and stepped out of her frilly cotton drawers.
Sweat beaded on Carl’s skin. The tightness in his gut spread to his loins. His muscles quivered as he fought between the guilt of intruding on a woman’s private ritual—something he knew the Apache punished by death—and his yearning to witness more, to see her pick up the soap and slowly run it over her skin, down her arms, into the dip of her waist, and up again over her breasts…
Releasing a rough sigh, Carl lowered the field glasses. Only a fool built up a longing for what he couldn’t have. With a final glance, he saw Jade Armstrong crouch on the stone and dip one foot into the water. Resolutely, he turned away and retreated through the juniper thicket, taking care not to snag the branches with his rifle or his body as he forged a path.
He’d go and fetch his horse.
Then he’d come back for the girl.
By the time Carl returned, she was out of the water and almost dressed. He waited for her to finish pulling on her moccasins. The instant she jumped down from the stone, he emerged from the forest scrub and hurried up to her, a finger lifted to his lips as a sign for silence.
‘Your father sent me.’ He spoke in a rushed whisper, trying to reassure her without wasting time on explanations. ‘My horse is nearby. Stay quiet and follow me.’
Her eyes widened. Green eyes, he noted. Her mouth sprang open.
‘Talk quietly,’ he warned her.
He saw her chest rise as she filled her lungs, getting ready to cry out in alarm. The poor girl was too frightened to understand he’d come to rescue her. Before she could send a scream rippling across the landscape, Carl grabbed hold of her. He spun her around, slamming her back against his chest, and clamped one hand over her mouth.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said softly into her ear. ‘I’m taking you home.’
Muffled sounds of protest erupted beneath his callused palm. She thrashed about, fighting to break free from his hold. Soft curves molded against him. The smell of honeysuckle soap drifted in the air, enveloping him.
Carl steeled his senses against the distraction of feminine lure.
He had a job to do. A captive to rescue. A reward to earn.
Keeping one hand pressed across her mouth, he tugged free the red kerchief around his neck and used his teeth to rip the faded cloth in two. Then he slid his hand away from her face and stuffed one half of the fabric into her mouth. The other half he wrapped around her head and secured the gag in place with a knot.
For her wrists, he used a strip of rawhide that he pulled from his coat pocket. The girl kept fighting him, clearly scared out of her wits. He didn’t like the idea of trussing her up like an outlaw, but it was for her own protection, to keep her silent while they made their escape.
‘You’ll be safe soon,’ he promised as he tossed her wriggling body over his shoulder.
Angry growls assaulted his ears. Small fists pounded at his back. A pair of feet in moccasins plowed into his ribs. Carl ignored it all. He wrapped one arm around her legs, cupped his other hand over her buttocks and raced to his horse, his boots meeting the hard ground in light thuds that only an experienced tracker might hear.
A hundred dollars, he reminded himself.
He’d never expected it would be easy money.
But he had assumed the trouble would come from the Apache.
* * *
Jade gave up struggling and draped herself like a dead weight over the man’s shoulder as they hurtled along. Her head dangled down his back and her damp curls slapped about like a bunch of slithery snakes. She hadn’t been subjected to such undignified bouncing since her first ride on an Indian pony.
She emitted another growl of complaint as the man tossed her facedown on a horse—a blue roan with dark stockings on the forelegs, she could see from her upside-down perch. Sliding too far forward, she almost plunged to the ground. Her captor, now in the saddle behind her, hauled her away from the danger by the
Sweat beaded on Carl’s skin. The tightness in his gut spread to his loins. His muscles quivered as he fought between the guilt of intruding on a woman’s private ritual—something he knew the Apache punished by death—and his yearning to witness more, to see her pick up the soap and slowly run it over her skin, down her arms, into the dip of her waist, and up again over her breasts…
Releasing a rough sigh, Carl lowered the field glasses. Only a fool built up a longing for what he couldn’t have. With a final glance, he saw Jade Armstrong crouch on the stone and dip one foot into the water. Resolutely, he turned away and retreated through the juniper thicket, taking care not to snag the branches with his rifle or his body as he forged a path.
He’d go and fetch his horse.
Then he’d come back for the girl.
By the time Carl returned, she was out of the water and almost dressed. He waited for her to finish pulling on her moccasins. The instant she jumped down from the stone, he emerged from the forest scrub and hurried up to her, a finger lifted to his lips as a sign for silence.
‘Your father sent me.’ He spoke in a rushed whisper, trying to reassure her without wasting time on explanations. ‘My horse is nearby. Stay quiet and follow me.’
Her eyes widened. Green eyes, he noted. Her mouth sprang open.
‘Talk quietly,’ he warned her.
He saw her chest rise as she filled her lungs, getting ready to cry out in alarm. The poor girl was too frightened to understand he’d come to rescue her. Before she could send a scream rippling across the landscape, Carl grabbed hold of her. He spun her around, slamming her back against his chest, and clamped one hand over her mouth.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said softly into her ear. ‘I’m taking you home.’
Muffled sounds of protest erupted beneath his callused palm. She thrashed about, fighting to break free from his hold. Soft curves molded against him. The smell of honeysuckle soap drifted in the air, enveloping him.
Carl steeled his senses against the distraction of feminine lure.
He had a job to do. A captive to rescue. A reward to earn.
Keeping one hand pressed across her mouth, he tugged free the red kerchief around his neck and used his teeth to rip the faded cloth in two. Then he slid his hand away from her face and stuffed one half of the fabric into her mouth. The other half he wrapped around her head and secured the gag in place with a knot.
For her wrists, he used a strip of rawhide that he pulled from his coat pocket. The girl kept fighting him, clearly scared out of her wits. He didn’t like the idea of trussing her up like an outlaw, but it was for her own protection, to keep her silent while they made their escape.
‘You’ll be safe soon,’ he promised as he tossed her wriggling body over his shoulder.
Angry growls assaulted his ears. Small fists pounded at his back. A pair of feet in moccasins plowed into his ribs. Carl ignored it all. He wrapped one arm around her legs, cupped his other hand over her buttocks and raced to his horse, his boots meeting the hard ground in light thuds that only an experienced tracker might hear.
A hundred dollars, he reminded himself.
He’d never expected it would be easy money.
But he had assumed the trouble would come from the Apache.
* * *
Jade gave up struggling and draped herself like a dead weight over the man’s shoulder as they hurtled along. Her head dangled down his back and her damp curls slapped about like a bunch of slithery snakes. She hadn’t been subjected to such undignified bouncing since her first ride on an Indian pony.
She emitted another growl of complaint as the man tossed her facedown on a horse—a blue roan with dark stockings on the forelegs, she could see from her upside-down perch. Sliding too far forward, she almost plunged to the ground. Her captor, now in the saddle behind her, hauled her away from the danger by the
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