Tender Touch (5 page)

As if her wish were magic, the soap landed in front of her, splashing her face. She nearly lost her balance as she grabbed to keep it from floating away. Then she saw him.

On the bank, Columbus Nigh hunkered on the balls of his feet, shockingly naked, except for clout. His lips quirked up on one side as he watched her flounder about.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She huddled under the water, praying he could not see through the swirling current. “How dare you come here and spy on me like this. Go, at once, or I’ll…I’ll—”

He laughed, a blade of grass dangling from his teeth. “Or you’ll what? Reckon I’m the one with the advantage here. How ’bout I scrub your back?”

“How about you drop dead,” she hissed.

Chapter Five

The smile left Nigh’s lips. He scowled, hating himself for using her fear of men against her, but knowing she would never let him examine her injuries otherwise. “You placed yourself in my care, woman, so you’re just gonna have to put up with me. I figure, bad as your face looks, you likely have other injuries I can’t see under your clothes.” He paused for effect. “And I intend to see.”

Her mouth fell open. “Why, you’re nothing but a filthy, licentious old lecher.”

The smile returned. “There you go, complimentin’ me again. You through washing?”

“No! And I’m not coming out until you go away.” Nigh stood slowly. “Reckon I’ll just have to help you finish up then. Ain’t got all day.”

Brianna gasped, unable to believe the man’s nerve. At the edge of the water he stopped to pull off his moccasins. He was so close she could see the hair on his arms, the veins standing out on the backs of his large hands—and more.

Nigh relished the way her blush spread down her neck onto her chest, but his gaze didn’t stop there. It dove beneath the surface of the water, past the arms crossed over her breasts, to the shadowed vee at the apex of her slender legs. When his eyes darted back to her face and he saw her blanch with fear, his amusement died.

She was beautiful, in spite of the bruises and her thinness. Beautiful, brave, and cruelly abused.

Once again, he felt sick with himself for the way he had to treat her, but his need to make sure she wasn’t too badly injured was too strong to ignore. He gentled his voice. “No reason to fear me, woman. Seen a hundred women bathing naked in the Indian villages I’ve lived in. Don’t reckon you’re put together any different from them. And I ain’t so hungry I got to stoop to spying on you, neither.”

He slipped his moccasins back on his feet, knowing he was trying as hard to convince himself as he was her. The truth was, he was hungry. Hell, he was starved. But that wasn’t why he was here. He’d put two and two together and had come up with cracked ribs. How fast they traveled would depend partly on how much she could take, which wouldn’t be much with cracked ribs. He hadn’t expected the sight of her body to tie his insides in knots, then send his blood racing hot and wild so he had to sit down to hide the evidence of his desire.

But he should’ve known. Like he knew right now that the honorable thing to do would be to leave.

Brianna shivered in the chilly water. “If you didn’t come here to spy on me, why won’t you go away?”

The very question he had been asking himself. “Are your ribs broke?”

“I…I’m not sure.”

“That’s why I’m not leaving till you let me check you over. Now, you coming out, or do I come in after you?”

She wanted to defy him, but Barret had done his work too well. Man commanded, and she obeyed. First, she drew the pins from her hair and let it tumble into the water. As she stood, she pulled the thigh-length mass in front of her so it hid her breasts and abdomen like a fur cape.

The sight tightened the knot in his gut. Her hair was the color of pine bark, brown with a hint of red, thick and glossy with gentle waves that ruffled about her upper thighs. Hair a man could get lost in.

She started toward him and his breath caught. His stomach contracted in pain, as though Longmire had just punched him with one of his ham-sized fists.

The moment she reached shore she snatched up her drawers and pulled them on over her wet skin beneath her shield of hair. The strands parted as she worked, teasing him with tantalizing glimpses of bare skin. The fine muslin of the garment clung and became transparent, adding to rather than detracting from her allure, in spite of the bruises it failed to hide. When she picked up her chemise, he said, “If you’ve got broken ribs, they’ll need to be bound up ’fore you put that on.”

“I’ve no intention of allowing you to put your hands on my bare…. If you must check my ribs, it will have to be through my chemise.”

“Fine, let’s get to it so we can get out of here.”

Before he could object, she pulled on her petticoats. Then she turned her back to him so he could get on with his examination.

“The first chance I get,” she said, “I shall write Mr. Longmire a scathing letter about the type of men he recommends as trustworthy guides for unprotected females.”

Nigh chuckled. “Longmire’ll get a good laugh out of that, probably nail the letter to the livery wall for everybody to read.”

Beads of water trailed from her neck down the smooth flesh of her back to soak into the lacy edge of her chemise. His gaze followed the droplets as he slid his hands around her waist and gently tested each rib. When his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts, she sucked in her breath, and he froze. Her heart thudded wildly in time with his own until the sound filled his ears.

The need to cup her breasts with his hands and bury his face in her hair nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to put his lips to her soft skin and drink the moisture beaded there. He wanted to erase her pain and show her not all men were brutes. His jaw worked as he struggled for control.
Easy, squawman, she’ll bolt like a half-broke filly
, he told himself, purposely using the hateful name to help cool his ardor. Still, a year’s worth of seconds passed before he could drop his hands, a month’s worth before he could speak. “Nothing cracked, near as I can tell. Get dressed. We’re wasting time.”

Letting out the breath she had been holding, she bent to take up her dress and corset.

“Damn fool woman!” He grabbed away the corset. “No wonder you almost passed out at the livery. Your body hasn’t suffered enough, you got to torture it more? Lord save me from greenhorns! First a damned sidesaddle, now a corset. Trail’s no place for wearing foofuraw like this. I ought to— No, by hell, I will!”

With that he flung the garment far out into the creek. The current carried it away. She seemed so timid he didn’t expect her to jump him, fists flailing.

“You had no right to do that,” she screamed.

He seized her wrists and pinned them behind her to stop her from hitting him, bringing her body against his.

Mortification filled her eyes as her thinly clad breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest and her thighs brushed his. She writhed against him, struggling to break free. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head up so she had to look at him.

“I-I’m sorry,” she blurted, frightened now more than embarrassed. “I didn’t mean…”

For one long moment he stared down at her, at the thick brown lashes that lined the one startlingly blue topaz eye that was able to glare back at him, at the finely etched curves of her upper lip and the cracked and swollen lower one that made her look as though she were pouting. At the storm-dark bruises that failed to hide her beauty. His hands clenched at the feel of the silky hair they held. His body reacted to her wiggling. He longed to rip away her garments and taste her warm flesh, to feel himself inside her. It was insane, yet he knew if he didn’t walk away immediately, she would find herself on the ground beneath him. Wordlessly, he let go and stalked away.

Left alone, Brianna gulped in air and ordered her body to stop shaking. Chilled after the heat of his embrace, she wrapped her arms about herself. Gradually the fear receded and her pulse slowed. What had he thought as he stared at her? As he held her? She had felt his hardness pressing against her belly and knew he could easily have forced her to submit to him. Was it honor that made him walk away? Or revulsion?

By the time Brianna returned to camp, Columbus Nigh had put out their fire and stored away their gear. The dappled gray stood patiently while he smoothed out the saddle blanket, then swung the saddle onto the horse’s back. He knew the instant she walked back into camp. With every nerve ending, every muscle, every pore, he felt her presence.

Her skirts rustled slightly as she went to the brush shelter to ready her own things. Nigh adjusted the cinch. He heard the cat complain as she ousted him from her bed, heard the blankets snap as she shook them. He caught the clean, woman smell of her and gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate on his work and ignore the way his body reacted to her, like a bull elk in rut. She was a complication he didn’t need. Even if he were looking for a woman to take into his life, it wouldn’t be a bluenose like her. Not that he was fool enough to think she might accept him, not an illiterate old fur trapper like him. Not a squawman.

Brianna hurried to saddle Beast and tie on her bedroll and valise. Though she had not looked at him once since entering the camp, she was well aware that Mr. Nigh was mounted and waiting for her. She glanced over at him as she tucked Shakespeare into his basket and was surprised to see that he was clean-shaven now. Cleaned up and dressed in new buckskins, he looked almost handsome. Not sinister at all. Even his hair was clean.

The leather squeaked as she lifted herself into the saddle. She squirmed to seat herself more comfortable. Suddenly the saddle gave. She yelped as she slid to the ground.

Nigh was beside her in the flash of a horse’s tail. “You all right? What happened?”

“I’m fine, just a bit shaken. I don’t know what went wrong. The saddle slipped.” She stared at the saddle hanging upside down under the horse’s belly while the pain slowly receded.

Anger surged through Nigh. He had expected too much of her, insisting she take care of her own horse. Her fall was his fault. Twice in one day he had endangered her life, first by leaving her alone when he went after her horse, then by not double-checking her saddle before she mounted. No, by
damn, it wasn’t all his fault.

“It’s that damn sidesaddle!” He pulled her to her feet. “Asinine female nonsense ain’t worth a pocketful of buffalo piss on a dry day.”

He didn’t notice her grimace of pain at his rough handling. He undid the girth, yanked off the sidesaddle and pitched it into the creek. Brianna watched the tiny bubbles rise to the surface where her saddle sank out of sight, taking her heart with it.

“You’ll use my saddle the rest of the way.” His tone brooked no argument. “And you’ll ride astride. This ain’t no Sunday ride in the city. Anything, a coon or a flock of birds taking flight, could spook your horse. In that damned sidesaddle, you wouldn’t have a chance of keeping your seat.”

“But my skirts will bunch up and let my…” She couldn’t bring herself to mention a part of her anatomy to a man. It simply wasn’t done.

He stared at her, his eyes as cold and piercing as a winter wind. “Let your what?”

A lancet of fear sliced through her. She couldn’t get out a single word.

“Failin’ outta that fool sidesaddle and breakin’ your neck is better than lettin’ me see a bit of your ankles? Hell, woman, I watched you bathe. You’re likely wearing thick black stockings anyway.”

Her blush told him he was right.

Tossing the saddle into the creek had done little to stem his anger and frustration. Her foolish display of modesty was like tossing lamp oil on a fire. “Go on, then, get your damn saddle back. You know where it is.” His arm shot past her head, pointing to the creek.

She ducked, shielding her face with her hands. Nigh groaned. He thrust his thumbs into his belt behind his waist to keep from reaching for her and stared at the ground. “Told you I’d never hurt you.”

He hadn’t, not really. Brianna was trembling and knew she looked like a doe poised for flight, so she forced her shoulders back and faced him. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. And I don’t mean to make things difficult. It’s not easy to let go of tenets drilled into you almost from the moment you were born and do something you’ve always believed would be contemplated only by a
.
.
.
a strumpet.”

Nigh heaved a sigh and let his shoulders slump while he mulled the problem over. “I’ve got a new pair of trousers. You can wear them.”

“But that would be almost as bad as—”

His fists clenched. “Woman, you got two choices. Either ride with your skirts hiked up or wear my trousers. No, I lied. There’s a third choice. Fetch yourself back to St. Louie and find some other idiot to get you to Independence.”

He didn’t wait for her decision, but marched to the dappled gray and proceeded to remove his saddle. Brianna watched him switch the saddle to the buckskin’s back and loosely do up the girth. Then he slugged the mare in the belly. Beast blew out a rush of air. The mare’s stomach contracted and Nigh quickly tightened the girth. That was what she’d forgotten to do, she realized. The mare had been holding her breath so the strap couldn’t be tightened enough. She saw it now, as clear as the blue sky overhead, but she didn’t bother to explain to Columbus Nigh. He was right, she was a fool.

“I will accept your generous offer of the trousers,” she told him.

Without comment he fetched them from his pack. “Need a shirt, too.”

The shirt was the typical thigh-length tunic farmers and tradesmen wore, made of slate blue linsey-woolsey with smocking at the shoulder seams and the tops of the long sleeves. She looked doubtfully at the slit-neck opening, knowing it would probably reach nearly to her waist, but didn’t dare complain. Folding the garments over her arm, she waded into the bushes.

Nigh shook his head as he watched her go. She acted as if she were going to her own execution. White women were more troublesome than buffalo gnats or skeeters. He thought of the young Snake wife he had lost barely a year ago. Little Beaver had been as practical as they came, cooperative and helpful. No inhibitions and no righteous morals to get in the way. Not once had he regretted taking her—until the day he found her dead.