| |
* * *
Fred practically threw Carrie back onto Bessie, jumped on, and they galloped away from the fire they were under.
"Where are they?" Carrie yelled. "I can't see them."
"You won't," Fred said. He almost added that the only time you saw a Crow was when they were about to cut your head off and was glad he still had sense enough to bite his tongue.
He felt Carrie tremble as she pressed her head against him. He opened his mouth to tell her that they would be fine, but another arrow flew past his arm, ripping his shirt open and grazing his skin. Carrie's grip on him tightened, but he did not think she had seen it happen. He was grateful for that. The cut was not deep, and it would only frighten her more to learn of it.
They came to a narrow part of the Missouri River. The stream he'd first found Carrie in so many days ago was most likely an offshoot of this much larger river. It ran through a good portion of Montana and he was glad he'd found it. It gave him back his bearings. He knew where they were now.
He slowed as they approached it, looking around for any sign of movement in the trees.
"Is it safe to cross?" Carrie asked.
"Yes," Fred lied. Slowly, he bade Bessie into the water. She took three steps and her legs sank so deep that the water touched the hem of Carrie's skirt. She screamed, and Bessie frantically backed out of the river before it swept her away.
"Darn it!" Fred shouted, more frustrated than he was angry. It wasn't Bessie's fault the river was so deep here. He'd known it was a long shot they could cross it on her anyway.
"Fred?" Carrie asked, more timid than he'd ever heard her.
"It's all right. We're safe. We're out of their territory. I just wanted to put some more distance between us is all, but we're okay."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
Another arrow whizzed passed them and Carrie screamed.
"What the devil?" he shouted. He was almost positive they had gotten past the Crow's land. Why were they still shooting? He moved Bessie along the river's edge, hoping the water would hide their scent and their tracks.
Bessie seemed to feel the importance of moving quickly. In almost no time, she had taken them a good three miles from where they'd first been attacked. She slowed her gallop, finally coming to a stop. They were still near the river. She bowed her head and took a long drink.
Fred got off first then helped Carrie down. She was sweating. Her eyes were a liquid blue more startling than the river. It was as if the chase had heightened her beauty. He kissed her. She hesitated, then kissed him back.
His pulse sprinted. His breath flew in and out of his lungs as if he'd run the last three miles himself. It was no longer a matter of want, he realized. He needed Carrie. He did not think he could live without her. She had become ingrained in each of his senses. Her smell... her taste... everything about her appealed to him. Even her barefaced audacity.
"Are we safe now?" she murmured, her lips against his.
"Yes."
She sank against him, turning her head and burying it into his chest. He rocked her gently, his arms wrapped tightly around her small waist. She seemed so delicate to him, yet he knew her to be far from it. She was bold and fierce. She could blaze like the lightning from the sky when she wanted.
Her fingers tightened on his arm, and he let out a soft groan. Her eyes fluttered open. She pulled away from him.
"You're injured!" she cried, already pulling at his sleeve to get at his wound. Her hands fumbled with his cuff, unable to roll it up high enough to get at the cut.
"It's nothing," he assured her. "Just a graze."
She tried once more to get his sleeve up then let out an exasperated sigh. "Take your shirt off," she ordered.
His eyes widened playfully. "My lady," he said, bowing to her. "Your wish is my command."
She smacked him playfully on his uninjured arm. "This is no time for jokes," she scolded him. "You are bleeding."
He looked at his sleeve and saw that she was right.
"Shirt. Off. Now," she commanded, and he lifted it over his head. He let it drop to the ground, smiling as Carrie's eyes widened.
"Feel free to look all you like," he said. "Perhaps later you can return the favor."
She blushed fiercely and cast her eyes downward. When she brought them back up, she had managed to make her face go neutral.
"Give me your arm," she said. He gave it to her. She sighed. "Your other arm."
"Oh, you mean the one that's bleeding?"
"Yes, that one."
"I'm sorry. I thought you wished to examine my muscles."
"I only wish to examine your wound. Your muscles I have already seen, and they are nothing to cheer over."
She bent over his arm, studying it. "It's not deep," she said. "But it must be treated or infection may spread."
When she looked up, he was smiling shrewdly at her. She blinked at him uncertainly.
"What?" she asked.
"I thought you didn't remember our drunken night of debauchery."
Carrie's eyes widened. Her cheeks grew pink. "I don't. I haven't the faintest—"
"You said you'd seen my muscles before. Other than that night with my whiskey, you have never seen my arms or my chest bare."
An embarrassed smile crept up on her lips. "Oh," she said and looked away. "Have you any ointment in your satchel?"
He laughed and went to Bessie, allowing her to change the subject. He was pleased that she remembered that night after all. It had meant much to him.
"You are always surprising me," he said.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"And is that a good thing or a bad one?" She cocked her head to one side, her golden hair fanning out wildly around her from the ride. She looked like one of those Amazons he'd read about once in a periodical.
"It's a good thing," he said, and she smiled back at him. He handed her the ointment she'd requested.
"Have you a clean cloth?" she asked.
"I have the cloth I wrap my meat in."
She shook her head. "That will not do."
"The blankets?" he offered.
"No, they are a mess."
She sighed and lifted her skirt. Fred could feel his eyes widen. It was a simple white petticoat without frills or ruffles. The kind worn by farm girls such as herself. She tore a piece of it from the hem and brought it to the river, soaking it and wringing it out, then soaking it again.
She took his arm, blushing as he watched her. She washed his wound then applied the ointment, bandaging it up with a second piece of her petticoat.
"There you are," she said. "Good as new."
His mouth twitched up as she looked around them uncertainly.
"You need not be embarrassed," he said. "Yours is not the first petticoat I've seen."
Her eyes widened. She rounded on him. Her hands went to her hips, just where he wanted them.
"Is that so?" she asked. "Perhaps I should yank that bandage off you and you can tell me just whose petticoats you've been getting into."
He smiled mischievously. "I had a job at a tailor's for a time. We often received petticoats for mending."
"Oh," Carrie blushed. "I did not care anyway. What you do on your time is your own affair. Business, I mean." She coughed and began shuffling her feet. "So, you have not always been an outlaw?"
"No," he said. "I've had many jobs... tailor's assistant, haberdasher, general store clerk..."
"Well, why can you not keep one of those? All of those sound like solid professions to me."
Fred shrugged. "I make a better thief."
He watched her fidget for several minutes, enjoying the way her body swayed with each movement.
She exhaled sharply, her hands flying so quickly through the air that she accidentally knocked one into him, poking his eye. "Why do you insist on vexing me?"
"Why do you insist on causing me bodily harm?" he asked, rubbing his eye.
Her lips twitched up. "You answer first."
He chuckled. "I do not insist on anything. You need no help from me in getting vexed."
"Well, you need no help from me injuring yourself."
"Let us recount," Fred said, taking a step closer. "Since we've met, you have slapped me, pushed me, stomped on my foot, and now you've poked my eye."
"Imagine what I might do tomorrow."
"I do. Nightly." He winked at her, and her eyes almost fell out of her head.
"You took my sister hostage. You robbed her husband's bank."
"They forgave me. So should you."
"Why?"
"Because I love you."
Carrie's jaw dropped open. He drew in a breath, unable to believe the words had come from his mouth so easily. He said them again.
"I love you, Carrie."
Her mouth was still hanging open. He took the opportunity to plant a kiss upon her lips. Her spine arched. Her hands went instinctively to his neck. She slowly lowered them to his chest, caressing each muscle.
His abdomen rose and fell with the touch of her hand. His body ached and shivered all at once. She was maddening. He could not wait another moment to take her. He felt the savage in him come out as her eyes fired back at him.
He backed her up against a tree, kissing her neck... her collarbone. She moaned loudly, and Bessie whinnied at them from her place by the river. Carrie laughed but did not lose focus. Her hands pushed him to go further.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
He wanted to keep going. More than anything, he wanted to taste every last inch of her. To know if the rest of her secret places were as delightful as the ones he'd already met.
Instead, he brought his mouth back to hers, landing a final kiss on her lips before backing away.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "Why are you stopping?"
"Marry me," he said.
"Are we back to that again?" She straightened her dress.
"I'll do no more with you until we are married."
Carrie bit her lip. "Why not? I imagine you've done plenty of things with other women without marrying them."
Fred's face colored. "What I have or haven't done is irrelevant. You mean more to me than any woman I've known. Marry me," he said again. "I shall go mad without you."
Carrie looked at him, her eyes smiling. She sucked in a great gulp of air. "Yes," she finally said. "I will marry you."
* * *
