felt good-maybe too good. He had to grin when she shrieked and landed on her fancy bustle because a rabbit darted across her path.
Nope, the pretty little duchess from Philadelphia wasn’t going to last a day.
With a hand to her heart, Sarah straggled to her feet. She’d never seen a rabbit that large in her life. With a little sound of distress, she noted that she’d torn the hem of her skirt. How did the women out here manage? she wondered as she began to walk again. In this heat, a corset felt like iron and a fashionable skirt prevented anything but the most delicate walking.
When she reached the stream, she dropped down on a rock and went to work with her buttonhook. It was heaven, absolute heaven, to remove her shoes. There was a blister starting on her heel, but she’d worry about that later. Right now all she could think about was splashing some cool water on her skin.
She glanced around cautiously. There couldn’t be anyone there. The sensation of being watched was a natural one, she supposed, when a woman was alone in the wilderness and the sun was going down. She unpinned the cameo at her throat and placed it carefully in her skirt pocket. It was the one thing she had that had belonged to her mother.
Humming to keep herself company, she unbuttoned her blouse and folded it over a rock. With the greatest relief, she unfastened her corset and dropped it on top of the blouse. She could breathe, really breathe, for the first time all day. Hurrying now, she stripped down to her chemise, then unhooked her stockings.
Glorious. She closed her eyes and let out a low sound of pleasure when she stepped into the narrow, ankle-deep stream. The water, trickling down from the mountains, was cold and clear as ice.
What the hell did she think she was doing? Jake let out a low oath and averted his eyes. He didn’t need this aggravation. Who would have thought the woman would strip down and play in the water with the night coming on? He glanced back to see her bend down to splash her face. There was nothing between the two of them but shadows and sunlight.
Water dampened the cotton she wore so that it clung here and there. When she bent to scoop up more water, the ruffles at the bodice sagged to tease him. Crouching behind the rock, he began to curse himself instead of her.
His own fault. Didn’t he know minding your own business, and only your own, was the best way to get by? He’d just had to be riding along when the Apaches had hit the stage. He’d just had to be the one to tell her about her father. He’d just had to feel obliged to drive her out here. And then to stay.
What he should be doing was getting good and drunk at Carlotta’s and spending the night in a feather bed wrestling with a woman. The kind of woman who knew what a man needed and didn’t ask a bunch of fool questions. The kind of woman, Jake thought viciously, who didn’t expect you to come to tea on Sunday. He glanced back to see that one of the straps of Sarah’s chemise had fallen down her arm and that her legs were gleaming and wet. Her shoulders were pale and smooth and bare.
Too long on the trail, Jake told himself. Too damn long, when a man started to hanker after skinny city women who didn’t know east from west.
Sarah filled the pail as best she could, then stepped out of the stream. It was getting dark much more quickly than she’d expected. But she felt almost human again. Even the thought of the corset made her ribs ache, so she ignored it. After slipping on her blouse, she debated donning her shoes and stockings again. There was no one to see or disapprove. Instead, she hitched on her skirt and made a bundle of the rest. With the water sloshing in the pail, she made her way gingerly along the path.
She had to fight the urge to hurry. With sunset, the air was cooling rapidly. And there were sounds.
Sounds she didn’t recognize or appreciate. Hoots and howls and rustles. Stones dug into her bare feet, and the lantern spread more shadow than light. The half mile back seemed much, much longer than it had before. Again she had the uncomfortable sensation that someone was watching her. Apaches? Mountain lions? Damn Jake Redman. The little adobe dwelling looked like a haven to her now. Half running, she went through the door and bolted it behind her.
The first coyote sent up a howl to the rising moon. Sarah shut her eyes. If she lived through the night, she’d swallow her pride and go back to town.
In the rocks not far away, Jake bedded down.
Chapter Three
Soon after sunrise, Sarah awoke, stiff and sore and hungry. She rolled over, wanting to cling to sleep until Lucilla’s maid brought the morning chocolate. She’d had the most awful dream about some gray-eyed man carrying her off to a hot, desolate place. He’d been handsome, the way men in dreams were supposed to be, but in a rugged, almost uncivilized way. His skin had been like bronze, taut over his face. He’d had high, almost exotic cheekbones, and the dark shadow of a beard. His hair had been untidy and as black as coal-but thick, quite thick, as it had swept down past his collar. She’d wondered, even in the dream, what it would be like to run her hands through it.
There had been something familiar about him, almost as if she’d known him. In fact, when he’d forced her to kiss him, a name had run through her mind. Then he hadn’t had to force her any longer.
Drowsy, Sarah smiled. She would have to tell Lucilla about the dream. They would both laugh about it before they dressed for the day. Lazily she opened her eyes.
This wasn’t the rose-and-white room she used whenever she visited Lucilla and her family. Nor was it the familiar bedroom she had had for years at school. Her father’s house, she thought, as everything came back to her. This was her father’s house, but her father was dead. She was alone. With an effort, she resisted the urge to bury her face in the pillow and weep again. She had to decide what to do, and in order to decide she had to think clearly.
For some time last night she’d been certain the best thing would be for her to return to town and use the money she had found to book passage east again. At best, Lucilla’s family would welcome her. At worst, she could return to the convent. But that had been before she’d begun reading her father’s journal. It had taken only the first two pages, the only two she’d allowed herself, to make her doubt.
He’d begun the journal on the day he’d left her to come west. The love and the hope he’d felt had been in every word. And the sadness. He’d still been raw with grief over the death of Sarah’s mother.
For the first time she fully understood how devastated he had been by the loss of the woman they’d both shared so briefly. And how inadequate he’d felt at finding himself alone with a little girl. He’d made a promise to his wife on her deathbed that he would see that their daughter was well cared for.
She remembered the words her father had written on the yellowed paper.
She was leaving me. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Toward the end there was so much pain I prayed for God to take her quickly. My Ellen, my tiny, delicate Ellen. Her thoughts were all for me, and our sweet Sarah. I promised her. The only comfort I could give was my promise.
Our daughter would have everything Ellen wanted for her. Proper schooling and church on Sunday. She would be raised the way my Ellen would have raised her. Like a lady. One day she’d have a fine house and a father she could be proud of.
He’d come here to try, Sarah thought as she tossed back the thin blanket. And she supposed he’d done as well as he could. Now she had to figure what was best. And if she was going to think, first she needed to eat.
After she’d dressed in her oldest skirt and blouse, she took stock of the-cupboard again. She could not, under any circumstances, face another meal of cold beans. Perhaps he had a storage cellar somewhere, a smokehouse, anything. Sarah pushed open the door and blinked in the blinding sunlight.
At first she thought it was a mirage. But mirages didn’t carry a scent, did they? This one smelled of meat roasting and coffee brewing. And what she saw was Jake Redman sitting cross-legged by a fire ringed with stones. Gathering up her skirt, she forgot her hunger long enough to stride over to him.
“What are you doing here?”
He glanced up and gave her the briefest of nods. He poured coffee from a small pot into a dented tin cup. “Having breakfast.”
