Sagebrush Bride (25 page)

Stooping to look her straight in the eye, Cutter
grasped Elizabeth by the shoulder, forcing her attention on him. Capturing it
finally, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Blackberries.” He wondered if her wits had
finally gone beggin’. “Lizbeth, gal, you all right?”

Without warning, Elizabeth’s arms flew out and
caught him about the neck, squeezing joyfully, choking him. Reflexively he
pried at her arms, loosening her grip.

“More than all right!” Elizabeth replied joyfully.
“The leaves will do wonders for fever!” The warmth of her lips moved like
liquid heat against his face. As she drew back to look at him, her gaze
transformed before his eyes, from hopelessness to something akin to adoration,
and it took him momentarily aback. He had to fight the urge to pull her back
and cover her mouth with his own.

“An infusion of the leaves would be perfect,” she
explained, but Cutter wasn’t listening, he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away
from her mouth.

“Just perfect!” he heard her repeat gleefully, and
then she suddenly kissed him—in the eye. With a heartening smile, she
turned again to her patient.

“Now, don’t you worry,” she said, a note of gaiety
shining through. She lifted one knee, preparing to rise. “I’ll have you well in
no time! You’ll see!” She patted his arm reassuringly.

As though in response, the Indian abruptly lifted
his lids, and Elizabeth rocked forward onto both knees at once, as though, with
that small effort, he had somehow jerked her back to him. She gave a startled
little cry.

The dark stare was vacant, the pupils dilated and
huge. Noting it, Elizabeth felt suddenly ill. Too late was her first thought,
but she shoved it resolutely away.

He was not going to die!

She wouldn’t let him!

This was the first time since her father’s death
that a patient’s life was at stake... the first time ever anyone had depended
solely on her skills to survive. She couldn’t fail—her father wouldn’t
have, and neither could she.

Ignoring the implications of what she saw in the
young Indian’s eyes, she thrust her palm boldly over his brow, her own brows
slanting dejectedly at the feel of his flesh. He’d been as hot as an iron over
a fire only moments before, but his skin was swiftly losing its rosy tint,
turning as pale as though he were already dead.

A knot formed in her throat. “If only... if only I
could make... the infusion,” she began, her voice painfully soft, catching
abruptly on the last word as though it were suddenly too difficult to speak.

As though by cue, a soft drizzle began. Cutter
watched as Elizabeth caught the brave’s hand into her own, clutching it
stubbornly. A lone tear trickled down her cheek and she took a shuddering
breath as the jet black pupils constricted before her eyes.

“No,” she whispered dismally. “No—don’t die.
I’m not finished yet...” Her plea sounded pitiful, like a forsaken child
calling out for comfort. When, an instant later, the brave’s last breath passed
with a slight tremor of his limbs, her shoulders immediately began to quake.

Even knowing there was nothing more she could do,
Elizabeth couldn’t tear her gaze away, couldn’t release his hand. To let him go
was to let him slip away forever. Her lips began to quiver as his pupils became
little more than pinpricks, his stare as empty as black glass. “Oh, Papa,” she
cried softly, still unable to release the young brave’s hand. Nor could she
look away. “Oh, no... no... no... ”

She looked up, pleading. “Oh, Cutter,” she sobbed,
swallowing the thickening lump in her throat. Against the back of her hand, the
mist continued to fall in cool sprinkles, while against her palm, the Indian’s
flesh turned as cold as the mist. And she knew, as surely as she breathed, that
he was irretrievably gone.

“Not fair!” she cried out suddenly, and with a choking
sob, she laid the cold hand reverently upon the unmoving chest. Vaguely she was
aware of Cutter reaching out for her. Turning to him, she thrust herself into
his arms.

Life ain’t fair,” Cutter whispered. Comforting her
the only way he knew how, he stroked Elizabeth’s back and shoulders soothingly,
profoundly moved by her compassion for the Indian. He lifted her chin so that
he could see her tearstained face, but she stubbornly avoided his gaze and kept
her eyes downcast as another tear slid past her dark lashes. His own eyes
stinging against his volition, he wiped her cheek with his thumb. This time she
didn’t protest his callused touch. “Your first?” he whispered hoarsely.

Elizabeth nodded jerkily, restraining her sobs.

“Thought so,” he said gruffly. “Listen to me,
bright eyes, there wasn’t a damned thing more you could have done to save him.
Nothing.” His tone was gentle, soothing, though his blood was beginning to heat
with the feel of her in his arms. Whether he wanted to or not, in that moment
he felt more drawn to her than he’d ever thought possible. More than he had
ever been to any woman.

At last Elizabeth peered up at him through
dampened lashes, but her eyes seemed darker somehow, deeper than before, as
though this single death had in some way shaken her deep, deep down.

“I should have known what to do!” she cried
mournfully. Her palm splayed upon his chest, her fingers toying nervously with
his button.

As he felt the timid gesture, Cutter’s blood began
a slow simmer. Damn him, if she wasn’t making this hard on him. He forced his
gaze away from her budding nipples. Her body’s innocent reaction to him both
thrilled and tormented him simultaneously.

“I should have saved him. I could have—my
father would have! There must have been something I missed... something I
didn’t do right... something...” she broke off miserably, glancing up at Cutter
with pleading eyes. Tears sparkled on her lashes.

With a will of their own, his hands slid to her
waist, then inched to her back as he kissed her forehead once, firmly, feeling
his body tense. Then again, his control slipping with every second she lingered
in his arms.

He took a deep, mind-cleansing breath, but it was
the worst thing he could have done, because with it, the scent of her filled
his nostrils. He groaned, and thought with self-disgust that at the moment, he
didn’t feel much more than aggravation at the Indian for dying so
inconveniently.

Hell, he felt for the man, but not as much as he
felt for Elizabeth. Unfitting as it was, his body didn’t seem to have grasped
the seriousness of the situation. Thankfully, his mind still clung to a shred
of sanity.

His voice sounded gruff, tortured. “You did all
you could for the man, Doc.” His fingers brushed aside a damp tendril from her
face.

“Don’t call me that!” Elizabeth protested weakly, jerking
away from his touch, smacking at his hand when he brought it back to her face.

Misunderstanding her reaction, Cutter sighed and
gently drew her away from him.

“They were right to doubt me,” she murmured
unhappily, “all of them! It’s just that... that... I—I tried so hard...
so very hard... ”

Cutter could imagine her suddenly, fighting
tirelessly to win the townsfolk’s approval. In spite of the fact that she had
practically stepped into her daddy’s shoes, it wouldn’t have been a simple task
to win their respect. Yet clearly she had, because he’d heard them refer to her
as Doc, and without any reservation at all. He couldn’t let her begin doubting
herself now.

And he couldn’t help himself suddenly.

Driven by the need to soothe away her
pain—not to mention the influence of his nether regions—his lips
touched her salty lashes, pressing them softly against her moist lids, then
moved down to the bridge of her nose to plant another tender kiss there.

At last the sprinkling ceased altogether, though
neither of them were aware of it, so lost were they in the intensity of the
moment; Elizabeth in her self doubt and grief, and Cutter in his physical
torment.

His throat thickened with emotion. “Shhh, bright
eyes.” His lips brushed against hers as he spoke. “Don’t cry.”

Suddenly his mouth covered hers hungrily, coaxing
with savage intensity, crushing her to him, sending waves of shock spiraling
through her. She was astounded at her eager response; unable to deny him,
Elizabeth opened for him willingly. He gripped her shoulders roughly, and the
shock of his tongue delving gently between her trembling lips quieted her sobs
at once. Her breathing stopped entirely as one hand moved to grip the back of
her neck, restraining her so that she couldn’t have withdrawn from the
soul-searing kiss had she wanted to. His other hand splayed at her back,
forcing her into full contact with the hard planes of his body.

Helpless to contain it, Elizabeth whimpered deep
in her throat, unable to bear the intense pleasure of it... yet feeling
conscience-stricken that she could experience such overwhelming joy over a
kiss... when a man lay lifeless at their feet!

But Lord, she wanted this... more than anything...
wanted the comfort he could give her. Merciful heaven, what was wrong with her?

With a tortured cry, Elizabeth suddenly shoved
Cutter away, repulsed by her actions, and knowing that if she didn’t stop him
now, she’d soon be begging him to continue.

“How could you?” she demanded breathlessly. How
could she? her mind shouted in rebuttal. Cutter’s eyes were so black that she
had the momentary sensation of toppling headfirst into their murky depths. She
felt divested completely of her will.

Only Cutter’s self-restraint kept her from shaming
herself further.

The lift of his brow sent a curious chill down her
spine. “Easy, Doc,” he answered huskily, and her body tingled where his eyes
touched her so boldly. “The hard part was keeping myself from it.” His lips
twisted wryly.

Mesmerized by his disclosure, Elizabeth could only
gape at him stupidly, disbelieving his callousness, yet secretly thrilling to
his words. “I asked you not to call me that!” she said, averting her eyes. More
than a little discomfited by his piercing stare, she sought refuge in
outrage—before she could be tempted to throw herself on his mercy.
Ruthless as Cutter was, he wouldn’t turn her away, she was certain. Fighting
back tears, she tried to rise, but Cutter kept her from it with one hand to her
shoulder.

Knowing full well that the moment was over, Cutter
sighed regretfully. Aware of the fact that Elizabeth seemed to take strength in
her anger, he told her with a slow lift of his brow, “Maybe you’re right, Doc.
Maybe you don’t have what it takes, after all. Maybe the man was better off
without you. Y’ think—Doc?” It must have taken a befuddled moment for his
unfeeling words to register, and then Elizabeth’s eyes widened in offense. She
slapped him. “No!” she cried. “I don’t! I did everything I knew to do!
Everything! Everything!”

At his nod of agreement, Elizabeth hushed
abruptly, her shoulders slumping and her face contorting with grief. “I’m
sorry!” Tears swam in her eyes, choking her voice. “Oh, Cutter,” she whimpered.
“I did—I swear, I did. And still... it wasn’t enough!”

Cutter rubbed his jaw belatedly, where the sting
of her slap was, and Elizabeth looked at him sorrowfully, her lips quivering
pitifully.

“I’ve seen so many die—men, women, brothers,
babies. It’s not the dying itself that hurts so much... just that this
time—” she tapped softly at her breast, once again beginning to cry,
calling his attention back to the diaphanous camisole “—I was the only
thing standing between life and death... and I failed—miserably!”

With a muttered oath, Cutter caught her by the
shoulders, gripping her firmly. “No you didn’t, Lizbeth,” he said bluntly.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! The man was already six feet under
when he fell off that horse! I tried to tell you as much—remember? But
you wouldn’t listen. There was nothing more you could have done.” He softened
his voice abruptly, wanting her to understand. “As my mother’s people would
have said, The Shadow had long left him, he only breathed. Chrissakes, woman,
don’t you know how proud of you I am?”

Elizabeth’s gaze flew to his. “P-Proud?” she asked
hesitantly.

Cutter nodded, wiping away the glowing moistness
from her eyes. “Proud,” he repeated with a slow, firm nod. Then, with a
tormented groan, he brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, reveling in
her sweet softness. Now was not the time, he knew, this not the place.

But soon... real soon. He couldn’t wait much
longer. His body was literally in pain with need of her.

“Damn proud,” he whispered again, almost
reverently this time. And then, with a wink, he touched her bottom lip with his
scarred finger, rolling it gently to reveal the soft inner flesh.