Sagebrush Bride (4 page)

“So skip to the man part,” Jo prompted, waving her
hand impatiently.

“I can’t claim Katherine’s child unless I’m
married,” she said bluntly. “Her grandfather loves her, you see, and he won’t
give her up unless he’s certain she’ll go to a decent home.”

“I don’t understand,” Jo interjected. “Why doesn’t
the kid just stay with him, if he loves her so damned much?”

“Because he claims he’s too old to raise her,”
Elizabeth disclosed. “And he also wrote that if I can’t take her, he’d be
forced to give her to a God-fearing couple he knows who was never blessed with
children.”

She bit into her lower lip to keep from crying
out, and her eyes closed for the briefest instant as she fought to retain her
composure. When she opened them again, they were misty. “Jo! I have to get that
child! Katie’s all the family I’ve got left—I
need
to raise her, can’t you see? I can’t bear to think of her
growing up all alone... not knowing her.” Her eyes were melancholy. “She’s only
four.” Her voice was soft with pain. “Don’t you understand?”

Jo nodded. “I think I do, sugar. So what are you
gonna do?”

Elizabeth cleared her throat, because the words
she was about to speak seemed outrageous even to her own ears. “Well... ”
Knitting her brows, she began, “I thought... I thought, maybe, I’d hire myself
a husband.”

A sudden choking sound diverted Elizabeth’s
attention, and her eyes widened, her gaze flying to Cutter’s as though she
suddenly recalled his presence. To her annoyance, that unwelcome heat stole
back into her cheeks.

Watching Elizabeth’s back straighten stoically,
Cutter experienced a longing to console. It amazed him that she’d not so much
as shed a single tear, and he admired her for that strength of character. Most
gals he knew would be spouting liquid salt like a wrung
sponge—justifiably—yet here she sat, eyes glassy with grief, and
not a drop to behold. Still, her grief was a tangible thing, and something
stirred deep down. She seemed to deal with anger well enough, and so he thought
to give her another focus. “Quit pampering her, Jo. She’s no idiot child!”

Her head snapping up, Jo gave her brother an
incredulous look. Silence overwhelmed the small room for an uncomfortable
instant as she glared at him, and said finally, “How would you know what she
needs, you insensitive cuss!”

Cutter lifted a brow in amused surprise. “I was
‘too generous’ only a scant moment ago,” he reminded her.

Without giving his sister time to reply, he rose
from the chair and went to the private bar. Tipping a few long-necked bottles
to better read the labels, he found one to his liking, lifting it along with
two glasses, setting them down upon the desk before Elizabeth.

Jo glanced back at Elizabeth, but Elizabeth was
still watching Cutter. “Look, Elizabeth, even if you can work this plan out
somehow... I’m not sure this is the best time to be traveling.”

Elizabeth’s gaze returned to Jo. “Oh, but you
see... it’s really a very good time! Word is sure to have spread about the war
by now. And Elias says that with so many troops in the area, there shouldn’t be
any concern over...” She glanced away anxiously, and then back, and was chewing
her lip in search of a word.

“Indians,” Jo provided for her. She shared an amused
look with her brother.

“Um, yes.” Elizabeth said.

Cutter lifted up the small stool that had propped
his feet earlier and set it down with a clatter on the opposite side of the
small desk. Without preamble, he took his seat upon the stool, and as short as
it was, he still sat taller than Elizabeth did in her plush leather chair.

“This,” he informed them both, though he kept his
gaze fastened to Elizabeth’s, winking audaciously at her, “is just what the
woman needs right now.” He lifted up his drink.

Elizabeth’s brows drew together in disapproval.
Her hair was pulled back too tightly, making her face appear taut and gaunt,
but Cutter’s eyes overlooked that, focusing only on the thick black fringe of
lashes magnified by her lenses, and those dark brows so at odds with her
honey-colored hair and complexion.

“Sure it is!” exclaimed Jo in disgust. “Ain’t it
always a man’s answer to everything?” She shook her head reprovingly.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, remained quiet.

When he tore his gaze away from her, he glanced up
at his sister and said pointedly, “Don’t you have a hookshop to run, or
something?”

Jo glowered at him. “Well, yes, but... ”

She couldn’t argue with truth—and she didn’t
dare leave that mangy bunch o’ men alone in her bar for too long, Cutter knew.
Like as not, they were sneaking sips from her bottles, and pinches from her
girls. Her hands went to her hips in warning. “Behave yourself, Cutter. If you
dare say anything to hurt Elizabeth’s feelings...”

A shadow of annoyance crossed Cutter’s sharp
features, but faded just as quickly as it appeared. “You know me better’n that,
Jo. Fact is, I figure I can help. Now, get the hell out of here and back to
work before you have nothing left to get back to.” His eyes flashed a gentle
but firm warning.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to object, but before
she could utter a word, Jo snorted inelegantly and left the room, closing the
door firmly behind her.

Rising abruptly, Elizabeth gasped in frustration,
staring wide-eyed at the closed door. How dare Jo leave her alone, with her
heller of a brother! She turned slowly to glare at Cutter, her expression
wrathful. “I needed to talk to her, Mr. McKenzie!” Her eyes narrowed upon him
accusingly. “I assume it is McKenzie?” she asked.

Cutter lifted the bottle before him, turned it
appraisingly, then poured a small portion of amber fire into her glass. “That’s
right,” he drawled. His dark, hawk-like eyes bored into hers as he slid the
glass toward her. “Drink up. Might help.” The curve of his lips seemed to
challenge her.

Settling back down on the edge of the chair,
Elizabeth slid the glass back toward him, straightening her shoulders. “No,
thank you, Mr. McKenzie. I do not partake of spirits.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not
ever!”

Shrugging indifferently, Cutter proceeded to pour
himself two fingers. As he placed the bottle back upon the desk it
“accidentally” clinked against Elizabeth’s glass, nudging it back into her
immediate reach. “Suit yourself,” he said, adjusting his stool. He leaned upon
the desk, stretching his long legs lazily before him.

Beneath the desk, the toe of one boot managed to
find its way just under the hem of Elizabeth’s skirt, brushing her ankle. She
jerked away with a gasp. Though not quickly enough, because she experienced a
flutter deep down at the unexpected caress. It sent her pulses racing and her
senses reeling. Surely he’d not done so on purpose? Or had he? She had to
wonder.

Inclining his head slightly, Cutter lifted his own
glass in mock salute. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, smiling.

Too flustered to speak, Elizabeth simply shook her
head in answer, thinking that she really ought to get up and leave. Yet she
didn’t. Something kept her rooted to the chair, and she couldn’t even force her
gaze away.

Did he know how much his presence disturbed her?
Was he making fun of her? Somehow that possibility thoroughly distressed her.
“I really wish you wouldn’t smile so much.”

Cutter studied the expression on her face over the
rim of his whiskey glass. He was making her nervous, he could tell. But he couldn’t
help himself. He itched to remove her specs, to reach out and run his finger
across those long sable lashes, see if they were as soft as they looked.

He kept his hand occupied with his rotgut whiskey
instead, a pulse quickening in his temple even as he thought of touching her.
Swallowing, he slammed the tumbler down. “Why is that?” he asked.

“Just because!”

He contemplated how those delicate lashes would
feel against his lips. “Why?” he persisted, his tone huskier than before.

“Be—Because it annoys me!” she said sharply.

His smile deepened.

Again, her eyes narrowed. “All right, Mr.
McKenzie, since I truly do not understand what it is you find so blessed
amusing, perhaps you’d care to enlighten me?”

He crossed his arms. “Don’t think I would.”

She surged from her seat, shoulder squared
proudly. “Well, then… if you will please excuse me! I have no time for this
cockamamie nonsense!”

She started for the door, only to find her skirt
firmly snagged by a jagged corner of the desk. Halting abruptly at the sound of
rending material, she stood stock-still, momentarily paralyzed by the thought
of turning to face Cutter’s smug expression.

She stared at the door, only two feet away,
thinking that surely Cutter was snickering at her behind those insolent black
eyes of his.

The biggest part of her wanted to simply jerk her
skirt free, reach for the knob, snatch the door open, and run for her life. But
that would accomplish nothing, she knew.

Nor did she want Cutter to think she was afraid of
him. Suddenly it was very important that she stand up to him, show herself
confident and unaffected. She closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and
spun to face him, her chin lifting a notch.

She started to find he’d already risen and was
standing, one brow lifted slightly.

How did he do that, she wondered
irately—move so quickly without making a sound?

One hand swept across his lips, as though to wipe
the smile from them, then fell away as he stooped to pop her dress from its
snare. But he didn’t rise straightaway. Stooping at her feet, he glanced up
from her ankles, his eyes gleaming as he lifted the dangling end for her.
“You’ll be needin’ this, I reckon.” Amusement danced in his eyes.

Exasperated, Elizabeth snatched the torn hem out
of his hands, grateful to find that it was only the flounce she’d added to
lengthen her skirt. His fingers closed about hers, not really detaining
them—though she didn’t realize that fact until she removed them quite
easily a few stunned seconds later.

The shock of that discovery left her dumbstruck.

She was ready to bolt.

Cutter could tell by the look in her eyes, so he
stood cautiously, retreating a bit. He sat back upon the desk, arms linked
lazily across his chest, as he scrutinized her. He wasn’t ready for her to
leave, but knew better than to ask her not to go. The ready defiance in her
expression told him that she would do so just to spite him.

“Think Brady’s gone yet?” he asked
conversationally, knowing full well that it would both divert her attention and
deter her from leaving the room until he could manage to smooth her ruffled
feathers.

Surprise touched her features first, then
consternation as she recalled the reason Jo had dragged her into the office to
begin with. With a dainty finger, she pushed her spectacles firmly up the
bridge of her nose, seeming to consider his question carefully.

Lifting himself from the desk, Cutter retreated
further, moving behind the desk to give her a greater sense of security. “My
apologies if I offended you somehow... Never meant to. It’s just that I can
tell Jo cares for you.”

Her emotions were so transparent that he could
tell the very second she began to relax. “I’d really like to help you if you’ll
allow it.”

Cutter held her gaze, never releasing it, even as
he poured himself another shot of whiskey. He sat, stretching his legs, as he
tossed down a potent swallow, then shook his head, muttering.

“Damned shit’s strong enough to blow a man’s lamp
out.”

Obviously
not rank enough to keep him from lifting the tumbler for another swig.

Somehow Elizabeth didn’t think he was all that
repentant. Piqued by the thought, she watched as he took a painfully slow
swallow, and felt a flutter in her breast as his tongue swept down across his
lower lip, lapping up the lingering taste of whiskey.

She had to remind herself to exhale.

And then his eyes crinkled at the corners, hinting
at that rude smile he’d only just apologized for.

Refusing to allow him to run her out of the room,
she raised her chin, returning his impertinent stare. At the moment, he was
still the better choice over Brady. She had no wish to leave the sanctuary of
the office until Jo had the chance to rid the bar of him.

She placed both hands upon the desk, hem still in
hand. “All right,” she asked before she could stop herself, “how is it that you
think you are able to help me, Mr. McKenzie?”

Cutter’s gaze swept down, studying the long, lean
fingers spread so boldly upon the desk, taking in the swatch of material she
held pinned beneath her right hand, and then back up to her tawny eyes.

It took all of his resolve to keep from bustin’
his guts. Most folks didn’t like to meet his gaze a’tall, much less stare him
in the eye, yet here this little filly was giving him equal measure, challenging
him. For that matter, she looked as though she were wishing him an early tour
into the Happy Hunting Grounds.