Cheryl St.John - Badlands Bride

He reached for the latch and opened the door. Welcoming light spilled across the threshold and revealed his muscled body in the buckskin clothing. “Grizzly.”

More afraid of bears than of him, Hallie hastily stepped past him into the room. “You’re right. Proper doesn’t even seem wise at this point.”

He carried her valise to the room where she’d washed earlier and returned with an enormous roll of furs.

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the room. “I’ll sleep here.” He pointed to the floor by the fireplace.

Hallie glanced from the room to the furs. She hadn’t meant to put the man out of his bed.

“I’ll sleep in the barn if you want,” he said, as though he misunderstood her hesitation.

“No.” She scratched at her jaw. “I don’t want to impose on you. I could sleep here.”

“You’ll have the room to yourself. I’ve slept on the ground most of my life.”

She looked at him curiously. What kind of family and upbringing had he come from? “You have?”

He frowned and stepped closer.

Hallie felt herself shrink from his immense form.

Gently, he took her hand and inspected the bites, dropping it to tip her chin up and study her neck and jaw with a warm blue gaze. He released her, and her skin tingled where he’d touched her. He brought water from the stove. For such a large man, he moved gracefully, without a sound. She glanced down at his knee-high moccasins. “This is still warm,” he said. “Go wash. I have something for the itch.”

Hallie accepted the pan and closed the door behind her. She stared in surprise. Her trunk stood against the wall. Why had he brought it in? Grateful he had, she removed the broken lock and opened the lid, sorting through the jumbled contents. Her clothing was dusty and wrinkled, but cleaner than what she was wearing. She slipped out of her traveling suit, washed and dressed in a nightgown and modest robe.

She opened the door and peered out.

DeWitt waited near the table. “Sit.”

Approaching him made her feel small and at his mercy, a feeling she didn’t like. Hallie studied his well-carved, sun-burnished face. Tonight she was at his mercy. She sat. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest.

He dipped a broad finger into a small earthenware pot and retracted it smeared with a shiny yellow substance. Dotting it on her wrists first, he then rubbed it into her skin with his second finger. His touch was surprisingly gentle. Instantly the sting disappeared. The backs of her hands received his attention next. The intimacy of the situation struck Hallie, and she grew uncomfortably warm. She was alone with a man—a strange man.

She couldn’t help studying his down-tilted face with its angled jaw and strong chin. Her attention wavered across his uncommonly long hair, still drawn back.

There was a perfectly good reason for the nearness they shared and the way she was dressed—or undressed. He couldn’t have reached her wrists in the long-sleeved jacket. And the caressing touch he administered to the backs of her hands was merely an act of human kindness.

He tipped her chin up, and Hallie became aware of his hard, callused finger. Although the position brought their faces close, he focused his attention on her neck. His finger seemed to caress beneath her ear, along her jaw, the corner of her eye. His warm breath stirred the hair at her temple and an unexpected tingle ran through Hallie’s body.

He dotted the end of her chin and their eyes met. He rubbed the spot absently, holding her gaze. “Anywhere else?”

Her gaze dropped to his lips.

“Miss?”

Hallie looked away. She shifted uncomfortably on the chair, the bites on her bottom driving her to distraction. In polite society one didn’t even refer to a leg. She couldn’t tell him where her worst bites were. “Uh...”

He handed her the pot, his callused palm grazing her skin. The corner of his mouth jerked, but immediately he flattened his lips. “Take it with you.”

She nodded.

He stepped away.

The earthenware container was warm from his hand. She stood, wanting to say more, wanting to ask why he’d decided to be kind to her. She debated the wisdom, and finally turned back. “Mr. DeWitt?”

He said nothing, but his eyes revealed his interest.

“Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

Whatever his reason for seeing to her care, she appreciated it. “You really have no reason to believe who I say I am. I admit what I did was rash. I fully expected that when I explained the situation to you and gave you the money Tess left, you would understand and could send for another wife.” She studied his unchanging expression. “I knew it would be an inconvenience, but I guess I wasn’t thinking of what a disappointment you’d be in for.”

She walked to the bedroom door. A thought occurred to her and she turned back. “You never asked me anything about her.”

His deep voice came softly from across the room.

“What does it matter now?”

Her hand stilled on the latch. “You deserve better.”

With that, she hurried into the room.

Cooper stared at the closed door. What had she meant by that? He deserved better than Tess Cordell? Or he deserved better than being left at the altar, so to speak?

The lady was a fascinating blend of contradictions. On one hand, her poise and delicate beauty lent her an otherworldly air of sophistication and charm. Just the type of woman he’d expected—and dreaded On the other hand, her headstrong actions and bold speech rattled him even more because of their unfamilianty. She was educated. She was sharp and informed. She was born and bred to a life he had no capability of understanding.

The vivacious flare in her eyes and the stubborn tilt of her chin characterized an impetuous child. Her softly curved body belied that. And the more he saw of her nature, the more he didn’t believe she would lie to get out of a situation she’d changed her mind about. Her determination included a healthy dose of integrity.

She was the reporter she said she was.

What, then, was he going to do with her? It had been plain to him from the first that he was stuck with her for at least two weeks, unless he took her back to the Missouri River crossing himself. That was out of the question. He had a business to run. He had lumber coming tomorrow and supply wagons the following day.

Well, she would have to earn her keep. That’s why he’d sent for a woman in the first place. Wasn’t it?

Cooper glanced at the wooden bar across the cabin door, unrolled his fur pallet and blew out the lantern. No sliver of light beneath the bedroom door showed him she’d doused hers, too. He slid off his moccasins and placed his rifle beside him before he lay down.

He smiled, thinking of her reluctance at putting him out of his bed. He’d made the foreign piece of furniture only two weeks ago and had yet to sleep on it. The idea for it had come to him one night before he’d finished the log house. He’d lived in the soddy behind, his dead brother’s wife, Chumani, and son, Yellow Eagle, living in the soddy beside. Once he’d sent for a bride, he’d planned the cabin, but he hadn’t really considered all the added things that went with it—and her.

A little at a time, he’d filled the place with the trappings of civilization. A wife from the city would need a stove; he couldn’t expect her to cook over a fire. And a bed, he’d thought, much, much later. A lady would need a proper place to sleep. And so he’d built it, thinking, as he planed and fitted each piece of wood, of what Tess Cordell would be like.

Simple curiosity. It hadn’t mattered that she be young or attractive. A pleasant nature, capable hands and a quick mind would have been enough. Someone to help him with his work. Someone to teach Yellow Eagle to read so he’d have a running start on the future.