Dressed, she tied her hair back, too hungry to braid it, and hurried back inside. He’d put his pants back on, even his shirt, though he hadn’t buttoned it. That’s not what caused her to blush again. She was feeling incredibly embarrassed over what they’d done in that very room.
He put the large bowl of stew in front of her, remarking, “Why’d you tie your hair back?”
“To keep it out of the way.”
“It’s never in my way. I like it better down.” She started to remind him about tangles, but he said, “We can argue about it later.” And he tossed her half of the bread loaf with a grin.
He sat down across from her. She wanted to look away but really couldn’t. He was too bloody handsome now, and maybe only a few years older than her.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Twenty-three, second son of four. Hunter’s a year older and the charmer in the family. Our brother John is twenty-one and hot-tempered. The runt, Cole, is just nineteen and can’t make up his mind who he wants to take after.”
“How would you describe yourself?”
“You know me. What would you say?”
“You’re still a bear even if you don’t look like one now,” she replied. “But I suppose if I had to describe you in one word, I would say determined.”
He grinned. “Good choice.”
He shouldn’t do that. His smile almost transfixed her, making him even more handsome. Thank God she hadn’t been able to see that before. But how was she going to deal with it now when it was hard to tear her eyes away from him?
She stared at her stew, determined not to look up again. “What was it like, growing up with three brothers?”
“Fun—usually. The old feud we have with the Warrens, neighboring ranchers, led to all sorts of mischief, since they have three boys near our ages.”
“What sort of feud? The killing kind?”
He snorted. “No—least, not in our day, though it might’ve led to that if a truce hadn’t been arranged years ago by Mrs. Warren with the offer of a marriage to her only daughter, who was still a baby at the time. The peacekeeping wedding is to happen sometime this summer. It could be over with, for all I know—or called off, if Hunter backed out of it. He sure wasn’t happy about our parents volunteering him just because he’s the oldest, without his having any say about it, and to a filly he’s never met. The Warren daughter was raised back east for some reason. Never did find out why. But if that wedding doesn’t happen, then there might end up being bloodshed.”
“So you don’t really know what you’ll be going home to, when you get around to it?”
“I’ll likely know. My ma writes me here and keeps me apprised of what’s happening at home. There are probably a few letters waiting for me in town that I didn’t pick up this last trip.”
Because of her. Because he got the wrong idea about her, got mad about it, and arbitrarily abducted her instead of simply knocking on her door at the hotel and asking her why she was looking for him. But she wasn’t going to open that can of worms, as he would say.
So she only said primly, “Feuds are archaic. No one in the civilized world has them anymore.”
He laughed at the remark. “Want to bet? They might not label them feuds where you come from, but there will always be neighbors who can’t get along, grudges that escalate, and the more common revenge motives that can affect whole families. Emotions that start disputes like that can arise anywhere, in any country. In your civilized world, it might even be labeled war.”
She blushed slightly, forced to allow, “I cede to your reasoning.”
“Well, that’s a surprise.”
She made a face and stood up to go outside. She wasn’t going to embarrass herself by saying why. He followed her out, but when she glanced back she saw him heading to the pasture to check on the horses. Now that there were two extra ones, she supposed she could offer to help him. After all, she did know how to saddle and unsaddle a horse; she’d just never had a reason to tell him that. Would he still lock Caesar in his mine now that the claim jumpers were no longer a threat? Probably.
Drowsy after that filling meal, she was extra careful with her steps on the way back to the cabin, now that it was mostly dark. The moon wasn’t up yet, but she could see well enough with the streaks of the sunset in the sky. She wanted a bath, a real one, craved it, but her mind balked at cold stream water tonight, and the thought of going to bed with wet hair was just as abhorrent, so a bath would have to wait until morning.
Returning to the cabin, she found Morgan putting the dinner bowls away, his back to her. And it was close enough to the time they usually went to sleep, so she said, “Good night.”
He turned. She was immediately arrested again by the new him, the too-handsome version. She ended up standing there like a bedazzled loon, which allowed him to reach her and put his arms around her before she even thought about retreating out of his way.
The hug was gentle, the kiss somewhat brief, before he said with a smile, “Sweet dreams, Thorny Violet.”
But he didn’t let go of her, and she felt the urge to hug him back. She resisted, turned away, although she no longer felt the least bit tired. And suddenly she stopped resisting. She turned back, put her arms around his neck, and whispered, “Morgan . . .” Then led him to her bed.
Chapter Thirty-One
VIOLET WAS ALONE IN her bed when she awoke—and naked. The skin on her face felt a little chafed. She recalled Morgan kissing her and her kissing him during the night. But in the cold light of morning, she remembered everything else that had happened last night, and was mortified by what she’d done.
At least he’d hooked up her screen when he left her bed. To save her embarrassment? Nothing could. But she quickly reached for the clothes that had been laid over the crates at the foot of her bed and dressed, hoping he wasn’t still in the cabin.
He was. Stepping out from behind the screen, she saw him fully dressed and sitting at the table drinking coffee. She paused to ask, “We slept together all night?” Then she blushed furiously again.
Morgan raised a brow. “The sleeping part is all you remember?”
“We shan’t talk about it,” she said as she sat down at the table.
“If you say so.”
“I do. Nor shall it happen again.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”
“I simply don’t want to raise expectations.”
“Consider them not raised.” But then he said, “You know, you don’t have to be beyond-the-pale polite with me—did I use that phrase right?”
“Not really, but I caught the drift. However, I will always be polite, no matter whom I’m talking to.”
“Always?” He grinned.
Good Lord, was he constantly going to make allusions to what they’d done last night? He’d saved her twice yesterday, first from harm, then from her horrific memories and fear. And the two outlaws had deserved to die, had killed people for no reason and without remorse. By getting rid of those two men, Morgan had likely saved countless other lives they would have taken. Yes, she could deal with that harrowing adventure pragmatically now. But she wasn’t sure she could deal with resisting Morgan.
“How are you feeling this morning? You were pretty shaken up yesterday.”
“I’m better,” she assured him.
“You still ought to rest up today, maybe give up on searching for your father’s money, or wait until Texas returns. He doesn’t sleep the entire day and could go with you some.”
“I’ll be fine, and I’ll have my gun.”
“That gun didn’t help you much yesterday,” he said pointedly.
“I erred in not using it, but I learn from my mistakes. I’ll fire off a shot immediately if I see anything that walks on two feet.”
“Well, help yourself to lunch today, since I might be late. There’s a lot I want to accomplish in the mine before we return to Butte next week to meet up with your brothers.”
??
?My brothers?”
“I asked Texas to go to town to send that money you wanted delivered to them. They’ll receive it in a couple days.”
So she’d accomplished her goal? The family home would be saved. She should be jumping for joy, but she had too many other things on her mind now: the way he was looking at her, noticing that he’d shaved again this morning, remembering that he’d buried his face in her hair last night after he spread it across her pillow, the very tender way he’d held her through the night.
She ate her breakfast, but after he left, she remained at the table, wallowing in regret. It didn’t matter how much she might like him, she’d ruined her life. She’d behaved recklessly and had given her virginity to a man she was never going to marry. And she might even be pregnant! She could imagine how appalled Aunt Elizabeth and Sophie would be by what she’d done. But after the terrifying run-in with the claim jumpers, who could blame her for seeking comfort in the arms of a man as attractive, strong, and decent as Morgan Callahan?
He’d come to like her, too. And he wanted her as much as she wanted him. There was no way they would be able to resist each other if they lived in this cabin together for another whole week. It would be wrong to allow it because she could never marry him.
She looked around the shabby cabin, saw her bloodstained clothes still on the floor, weapons lying around. This was no life for her. She knew what she had to do. She had to go back where she belonged, where death didn’t lurk around every corner. And she had to do it now. It couldn’t wait another day. What they’d done last night could never happen again, the risk was far too great: babies, a forced marriage—or, worse, he wouldn’t even offer marriage. Her life would be ruined in either case! And she was not going to end up pregnant. She refused to give up her dreams because of her sinful fascination with a bear.
She felt a sense of urgency to act, because given how easily she had succumbed and initiated what had happened last night, she didn’t think she’d have the willpower to resist him, not with the way he looked now. And that name he’d called her, Thorny Violet, the way he said it, it was a bloody endearment! Tears sprang to her eyes, remembering.
THE FIRST THREE HOURS flew by. The outlaw’s horse was a surprisingly strong and responsive mount, but she knew better than to push it. But with each mile that passed, Violet felt more confident that she’d done the right thing, leaving without saying good-bye. Morgan wasn’t ready to take her to town, and he would have argued against her going alone, leaving her no other option.
So she’d gathered up a few essential personal belongings, a canteen of water, a blanket, her valise and parasol, and the lunch he’d mentioned; then she’d saddled the horse. Following the outlaw’s directions, she’d be in Butte by late afternoon, where she’d have a real bath and sleep in a real bed. Thank goodness this strange adventure was almost over. She’d even accomplished what she’d set out to do: she’d claimed her father’s mine and secured her own and her brothers’ futures. The telegram Morgan had sent to her brothers could serve as a written confirmation of their new partnership. She’d let her brothers do the rest while she returned to London, and Morgan would end up with more of what mattered most to him, silver.
She’d followed the river north for a while until she came to a narrow section and crossed it, stopping only long enough to refill her canteen, then continued north until she found the road, exactly where she expected it to be—now. She couldn’t imagine how lost she would have been if she’d gone south as she would have if Curly hadn’t told her where Butte was in relation to Morgan’s mountain.
The dark clouds were overhead before she saw them coming. She’d been in this wilderness with Morgan for more than a week with not a drop of moisture from the sky. It wouldn’t dare rain today of all days. She continued on for another ten minutes before the rain started. Bloody hell. But she didn’t let a little rain stop her until a half hour later when it turned torrential and she took shelter under a rocky ledge. Wet, furious at this delay, she hoped the rain wouldn’t last too long. It was still early in the day. She could reach Butte before nightfall.
So she ate her lunch, waiting for the rain to stop. But night arrived and the rain kept pouring down. She felt less confident by then about her decision to leave the camp. All she could think about were the wild animals that roamed through the wilderness. She chided herself when she started wishing that Morgan were there. She kept telling herself she’d made the right decision, but she was so tired, wet, and hungry by then; she sat with her gun in hand, listening for cougars, bears, and snakes, trying to stay awake.
The horse nudged her awake the next morning. She was glad to see the sun shining. Her muscles aching, somehow she managed to mount the horse and continued riding. An hour later she panicked when she heard hoofbeats behind her. Morgan had caught up to her. Would he be furious? But when she glanced back, she saw a group of men. Had he sent a posse after her? No, of course not. He couldn’t have gotten ahead of her to arrange one, not in that downpour yesterday.
She continued on, hoping they would just ride past her, since they were moving faster than she was; instead, they pulled in abreast of her. One of them politely said, “Hold up, ma’am. Where are you headed? Are you lost? Do you need help?”
They were cleanly dressed and respectful. The one who spoke even tipped his hat to her. But away from Morgan, Violet was back to being prim and proper. She said, “I’m going to Butte, which I know isn’t far now. With whom am I speaking?”
“We were doing some surveying in the area for a mining outfit and are heading back to Butte, too. We’d be happy to ride with you and make sure you get there safely.”
She nodded her consent, pleased to have come upon decent men who merely wanted to help. They surrounded her on the ride, one in front, one on either side of her, and two behind. Soon she was sneezing from the dust being kicked up by the horse in front.
“Here, you can use this to keep the dust out of your face.”
She glanced to the side. One of the men was offering her a bandanna. “Thank you,” she said, reaching for it.
“Stop for a moment and let me tie it on for you,” he added. “Your hands are full with the reins and that pretty parasol.”
He was right, so she reined in while he leaned closer to reach her. But she smelled something funny as soon as the bandanna covered her nose. It made her light-headed, and a moment later she felt herself passing out.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“MAYBE YOU SHOULD FETCH your doctor to make sure she’s all right. Is this really who you’ve been searching for? She doesn’t look at all well.”
A female voice made that observation. No one replied to it, but footsteps walked away. Violet fought to open her eyes. The only person who might have searched for her was Morgan. Had he just left the room? Unless the law had noticed her sudden disappearance from Butte. The woman could have been speaking to the sheriff or the deputy.
Violet was in a pretty bedroom, lying in a large bed, her head slightly propped up on a pillow. The woman standing next to her was on the high side of middle age, with tightly coiffured red hair, blue eyes, a somewhat fashionable day dress.
“Awake finally?”
Violet could barely concentrate, she felt so fuzzy-headed. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my brother’s house. I’m Kayleigh Sullivan. You know my brother, Shawn. I was told you dined with him and my niece at the hotel.”
Katie’s aunt? Violet relaxed a little and gave the woman a weak smile. “I’m Violet Mitchell.”
“Yes, we know, dear. Are you feeling better?”
“What happened to me?”
“You were riding with some of my brother’s men when you fainted. You were lucky to have run into them so they could get you back to Butte safely. Now, would you like me to have this food warmed up? I may have brought it too soon.”
Food? “No! Cold is fine, burned is fine, anything is fine. Really.”
She didn’t blush at how desperate she sou
nded, just tried to sit up, too eager to find the food before it was taken away. But she groaned and fell back against the pillow. Her back hurt; so did her arse. Had she fallen when she fainted, or was she still feeling the effects of sleeping on rock under that ledge? She didn’t remember falling, just that odd smell before she fainted. But if she’d broken something, she was going to cry. To have gotten so close to town without injury . . .
The woman tsked and leaned over her. “Just a prop-up for now, shall we?”
“Yes, and thank you,” Violet said as the other pillow on the bed was added to hers so she could sit up halfway; the tray was set on her lap.
“Of course, dear. How long were you starving out there in the wilderness?”
Violet brought the bowl to just under her chin. Soup? She wasn’t sick, she was hungry. But there were buttered buns on the tray, too, and a small bowl of strawberries.
“Since yesterday afternoon,” she said, and started spooning the soup into her mouth.
“I wouldn’t have thought your mine was so far away—that is, we assumed when you left town you did so with young Callahan, that he showed you the way. He wouldn’t bring you back to town?”
Violet managed not to frown, but the mention of her mine was too unexpected. How did this woman know about it and that she’d been with Morgan? And why would Shawn Sullivan’s men bring her here instead of to Dr. Cantry? Unless, as his sister had remarked, he’d organized a search for her. Because the law wasn’t doing enough to find her? Why not? Mr. Sullivan did know her, after all, and knew she was his daughter’s friend.
So she wasn’t sure if she should be worried about it or not, given that her view of Shawn Sullivan differed from Morgan’s. And nothing Morgan had said about the man had changed that, since it was all supposition, every bit of it, just part of his obsession with keeping the location of his mine secret. He’d even admitted that Mr. Sullivan kept offering a higher price for his mine. That alone should have assured him that Sullivan wanted to acquire it legally.