Bride of Shadow Canyon. Stacey Kayne

her the night she’d been abducted. She’d reminded Jed of that fact until her very last breath.

      He wasn’t a man who had to learn a lesson twice. He’d offer his soul to the devil before opening his heart to another woman.

      As frustrated and angry as he was about his current situation, Jed couldn’t ignore Rachell’s hunger. She wasn’t any happier about the unexpected turn of events. Unlike his marital tie to Malika, his marriage to Rachell could be easily severed.

      He reached back into one of his saddlebags and pulled out an apple. “Here,” he said, holding it out.

      Rachell stared at the green fruit for a long moment before glancing up at him. “You’ve had this all along,” she accused before snatching it.

      “You’re not starving to death. But don’t worry. You’ll be having meat for supper.” Her green eyes lit up, bringing the start of a smile to Jed’s mouth. “Didn’t those bad men feed you, Imp?”

      “My name is Rachell Carlson.”

      “Actually, sugar, your name is Rachell Doulan.”

      Her eyes widened, and Jed laughed out loud.

      “You don’t seriously think—”

      “Calm down. We’ll get an annulment as soon as we reach California.”

      She shifted, taking a loud bite from the apple as she turned her back to him.

      Unable to fight his smile, Jed knew his lack of sleep was affecting his mind. He should still be steamed over Widell’s underhanded courtroom shenanigans, but Rachell’s flashing green eyes and stricken expression at his announcement of her new last name had somehow taken the edge off his anger.

      This woman didn’t care for him one bit, which suited Jed just fine. The wide stretch of land between them and Nevada required an aggressive spirit. Judging by the glint in Rachell’s eyes and the rigid set of her spine, she planned to fight him like a cornered mountain lion the whole way.

      Chapter Three

      The afternoon sun glared overhead as Jed reined in his horse. Rachell felt him pluck his black hat from her head, where he’d placed it hours earlier, saying her fair skin didn’t need any more sun. The man’s dark mood and harsh tongue certainly contrasted to his unexpected consideration and gentle touch, which continued to catch Rachell off guard.

      “Sage is done for the day,” Jed said, lifting Rachell from his lap. “We’ll make camp here.”

      She managed to suppress a groan as he eased her to the ground. Her body ached from head to toe. She was tired, hungry and, after not having had a bath for days on end, she was filthy. Hearing the distant sound of rushing water, her mood began to brighten. A bath would improve her spirits considerably.

      “Mr. Doulan—”

      “Damn it, woman,” he said as he slung out of his saddle. “My name is Jed.”

      “I prefer to call you Mr. Doulan, thank you.” Rachell thought it best to keep as much formality as possible between herself and her temporary spouse. The slow smile etching across his lips reaffirmed that decision. Calculating gray eyes warmed as he gazed down at her. Not with merriment, but pure mischief.

      Rachell tensed. He had no right to be so almighty confident, and dreadfully good-looking.

      “Suppose I prefer to call you Mrs. Doulan?”

      “You will not.” She fumed as his smug smile widened. A single black eyebrow arched high into his forehead.

      Blast it all! She did not like this man. “Fine,” she conceded. “Jed, do you have any soap? I’ve been collecting trail dust for over a week and wish to clean up a bit.”

      He studied her for a long moment. “If you’d like to wash your hands before we eat, sure. If you’re askin’ to lather some all over your smooth ivory skin, the answer’s no.”

      “Very well,” she said in a light tone, refusing to show her disappointment. It took no small effort. She’d not had a decent bath in two weeks, but she would make do with the fresh water. “Do you have a cloth then?”

      He reached into his saddlebags, pulled out a white rag and tossed it to her. “Don’t be all day about it. We have a camp to set up. I’m not your damned servant. And don’t be splashing about like a duckling,” he called after her. “You never know who or what might be in the area.”

      “Thank you,” she chimed, walking away.

      As Rachell approached the river’s edge, listening to the rush of the rapid current, watching the white caps of water twisting and slapping against the rocks, her heart began to thunder in her chest. Spotting a shallow cove a few yards down, she continued downstream. She stopped at the edge of the clear, still pool and stared at the rocks beneath the cold water.

      She hated rivers. She also hated being filthy. She sat on a nearby boulder to remove her boots, then slowly approached the shallow pool. Three feet deep, four at the most, she told herself. Not enough water to go above her head.

      She knew how to swim, but so had Andrew. Rachell hadn’t been in a river since she was nine and watched her twelve-year-old brother slip under a deceptively calm veil of water and never resurface. Luke and Isaac, her older brothers, had frantically searched the water for him, but they couldn’t save him from the river.

      This small cove was beyond the reach of the deadly current. There was no undertow to hold her under. She sucked in a deep gasp of air as she took another step toward the edge, striving to shut out the sound of the deadly rushing water only a few feet away.

      Rachell glanced at the white cloth in her hand. A sponge bath was not going to do the job. She reached for the bottom of her waistcoat. There was no sense in wasting time on the buttons. The garment hung on her like elephant skin. She whipped it over her head, tossing it aside then quickly dropped the large skirt which barely clung to her hips. She paused as her toes met the ice-cold water.

      “You can do this, Rachell.” Drawing another deep breath, she hurried to the center of the shallow pool. Air rushed from her lungs and she sank into the freezing water. Shivering, she briskly ran the cloth over her body. The number of dark bruises marring her arms stunned her. No wonder she was so sore. She was a mess!

      Cringing from the very thought of dunking her head, she sucked in another deep gasp and went under, digging her fingers into the dirt-filled tangles. Rachell sprang from the water, her teeth chattering as she hurried toward her discarded clothes.

      After wringing the water from her hair, she reached for her dress. As she carefully pulled the skirt over her black-and-blue hip, she thought of Jed’s gentle hands. Jed was a mountain of muscle, yet whenever he stopped to rest or water his horse, he was always careful not to bump her hip. His large hands continually handled her with extreme tenderness.

      Unexpected, given his temperament.

      Shivering, she picked up her boots and hurried back to their campsite barefoot. She was overjoyed to find a fire burning when she returned. A pot of water sat on a grate above the flames and a bedroll had been spread out beside the fire. But Jed was nowhere to be seen.

      Chilled to the bone, she didn’t hesitate as she slid under his blanket. Once she eased her chill, she’d be ready to help with supper. She sighed with relief as she pulled the thick wool over her cold body, surrounding herself in its warmth, and a surprisingly pleasant masculine scent.

      

       Dear God, what have I done to deserve this?

      Jed froze at the sight of his young bride sleeping soundly in his bedroll.

       Why did I have to look downstream?

      He suppressed a groan while trying to push the tantalizing image of her perfect, pint-size body from his mind. Crouching beside his pack, he pulled out a cast iron skillet