Elle James - Cowboy Resurrected

The cowboy unbuttoned his soaked shirt and peeled it off his shoulders.

Sophia gasped and backed even farther away until the backs of her knees ran into the side of the bed and she almost fell. “What are you doing?”

“Getting out of my wet clothes. I don’t plan on freezing all night.” He scooped her backpack off the floor and opened it. “Do you have any dry clothes in here?”

She darted forward and snatched at the backpack. “That’s mine.”

He held on to the strap, his eyes narrowing. “Seeing as we have to share this cabin for a night, I’d like to know you’re not hiding a knife or another gun in here that you plan on using on me in my sleep.” He peeled her fingers off the other strap and dumped the contents of the backpack on the closest of the twin beds.

Foil-wrapped tortillas, a can of frijoles pinto and two bottles of water fell out on the bed. Enough food for two people for a single day. Beside them, a flashlight, fifty dollars of American money and one extra T-shirt was all she had to her name.

“Not much to go cross-country on.”

“I was backpacking in the canyon. I didn’t plan on staying,” she lied.

He dug in one of the side pockets of the backpack and brought out the wire cutters. “Something you carry on hikes?”

She shrugged. “A girl never knows what tools she’ll need.”

“Anyone ever tell you it’s not safe to travel alone in this area? Especially if you’re a woman.”

Sophia swallowed hard on the lump forming in her throat. She hadn’t planned on traveling alone. Hector was to guide and protect her until she found Hank Derringer. Now Hector lay dead back in the canyon. With no one to help her, she had to rely on herself. She lifted her chin. “I don’t need a man to protect me.” Especially one who wanted to control her and keep her locked away from the world.

“Glad to know that. I didn’t plan on signing up for the job.” He lifted the blanket she’d tossed on the bed earlier. “Since you have a dry T-shirt, I’ll use the blanket until my jeans dry.” He nodded toward the bed and the pile of supplies. “Get out of your wet clothes. Getting sick will do you no good.” He reached for the button on his jeans.

Sophia’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. “What are you doing?”

He shook his head and spoke slowly, as if to a dense child. “I told you, I’m getting out of my wet clothes. You can watch...or not.” He flicked the button open and ran the zipper down in one fluid movement.

Sophia gasped and spun away from him. “I don’t even know you.”

“It’s not like I’m going to make love to you. I prefer my women willing, dry and preferably not covered in mud.”

“All the more reason to remain in my wet clothing.”

“Suit yourself.” He tossed the jeans over a chair beside her. “If it’ll help, I’ll turn my back while you strip out of those muddy things. I might even be convinced to take them out in the rain and rinse them for you so that you’ll have something semiclean to wear in the morning.”

She did feel gritty and cold. The dirt she could handle, but the cold couldn’t be good for her baby. “Fine.” She turned toward him, happy to note he’d wrapped his naked body in the blanket. “Turn around.”

She’d been raised in Monterrey by her Mexican father and her American mother, but the proprieties of life in Mexico demanded she didn’t strip naked in front of a stranger.

Granted, proprieties had gone by the wayside when she’d chosen to move in with Antonio, despite her parents’ objections. They’d begged her to wait until she had the ring on her finger before committing to such a drastic move. But Antonio had been eager to have her to himself, and Sophia had been young and stupid in love.

“Look, I’ll turn my back,” the man said. “But you have to promise not to stab me in it while I do.”

Sophia snorted. “I don’t have a knife, and you took my gun.”

* * *

THORN KEPT HIS back to her, watching her movements through his peripheral vision and the movement of her shadow.

She eased along the wall toward the stove, wary of him and as skittish as a wild cat. If she didn’t get out of the muddy clothes, they wouldn’t dry by morning and she’d possibly get sick or suffer hypothermia from being cold all night.

Thorn didn’t relish the idea of hauling a sick woman back to the ranch. Especially if they were going to have to ride double on the motorcycle she’d hidden beneath the lean-to.

“Since we’ll be sharing this cabin until the storm abates, it might help to know your name. I’m Thorn Drennan.”

She didn’t answer for a long time.

When he turned to see if she’d somehow slipped by him and left, his chest tightened.

The woman had shed her wet, dirty clothing and was slipping the dry T-shirt over her head and down her body.

Silhouetted against the fireplace, her curves were all woman and deliciously alluring.

A shock of desire ripped through him, and he closed his eyes to the image.

He hadn’t felt anything for another woman since Kayla had died two years ago. Trapped in a cabin with a stranger, he wasn’t prepared for the heat burning through his veins.

The woman turned toward him, her eyes narrowing. “You said you’d keep your back turned,” she whispered accusingly.

“You didn’t answer. I thought you might have bolted for the door.”

“As you said, I’d be foolish to make a run for it in this storm.”

He nodded. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She shrugged. “My name is not important. But you can call me...Sophia.” The woman hesitated over the name, as if she wasn’t used to giving it or using it.

Thorn didn’t believe that it was her real name. But then, why would she keep her name from him unless she had something to hide?

Already uncomfortable with the situation, and not sure she wouldn’t stab him in the back, Thorn carried her gun and his rifle to the door and laid them within reach.

“I’ll take those clothes,” he said.

Sophia gathered her dirty jeans and shirt and handed them to Thorn. Their fingers brushed, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up his arm.

She must have felt it, too, because her eyes widened and her lips opened in a soft gasp.

Thorn brushed his reaction aside, blaming it on supercharged air from the lightning storm. He flung the door open, welcoming the cold rain that blew in with the fury of the storm.

With the blanket tied around his waist, he figured he’d get soaked no matter what. He held Sophia’s clothes under the eaves, letting the rush of rainwater pour over the garments. When they were sufficiently free of mud, he wrung them out and closed the door.

Sophia moved another chair by the stove and hung her jeans across the back, then laid her shirt on the wooden seat. When done, she held her hands to the flames, her face pale, her jaw tight and determined.

Thorn scooped the gun she’d used to shoot at him off the floor and tucked it into the folds of the blanket around his waist. He leaned his rifle against the wall beside one of the two beds.

Sophia’s gaze followed his movements, her brows knitted and her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

Thorn liked that he made her nervous. She might be less tempted to take another stab at killing him if she was intimidated.

“Are you going to take me to the police in the morning?” she asked.

“I haven’t decided.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his brows raised. “Are you going to convince me not to?”

Sophia shrugged. “You have made up your mind already. Why bother trying?”

His eyes narrowed. “If you really are an American citizen, where are you from?”

She glanced to the far corner.