Chapter Three

With Miss Whitlock tucked behind him, Evander focused on the pack of wolves. There were five of them that he could see—four grays and one black. It was the black one that had him the most concerned. The fearless brute had scaled the ravine and was approaching fast, snarling, teeth barred. Its ribs were quite evident beneath the ragged fur coat. It was hungry and therefore desperate. Not a good combination.

The horses neighed in alarm, their frantic movements nearly tugging the reins from his grasp. He wouldn’t be able to deal with the wolves and control the horses at the same time.

“Take the horses, Miss Whitlock,” he said calmly. He didn’t want to spook her, too.

“Wh-what?”

He reached back and fed the reins into her hand. “Hold onto the horses as best you can.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try and scare off those wolves.” He gave her fingers a quick squeeze of reassurance. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be all right.” He would make sure of it.

He moved forward a few steps and waved his arms back and forth. The black stopped its advance, but didn’t retreat. Damn. Evidently the animal wasn’t about to give up on what promised to be a fine meal of horse and human flesh.

Evander began shouting and stomping his feet. The black didn’t move. Its companions hovering on the ravine rim merely shifted their positions, pacing from side to side. He had them on edge, but not enough to send them running. It was going to require something louder and more intimidating, and if the wolves weren’t going to like it, neither would the horses. But it couldn’t be helped. Hopefully with the ten-foot gorge confining them, Miss Whitlock would be able to maintain control.

“Prepare yourself, Miss Whitlock,” he warned. “I’m going to fire a couple of shots into the air.”

“Give me one second...” Footfalls shuffled behind him. She grunted and then said, “There. Go ahead, Major. I’m ready.”

He thumbed back the hammer and pointed the pistol skyward. He didn’t want to shoot the animals unless he had to. He’d seen enough killing and bloodshed to last him beyond a lifetime.

He fired three shots into the air. The sound echoed against the ravine walls. The wolves overhead yelped and disappeared from the rim. The big black male retreated about twenty feet, then turned back around and eyed him.

Ballsy brute. Evander aimed over the animal’s head and fired again. The wolf turned and raced up the side of the ravine, scaling the rock wall like a nimble mountain goat. A few seconds later, it reached the lip and vanished.

Evander fired one last shot for good measure and turned to help Miss Whitlock. The horses were wide-eyed and pulling hard against her hold. The mule was bucking and braying for all it was worth. Miss Whitlock had her heels dug in, but was no match for three terrified animals. They hauled her along the ground like a ragdoll.

He holstered his pistol and sprinted toward her. “Hold on, Miss Whitlock. I’m coming.”

Upon reaching her, he stretched around her and spooned his hands over hers. He braced his legs and managed to stop her momentum. Her buttocks molded his thighs. Her head was inches from his nose. She smelled of roses and vanilla. Fire flamed in his groin. He stifled a groan. The last thing he needed was to develop an itch he couldn’t scratch.

“You can let go now,” he said, his voice coming out in a hoarse croak. “I have them.”

She eased her hands free and ducked under his arms. He concentrated on calming the animals with soft words and a firm hand. After a few minutes, both his groin and the horses settled down.

“Goodness,” she said with a breathy exhale. “I thought they were going to pull my arms clean out of their sockets.”

He turned his head. She stood there, grimacing and rubbing her arms. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Just a little sore and winded from all that pulling.” Her eyes widened. “I just thought of something. Could that shadow I saw in the tunnel have been one of those wolves?”

“I doubt it, but we can’t rule out the possibility, especially considering the pack appeared to be waiting for us just outside the tunnel.”

“Their attack did seem planned—” Her expression fell. “Oh no. My horse.”

He looked back in time to see her horse trotting into the tunnel, reins trailing in the dirt. The mule’s frantic bucking must have loosened the knot. Perfect. Just what they needed—their trip delayed while he rounded up her horse.

First the wolves, and now this. He should have listened to that little voice telling him this venture was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Yet, there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d made his bed. He’d just have to sleep in it.

He untied the mule’s lead rope from his saddle. “Hold onto the mule and this...” He handed her his pistol. “If the wolves return, just aim over their heads and squeeze the trigger.”

Color drained from her face. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

He snagged the lantern from the ground where he’d set it when the wolves first appeared. “I don’t think so. The gunshots seemed to have scared them off. But you never can tell with wild animals. Keep an eye out for them. I’ll be back quick as I can.”

He mounted and urged his horse into tunnel. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but he had no choice. His horse couldn’t carry the both of them over the rugged terrain. And the mule was already loaded down with her baggage, which he knew she would never agree to abandon. Not the way she had supervised their packing. She’d inspected every lash, every knot. Whatever the crate protected meant the world to her.

The farther he went into the tunnel, the darker it got. The gloominess had put Miss Whitlock on edge. Somehow the small talk he’d used to calm her had turned to the War and his personal life. He rarely opened up to anyone like that, especially not to a lady. Miss Whitlock was definitely special. Amazing that someone hadn’t staked a claim on her by now.

Halfway into the tunnel, a snort sounded and then the lamplight branded the truant. The gelding apparently disliked the darkness as much as Miss Whitlock. It gave a soft nicker and trotted toward him.

Evander reached down and snagged the reins. “Come on, boy. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.” He grunted. “We all have.”

Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the tunnel. Miss Whitlock stood by the mule, her shoulders slumped. She turned to face him, her pretty mouth turned down, her eyes brimming with tears. His pulse bucked. What had her so upset?

He dismounted and crossed to her in three strides. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He quickly scanned the area. “Did the wolves return?”

She shook her head and pointed to the mule. “My shipping crate...it got smashed. So did the picture frame it was supposed to protect.”

He stepped around her and inspected the crate. One side was caved in. Through the jagged opening, he could see the shattered corner of a picture frame. The mule must have careened against the rock wall during its bucking frenzy.

He peeled away one of the broken slats and held up the lantern. Light glistened on a painted canvas hanging inside a fractured gilded frame. “Is that a painting? It appears to be undamaged.”

“Truly?” She went up on tiptoe beside him. “I wasn’t tall enough to see inside.”

His skin shot to attention as she brushed his arm. He clamped his teeth around a groan. This was going to be a long trip if he continued to react to her every touch. He released the broken slat. “The canvas looks intact. As for the frame, a good craftsman should be able to repair the damage for you quite handily.”

Her sunny smile nearly robbed the breath from him. “I’m so relieved. I thought it was ruined. The painting is a gift for my sister. She’s getting married on Christmas Eve.”

“You must be close to your sister to go through all this hardship just to attend her wedding.”

“We’ve always been close, but after our mother died, we became even closer.” Her eyes and mouth wilted. “She’s leaving after the wedding, going to live with her husband in Indiana. Though it’s not that far away, I wanted her to have something to remind her of Seven Swans.”

“Seven Swans?”

“That’s our home in Kentucky. Father named the estate for the swans that live on the lake behind the big house. Penelope and I used to spend hours watching them swim and raise their young.” She pointed to the crate. “I had a painting commissioned of swans swimming on a lake. That’s why I was in Richmond, to visit a friend and to retrieve the painting from the artist.”

“I’m sure your sister will appreciate the gift no matter what condition it’s in.”

Her sad eyes brightened. “Thank you, Major. You’ve been quite kind and tolerant during all this.” She handed him his pistol and then rested her fingers on his arm. “And thank you for believing in me. You don’t know how much it means that you trusted me to take care of myself while you went after my horse.”

He holstered the pistol and busied himself with extinguishing the lantern and attaching it to the mule pack. That hand on his arm was just a gesture of gratitude. Nothing more. It was not an invitation to intimacy.

“You handled yourself quite admirably, Miss Whitlock. You would put many of my soldiers to shame.” She had pluck, he’d give her that. Most women he knew would have swooned at the sight of a wolf. Not to mention attempting to wrangle three terrified animals.

“Abigail,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“Since we’ll be travelling together for a while longer, we should dispense with the formalities, especially after what we just went through. Please, call me Abigail.”

Abigail. He rolled the name around on his tongue. It felt familiar and right, as if it belonged there.

A gust tore down the gorge, kicking up dust and debris. Too focused on the wolves and Miss Whitlock, he hadn’t noticed the change in the weather as he emerged from the tunnel. Thick gray clouds had choked out the sun. And the temperature had dropped considerably. A smattering of snowflakes drifted with the breeze. Just their ill luck—the fickle mountain weather was taking a turn for the worse.

“Looks like a storm is brewing,” he said. “Let’s get off these tracks and back onto the trail. There’s an old abandoned cabin a few miles ahead that one of the trappers mentioned. We can take shelter there.”

They’d be alone and confined in a small intimate space. He’d saved her from the wolves. Could he protect her from the hungry beast inside of him?

****

Sitting on a pile of furs in front of the hearth, Abigail warmed her hands in the heat from the fire. Outside the window, wind and snow bashed against the closed shutters. Luckily they’d found the cabin before the storm worsened—though it wasn’t much of a shelter. Icy drafts leaked through the cracks between the logs and under the door. The night promised to be long and cold.

Not to mention awkward.

The one room shack offered little in the way of privacy. Just a few feet away, the major sat at a rickety table, his jacket unbuttoned and his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He looked as comfortable as a bear in his cave. And she was his mate. Heat that had nothing to do with the fire blazed in her cheeks. She had to get such thoughts out of her head. Theirs was a business arrangement. Nothing more.

She shifted her attention to the fur covering her legs, tucking it tighter against the chill. “Certainly is getting colder. Will the mule and horses be all right?”

The rhythmic shush of cloth polishing gun metal quieted. “They should be fine. I cut pine branches and lashed them to the sides of the lean-to. That should give them some protection from the wind and cold.”

“What about the wolves?” Her gaze trailed back to him like an ant to sugar. “Do you think they might have followed us here?”

“If they did, the horses will let us know. They’re just on the other side of that wall. We’ll hear if they get agitated.” He snapped the pistol cylinder shut and rubbed the rag over the grip. “I wouldn’t worry overmuch about the wolves. They’ll probably hunker down until the storm lets up.”

His knowledge of the mountain had been accurate so far; no need to let doubts creep in. She pointed to the kettle slung over the fire. “Would you like some more stew? There’s a little bit left.”

Fortune had smiled on them earlier, providing fresh meat for supper. She still couldn’t believe how quickly the major had drawn and shot his pistol when they jumped the startled rabbit. One bullet was all it took. Was that how he’d survived the War, quick reflexes and a quicker mind? He was gifted with both, that was for certain.

He shook his head. “The two helpings I had earlier satisfied me. I will have more of that coffee if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.” She tossed off the fur and picked up the coffee pot warming by the fire. She slowly pushed to her feet, not willing to upset the agreement she and her muscles had come to. If she didn’t move too fast, they didn’t complain.

When she reached the table, he slid his tin cup toward her. “Thank you, Abigail.”

Abigail. Her name passing over his lips felt like a sweet caress. A pleasing tremor trickled down her neck. She shook off the sensation and busied herself with filling his cup. Now was not the time for such madness.

When the cup was full, she held up the pot. “It’s nearly empty. Would you like me to make more?”

He set his pistol and rag on the table and reached for the tin cup. “No. This should hold me over for the night.” He blew on the coffee and took a sip. His intense gaze swept over her. “Are you feeling all right? I noticed you rose a little cautiously from the floor.”

Her stomach roiled around the stew. Just her ill luck the man was observant as an eagle. Would he consider her unfit to continue the journey? “I...um...my legs are just a little tender from the ride.”

“I figured you might get saddle sore, so I purchased some liniment from Gunderson’s before we left. It’s in my saddle pack if you’d like me to get it.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disturbed that he anticipated her having difficulties with the ride. She swallowed hard and glanced around the room. He wanted her to spread liniment on her intimate parts in this tiny space? With him watching? She’d go up into a bonfire of embarrassment.

“I can string up a rope and sling a privacy blanket across it if that will help,” he offered.

How was it he could read her mind? Was he aware of her unseemly attraction to him as well? Even now, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the patch of skin on display at the base of his neck where he’d unhooked his shirt buttons.

She yanked her gaze away and waved a dismissive hand. “No need for that. The pain is not that bad. I’ll be back to rights after a good night’s rest.” With both her muscles and her wits.

“It’s no trouble. My pack is over by my sleeping pallet near the door.”

It would be trouble—for her and her silly body, especially with Mr. Eagle Eyes watching and listening. “No, thank you all the same. Go on with your cleaning. I’ll be fine.”

She left the coffee pot on the table and returned to the hearth. The fire had burned down to short flickering flames that did little to cut the chill. She picked up a log from the dwindling stack. “There’s only a little bit of firewood left. I’m not sure it will last through the night.”

He grunted. “I collected what I could find near the cabin before the storm got too bad. I’ll go out in a few minutes and look for more.”

Her blood turned to ice. Go outside? In the middle of a snowstorm? What if he got turned around and couldn’t find his way back? He could freeze to death. Or those vicious wolves could return and find him an easy target.

She tossed the log onto the fire, sending sparks skittering. “It’s far too dangerous for you to go out in such horrid weather. We’ll burn my crate, and then the picture frame if need be.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is. The painting is all I care about. I don’t need the rest.” She wouldn’t let her mind wander to what else, or rather whom else, she was beginning to care about.

“Abigail...”

She rounded on him, her voice wavering despite her efforts to stay composed. “Please, Evander. Promise you won’t go out there tonight.”

It was the first time she’d used his given name. He looked thrown out of kilter for a moment and then nodded. “All right. If it will ease your mind, I won’t go out until the storm lets up.”

She sank onto the furs, relieved. “Thank you, it does ease my mind.”

“Get some sleep. We had a long day, and I suspect tomorrow will be even longer. You’ll need the rest.”

Sleep. Would that even be possible? His every move had her pulse playing hopscotch. But she had to try. He was right. She did need to rest and let her body recuperate. There was no telling how much snow would accumulate overnight. The ride tomorrow could tax her already strained muscles and make her truly unfit to continue.

She snuggled into the furs. Heat from the fire bathed her face. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she slipped into the duskiness of sleep. An image surfaced of a handsome, dark-haired man in uniform. He pulled her close and played his lips over hers. His hands roamed her body, exploring places that screamed for his touch. She moaned in pleasure.

The specter lifted his head, and eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea washed over her. Evander. His name poured from her, rolling off her tongue like silk. If this was heaven, she never wanted to leave.

Something ripped into the dream, and the image scattered. She clawed up from the blackness and opened her eyes. The fire had dwindled to glowing embers. She’d been asleep for longer than she thought.

A noise caught her ear. It sounded like something scraping at the door. Her heart shuddered. Was it wolves? She batted away the furs and shot upright.

On the other side of room, a blanket covered mound shifted and rolled. A tortured muttering drifted across the short distance. “No. No. Hold the line.”

It was Evander. He appeared to be having a nightmare. She pushed to her feet and scurried across the cold floor, ignoring the protest of her sleepy muscles. Upon reaching the pallet by the door, she dropped to her knees beside him.

His face twisted in agony. “Rebs broke through. Too many. Can’t stop...”

She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Evander.”

He flinched at her touch. “No. Let me go. Need to help them. Dying.”

She gave him a gentle shake. “Evander. It’s me, Abigail.”

His eyelids snapped open. He stared at her as if she had two heads and a forked tail.

“You were having a nightmare.”

He blinked and blinked again. “Abigail?”

“Yes, it’s me. Are you all right? It sounded as though you were dreaming about the War.”

He sat up and rubbed his face as if trying to scrub away the memories. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. You would think after two years, I wouldn’t be dreaming about such things.”

“Seeing men killed is not something most people can easily recover from.”

He reached out and palmed her cheek. “You’re a special lady, Abigail Whitlock. Beautiful, caring, with an inner strength that is surprising and quite amazing.”

“Evander—”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers—gentle at first, and then more insistent, coaxing her with little nips and suckles until she responded. The dream kiss was nothing like this. She felt cherished. Desired. Treated like a lover, not as property to be claimed and controlled.

She moaned deep in her throat.

He pulled away, frowning. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

And she shouldn’t have responded so eagerly, so wantonly. Apparently, neither of them was in their right minds. “It’s all right.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You were only seeking comfort after a dreadful nightmare.”

“It was still wrong. I’m supposed to be your guide, your protector, not your accoster.” He shrugged out of her grasp. “You should get as far away from me as you can.”

“Stop that. You have been nothing but a gentleman this entire trip. You are a good and kind man, just like your name.”

“My name?”

“Evander means ‘good man.’ It fits you perfectly.” The tedious sessions of Greek and Latin studies at Mrs. Gresham’s were finally paying off.

“A good man would not take advantage of a defenseless lady.”

“I’m hardly defenseless. Besides, it was just a harmless kiss. It meant nothing.” If it meant nothing, why then were her lips still tingling? And why did a fire smolder in her lower belly? Her attraction to him appeared stronger than anticipated and would require a great deal more effort to tame.