back around. It wasn’t often he heard a lady use the word bastard . He’d met this girl’s mother, if only briefly, and she’d been dressed like a queen. It took money, and a lot of it, to afford fine clothing and hats bedecked with gewgaws. This girl came from wealth, or his name wasn’t Matthew Coulter. Hell, she’d probably even gone to one of those fancy schools where young females got finished, whatever the hell that meant.
As if she guessed his thoughts, she looped an arm around her middle and lifted her slender shoulders in a shrug. “I have four older brothers. They don’t always keep their mouths clean.”
A tension-packed silence fell between them. Matthew sensed that she was afraid of him, and he wasn’t sure how to ease her mind. Telling her what a fine, upstanding fellow he was probably wouldn’t work. She had no way of knowing whether his word was good, and he felt disinclined to talk himself blue in the face trying to convince her.
So far, she hadn’t shed a single tear. One arm locked around her middle, she sat straight in the saddle, shoulders back, chin lifted. After all she’d been through, her behavior struck him as strange. He had a mother and sisters, and they were as strong as women came, standing fast beside their menfolk, no matter what. But in a situation like this, they’d be sobbing their hearts out. Not this gal. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought nothing bad had happened to her. Earlier, when he’d watched her by the fire, he’d figured her to be in shock. Maybe she still was. When things got too terrible to face, people sometimes slipped into a stuporlike numbness.
“You all right?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
She cut him a sharp glance and then fixed her gaze straight ahead again. “Of course I’m all right. I’m alive, aren’t I?”
She nudged her mount into a trot, forcing Matthew to increase his speed to stay abreast of her. Oddly, her avowal did little to ease his mind. Such steely self-control wasn’t natural. He could only hope she didn’t start thinking about what they’d done to her and suddenly fall apart farther along the trail. The last thing he needed was a hysterical woman on his hands.
In truth, Eden wasn’t all right. The pain in her ribs exploded into agony every time she took a deep breath, and a horrible shakiness in the pit of her stomach made her feel as if she’d swallowed a handful of jumping beans. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, and she yearned to cry. Only a fear that she might never be able to stop made her cling to her composure.
Besides, losing control in front of a total stranger went against her every instinct. Never show weakness or fear to the enemy. Ace had driven that tenet of survival into her brain with merciless repetition. If she started to cry and couldn’t stop, her rescuer might see her as a spineless, pathetic creature lacking the courage or strength to defend herself. If he was a no-account, such an opinion of her might encourage him to boldness and possibly bring out his mean streak.
Eden didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, but facts were facts. Her body was about to give out on her. She’d been on starvation rations for five days. She felt fairly certain that Pete had broken at least two of her ribs. With her physical endurance tapped nearly dry, all she had left was her intelligence. She could not get weepy. She could not show weakness. Miscreant men were like dogs: If a victim rolled over on its back and showed its belly, they went for the jugular.
So she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, endured the pain in her side, and held her emotions in check, ignoring the lump in her throat and the fear that sent shivers up her spine. What if? A dozen questions circled, all starting with those two words. What if the Sebastians’ horses had returned to camp? What if the brothers were hot on their heels even now? What if her rescuer suddenly turned on her?
Feeling alone and
As if she guessed his thoughts, she looped an arm around her middle and lifted her slender shoulders in a shrug. “I have four older brothers. They don’t always keep their mouths clean.”
A tension-packed silence fell between them. Matthew sensed that she was afraid of him, and he wasn’t sure how to ease her mind. Telling her what a fine, upstanding fellow he was probably wouldn’t work. She had no way of knowing whether his word was good, and he felt disinclined to talk himself blue in the face trying to convince her.
So far, she hadn’t shed a single tear. One arm locked around her middle, she sat straight in the saddle, shoulders back, chin lifted. After all she’d been through, her behavior struck him as strange. He had a mother and sisters, and they were as strong as women came, standing fast beside their menfolk, no matter what. But in a situation like this, they’d be sobbing their hearts out. Not this gal. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought nothing bad had happened to her. Earlier, when he’d watched her by the fire, he’d figured her to be in shock. Maybe she still was. When things got too terrible to face, people sometimes slipped into a stuporlike numbness.
“You all right?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
She cut him a sharp glance and then fixed her gaze straight ahead again. “Of course I’m all right. I’m alive, aren’t I?”
She nudged her mount into a trot, forcing Matthew to increase his speed to stay abreast of her. Oddly, her avowal did little to ease his mind. Such steely self-control wasn’t natural. He could only hope she didn’t start thinking about what they’d done to her and suddenly fall apart farther along the trail. The last thing he needed was a hysterical woman on his hands.
In truth, Eden wasn’t all right. The pain in her ribs exploded into agony every time she took a deep breath, and a horrible shakiness in the pit of her stomach made her feel as if she’d swallowed a handful of jumping beans. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, and she yearned to cry. Only a fear that she might never be able to stop made her cling to her composure.
Besides, losing control in front of a total stranger went against her every instinct. Never show weakness or fear to the enemy. Ace had driven that tenet of survival into her brain with merciless repetition. If she started to cry and couldn’t stop, her rescuer might see her as a spineless, pathetic creature lacking the courage or strength to defend herself. If he was a no-account, such an opinion of her might encourage him to boldness and possibly bring out his mean streak.
Eden didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, but facts were facts. Her body was about to give out on her. She’d been on starvation rations for five days. She felt fairly certain that Pete had broken at least two of her ribs. With her physical endurance tapped nearly dry, all she had left was her intelligence. She could not get weepy. She could not show weakness. Miscreant men were like dogs: If a victim rolled over on its back and showed its belly, they went for the jugular.
So she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, endured the pain in her side, and held her emotions in check, ignoring the lump in her throat and the fear that sent shivers up her spine. What if? A dozen questions circled, all starting with those two words. What if the Sebastians’ horses had returned to camp? What if the brothers were hot on their heels even now? What if her rescuer suddenly turned on her?
Feeling alone and
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