Silver Hearts. Jackie Manning

      She shot him a reproachful glance. “Very well, I’ll take one taste if you promise to quit pestering me.” She closed her eyes, held her nose with two fingers, then took a mouthful and swallowed.

      Her eyelids flew open, and she gave a choked cough.

      Nick grabbed the bottle from her before she dropped it. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I bet ol’ Amelia Bloomer couldn’t have belted one down any better.”

      Noelle managed a scathing glare before she coughed again. Finally, she inhaled a deep gasp of breath.

      Nick grinned. “Now get out of those wet clothes. When you’re dressed, blow out the lantern. G’night Miss Bellencourt.”

      Noelle heard him climb down the back of the wagon. The whiskey burned a path straight to her belly, and already she felt flushed from the experience. Or was it Luke Savage?

      What was she feeling? She wasn’t afraid of him, of that she was certain. Luke was nothing like the men who would frequent Harrison’s tavern late at night, ogling her when she came home from the theater. Maybe that was it. She had never met anyone quite like him.

      Her pulse quickened when she recalled how Luke had stared at her. Soaked to the skin, he was justifiably angry. But she recognized the dark and mysterious way that his eyes brightened when his gaze raked over her.

      Desire.

      She’d admit that it was desire that stirred her being when he grabbed her waist, earlier. When she began to touch his leather vest, she felt him tense beneath her touch, and in that fleeting moment...

      Nonsense. What she felt was appreciation, nothing more. She was grateful to him, and Uncle Marcel would repay his services once they arrived in Crooked Creek. Then she could forget Luke.

      And they would arrive safely, thanks to Luke. Yes, it was gratitude she felt and nothing else.

      She removed her wet garments and put on a high-necked cotton nightgown. After blowing out the lantern, she turned her bedroll over, then curled up to sleep. “Pleasant dreams, Mr. Savage.”

      Luke’s low mumbling from beneath the wagon renewed her feeling of safety. She closed her eyes, content.

      

      “Come on, Sunshine, time to wake up!”

      Noelle opened one eyelid and peered into the darkness. A few inches from her, Luke leaned on one elbow and smiled down at her. He lay on a rumpled bedroll, the horse blanket hugging his shoulders.

      Noelle jerked her head up. “Wh-what are you doing in my wagon?”

      Luke’s mouth tipped slightly. “I was sleeping. What did you think?”

      She gasped, unable to hide her astonishment. “I didn’t give you permission to—”

      “No sense asking for something you can’t get,” Luke drawled. “Besides, only a fool would sleep in a mud hole if there’s a dry space available.” He stretched lazily. “C’mon. The storm has stopped. I noticed you’ve got dry kindling under the wagon. You make the fire, I’ll be back in a while.”

      Noelle clasped her shawl in front of her and pointed to the closed curtains at the rear. “Now that you’re awake, get out!”

      Luke raked back the hair from his face. “Jeezzo, woman! Are you always this snappish in the morning?”

      “Out!” She grabbed his bedroll and blanket, tossing them after him. His deep chuckle made her cheeks burn.

      After he left, Noelle took a deep breath, then tried to calm herself. But his words plagued her mind: Only a fool would sleep in a mud hole if there’s a dry space available.

      She sighed. What he had said made a logical sense, so very much like Luke. After all, his gear was soaked because of her—although it had been an accident. And with all that he’d done for her, how could she begrudge him a dry place to sleep?

      She peered out the back of the wagon. Early dawn hugged the prairie in a stretch of deep violet shadow.

      “Mr. Savage?” she called into the stillness.

      Only the buckskin’s answering whinny disturbed the silence. The horse was tethered to the side of the wagon. Perhaps Luke had gone to fetch the oxen. When he returned, she’d apologize for her testy words.

      By the time Noelle had finished dressing, Luke hadn’t returned. The unbidden thought that something might have happened to him flashed through her mind.

      Tossing her shawl around her shoulders, Noelle grabbed the rifle and set out to look for him. Even a man as invincible as Luke Savage was vulnerable to wild animals and Indians, although he probably didn’t think so.

      Her shoes sucked in the mud as she strode through the prairie, her eyes becoming accustomed to the half light. Although it should be easy to follow his steps in the wet sand, it was still too dark to see them. The storm rumbled in the distance; the moon hid behind low clouds.

      Mesquite and sage hung heavy with last night’s rain, splattering her skirts with droplets as she strode past. She moved along the swaying shadows of brush, while visions of crouching sharp-fanged beasts or Indians with raised tomahawks intruded on her logic. Her heart began to pound. Had a pack of wolves or bandits sneaked up on Luke when he’d untied the oxen?

      No, she would have heard something. Then where was Luke? Maybe he was disgusted with her earlier bad temper and felt she needed to be taught a lesson.

      No. He wouldn’t deliberately cause her to worry. The idea surprised her, and the thought made her realize that not only could she trust him, but she knew he’d protect her, even with his life.

      The thought gave her pause. Luke Savage was basically a decent man, despite the darker side of him that she’d rather not know about. Gambling—the social ill of the lowest kind. But she sensed he’d do her no harm, and for that, she’d be eternally grateful.

      A coyote howled in the distance. She trembled, pulling the shawl tighter about herself. Maybe she should have started a fire before she went to look for Luke. Without a campfire to keep away wild animals, the coyotes, hungry and smelling the oxen, were a threat.

      The wind picked up, cool and damp with the smell of sage. Noelle sidestepped a large tumbleweed rolling toward her, safely avoiding its sharp prickers.

      So, where was Luke? The fine hairs on her forearms tingled. She took a deep breath, wilting herself to keep a calm head as Luke would do.

      Suddenly, a whiff of something dreadfully familiar drifted on the wind. Her head lifted toward the scent of death. Since her journey West, she had smelled its presence more times than she cared to remember.

      Bracing herself, she picked her way slowly toward the source of the stench. The area of the prairie grew open, flat and sparse of grass. After a few minutes, she hesitated, wondering if she should wander so far from camp. She glanced over her shoulder, astonished at how far she’d walked. She should return to the wagon. Then after sunrise, she would return to pursue her curiosity. Besides, maybe Luke had come back and was searching for her.

      Before Noelle had time to turn around, she heard a whisper of movement beneath the wide branches of a mesquite bush. She wheeled around to see a hunched figure in the shadows. Her mouth went dry. She raised the rifle to take aim, while juggling the lamp. Her fingers shook on the trigger as she drew the object into her sights.

      “Luke? Is that you?” she called out, hopefully. The only answer was the rustling of branches as the dark shape crept closer.

      “Luke?” Her voice rose to an unrecognizable pitch. Her mouth filled with the metallic taste of fear.

      A feeble cry shattered the stillness as a wobbly-legged calf staggered toward her. Noelle gasped with relief. She lowered the rifle and the lantern, her heart racing like a runaway mare.

      Not more than a few weeks old, she’d guess. She’d witnessed many cattle births while she traveled