surrounding herself in its warmth, and a surprisingly pleasant masculine scent.

Dear God, what have I done to deserve this?

Jed froze at the sight of his young bride sleeping soundly in his bedroll.

Why did I have to look downstream?

He suppressed a groan while trying to push the tantalizing image of her perfect, pint-size body from his mind. Crouching beside his pack, he pulled out a cast iron skillet and dropped in two fish. He reached into a deep pouch on his saddlebag and pulled out his last lemon. Cursing his short temper, he carried everything to the fire. He should have taken the time to buy more supplies. What he had left wouldn’t last long, and he surely wouldn’t be finding any fruit trees until he reached his ranch in California.

As he seasoned the fish, his gaze kept wavering to the vision across the fire. He’d been doing his job, he reasoned. After watching her approach a shallow pool of water, he’d scouted a decent perimeter for any signs of danger. Satisfied that all was clear, he’d returned to the river’s edge to catch some trout for supper. Rachell was still standing on the rocky shoreline, staring into a calm pool of water.

And then, before he’d realized what she was about to do, she was as naked as the sunrise, with all its shimmering splendor. The sight had knocked the air from his lungs and all the sense from his head. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from her ivory skin and long auburn hair that radiated in the sunshine. She’d shocked him again by slipping into the frigid water, completely submerging herself. Only then did he find enough sense to step back from the river’s edge.

She must have been desperate for a bath. He wasn’t against bathing in cold mountain streams, and had every intention of bathing later this evening, but most women would go without, rather than endure the bite of the cold water. He almost felt guilty for not allowing her to use his soap.

Almost. The last thing he needed was for this woman to be more enticing. Even his bitter lye soap would be too sweet a scent on her soft skin. His gaze skimmed across her pretty face before he forced himself to look away.

Blazing hell, but he’d never before had so much trouble controlling his wayward thoughts. This little bit of a woman, who’d done nothing but glare and shout at him, was making short work of the disciplined control he usually executed over his mind and body.

Lord save him if she actually tilted those delicate pink lips upward and flashed him a smile.

Deciding not to disturb her sleep, he prepared their food and finished his meal in peace before he went to wake her. His hand barely grazed her shoulder when her arm shot out, fast as a striking snake to combat his touch.

“Jed,” she said, releasing a slow breath as she sat up.

“Good thing you don’t wear a gun,” he said. “Or I’d surely have a hole between my eyes.” He wasn’t sure she’d heard him. Her wide eyes had fastened to the plate he held in his hand, her hunger as transparent as her pale skin.

“You caught fish—biscuits!” She dragged her eyes away from the plate, which he imagined hadn’t been easy for her, and glanced up at the pink-streaked sky behind him.

“Gracious! I didn’t mean to sleep so long.” Guilt-filled eyes met his gaze. “Sorry.”