Bride of Shadow Canyon. Stacey Kayne

if she could see her now. Her headmistress had been nothing short of elated when she’d informed Rachell that, due to her father’s untimely death, she was being sent back to Louisiana, straight into a war.

      Had it not been for her second cousin and childhood friend, James Carlson, she would have been arrested for treason the moment she was escorted off the train by two Confederate officers. Instead, she’d been pulled into James’s arms and kissed flush on the mouth.

      The tension she saw behind his dashing smile was enough to keep her from questioning his strange welcome. Only when they were alone, after a rushed wedding ceremony, did she learn that her father had been hanged for treason after her brothers had joined the Union army, and she was suspected of conspiring with the north, passing them information. James had vouched for her, insisting she’d been his loyal intended.

      The following day, James had taken her to see another old friend. Titus.

      Rachell choked on a sob as the vision of his dashing smile flashed in her mind. Tears scalded her cheeks. She could still feel his strong embrace closing around her as she leapt into his arms. In that moment, she’d felt a true sense of homecoming. James instructed Titus to take her back to the Carlson estate and watch over her until he returned, warning them that the news of their marriage hadn’t been well received.

      James had severely understated his family’s animosity toward her. They’d merely tolerated the presence of a Yank’s daughter. James had only managed two brief visits over the next year, until his older brother Malcom had returned home, informing her that her husband was dead. Both of her older brothers had already been reported as casualties to the North. A week later, Malcom cornered her in the stables, claiming he would take over James’s husbandly duties. Titus came to her aid, knocking him out with the back of a shovel.

      They had to leave.

      They’d stayed constantly on the move. Singing had always paid far better than the seamstress work she sometimes took, and though Titus hated her being in the saloons, he couldn’t deny they needed the money. If she hadn’t been in those saloons, she never would have found her sister.

      It was their plan to go to California, but progress was slow. They’d been saving to purchase supplies for the trip. When she took the job with Maxwell Sumner, she’d hoped it would be her last. They’d been so close, intending to leave within the week. But they had stayed too long and Titus paid for their mistake.

      Pain surged through her as she remembered his strong body sprawled on the back stoop of the apartments, his blood pooled around him. She must have been in shock, or she never would have allowed Maxwell to lead her into his private upstairs office. In the four months she’d worked at the Nightingale Saloon, she’d never been up there. Her attention had immediately fixed on an enormous portrait hung behind his desk. A woman with auburn hair, green eyes and pale skin lounged on a green velvet couch. Her scarlet dress resembled the gowns Maxwell had given Rachell for her shows. She had immediately asked who the woman was.

      Maxwell stunned her by responding, “You, my love.” He’d clamped hands over her wrists so forcefully she’d thought he would crush her bones. His eyes had been wild with fury as he told her she wouldn’t get away from him again.

      The man was delusional. He didn’t even know her true name. Knowing The Nightingale Saloon drew a large crowd and would pay well, she’d walked in and introduced herself as Miss Nightingale. Maxwell had hired her on the spot, and he’d paid her well. And then he killed Titus.

       Because of me.

      She knew Maxwell was taken by her, but never could have imagined to what degree. It wasn’t her he was obsessed with—it was the woman in the portrait. Seeing the conviction in his eyes, she’d never been so terrified, until she saw his son board the train in Nevada.

      He wouldn’t let her go.

      Dear God. She hadn’t thought of bringing such danger into her sister’s home.

      Pulling in a shaky breath, she lifted her gaze and was startled to find Jed’s silver eyes staring back at her. He stood at the edge of the clearing, silent as a shadow, barely visible in the darkness.

      “Are you okay?” he asked.

      “I’m fine.” She turned her back to him and wiped roughly at her tear-streaked face, annoyed he’d caught her crying.

      “What were you thinking about to put such fear in your eyes?”

      “None of your business.”

      “You’re shivering,” he said as he approached her. “Here, this will warm you up a bit.”

      She shrugged his long coat from her shoulders and threw it back at him. “I don’t want your coat!”

      “Suit yourself.” Jed shrugged it back on, walked around the fire and sat on his bedroll.

      Damn, but she’s a stubborn woman. Her flimsy dress wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Long, damp hair clung to her shoulders and back in tangled clumps. She rested her head on her raised knees, clamping her arms around her legs, and still she shivered.

      Her choice, he thought as he stretched out on his bedroll. He folded his arms under his head and gazed up at the night sky. For a lady schooled in the fine laws of propriety and proper etiquette, she sure had a hot temper. But her temper hadn’t shadowed her tear-glazed eyes before she’d caught him staring at her. He’d seen fear.

      It’s not my business, he reminded himself. Just as soon as he shook the trouble off her tail, she’d be Buck’s problem, not his. She’d surely hate him by the time they reached California and would have no intention of staying on at the Double D.

       He hoped.

      A half hour later, Jed had watched Rachell shiver for as long as he could stand. The little fool’s teeth had started chattering. He stood and silently walked around the fire.

      Rachell gasped as she felt herself being lifted into Jed’s warm arms. He easily suppressed her struggle, pressing her firmly into the warmth of his chest. Lord, was he warm, and strong. “Jed, I—”

      “Hush. You’re freezing.”

      He set her onto his bedroll, and Rachell was hit by a shaft of panic. She instantly tried to move away as he stretched out beside her.

      “Damn it, Rachell!” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back beside him.

      Paralyzed by fear, Rachell stared up at him as he loomed over her. His silver eyes shone like twin moons in the low light of the fire. He was convinced she was a prostitute and she was legally his wife. Lord help her if he insisted on taking a husband’s liberties, she was nowhere near strong enough to stop a man his size.

      “Rachell? Do you really think I would harm you?”

      Jed could feel her heart pounding against his arm and was stunned by the fear clearly visible in every line of her face. He eased back, loosening his hold on her. “I’d never force myself on you, or any woman. You’re safe with me.”

      He felt her shudder as she continued to stare up at him, and hoped it was in relief. “Go to sleep,” he said, turning her away from him. He pulled her close, wrapping her inside his coat with him then pulling his blanket over them.

      He reached out, capturing one of her hands in his. It felt like a small block of ice in his palm.

      “You truly would have frozen to death! Turn around here and shove those hands inside my coat.”

      She didn’t argue, allowing him to shift her position. He gathered her close, lifting her head onto the cushion of his arm, again closing her inside his jacket.

      Her cold nose pressed against his neck as she shivered against him. As cold as she was, he was surprised she had the strength to put up the fight she had. Her stubborn pride wasn’t only aggravating, it was damn hazardous.

      “Jed?” she called a while later.