The Proposition. Kate Bridges

of branches. Circular swirls of light softened the steel-hard cut of his jaw and sharp black brows. She caught the deep glimmer in his eyes as they searched her face. Cool, clean air filtered up her gown and over her bare flesh. Tiny hairs bristled on her skin; her breasts felt heavy. That lonely ache throbbed inside of her.

      She remembered the last wedding reception they had attended, each with their families, years ago before the rivalry with Caroline had begun. And before the mayor and Caroline’s father had declared war on each other. Travis’s kiss on her cheek had been soft and smooth because he’d just shaved; his kiss now would be rough.

      Roughrider.

      She had an urge, a need, to be touched. Her body flushed with heat, her heart pounded as she imagined his hands sliding along her skin.

      But he’d been nothing but rude and miserable to her since this started.

      “Good night.” She stepped around him and left him staring after her, a solitary figure in the dark.

      Chapter Six

      The second day passed in misery. Travis knew he urgently needed to do something to shake her out of his mind. He’d spent a restless night watching the stars, analyzing sounds in the cool wind for indications of trouble, but mostly trying not to breathe the same air as the provocative woman sleeping three feet away perpendicular to him.

      In the morning they arose with the rising sun. The more he ignored Jessica, the more he craved to look at her. She tumbled out of bed, her cheeks creased with the lines of her bedding, cheerfully hauling water from the river to boil coffee, asking Merriweather how he felt, timidly making her way to the horses to say hello.

      Hello to the horses!

      Later astride his horse, while he led them through rolling hills and thicker trees, Travis assured himself his craving had nothing to do with disloyalty to Caroline. Caroline may have understood it, for she’d always raised her eyebrows at the frequency of his desire. He was taken by surprise by his physical sensations whenever Jessica brushed by. His skin bristled, he inhaled deeply, his pulse stopped for a beat and he avoided eye contact. He kicked himself every time it happened.

      He’d seen that need in animals, a physical alertness of the male to the female species. But for cripe’s sake, he wasn’t an animal and should be thinking more with his brain than his urges. One year had passed since he’d even noticed another woman. Was his body making up for lost time?

      Behind him on the trail, Merriweather hollered in a weary voice. “Shall we stop here for our midday rest?”

      Adjusting his hat, Travis slowed his gelding and peered through a ring of firs to a clearing beyond the river’s curve. He knew he’d been pushing the other two hard. It seemed the more irritable Travis got, the harder he worked them. This was taking its toll on the butler.

      “It looks fine. We’ll stop for two hours.”

      “Can you see anyone behind us on the trail today? Anyone following?”

      “No sign of them,” said Travis. “I’ll take a closer look while we’re resting.”

      They dismounted. Where the sunlight penetrated the forest, wildflowers grew in abandon—lady’s slipper, Indian paintbrush, and a variety of heathers.

      Merriweather limped through the trees to the river, five hundred feet to the west. While Travis untied his saddle, he watched the old man then shook his head in sympathy and concern. Jessica was also watching. When Travis turned his head to locate her, their eyes met above the saddle. He looked away but she walked away.

      With ease, he slid the saddle off the first horse, then the second, then the third. He didn’t expect any help from Jessica or her butler; he was grateful if they would only keep out of his way. As he slid the saddle from the last horse, he heard Independence whinny. Turning toward the sound, he noticed Jessica had led her to a tree twenty yards away.

      His heart plunged. He dropped his saddle and ran. “No! Stop!”

      Jessica lunged out of his path. He slammed past her to the reins and yanked Independence from the shrubs. “Never, ever, ever, let her eat that plant. It’s yew and it can kill her. A mouthful can stop her heart!” His own heart bounded in leaps.

      Her hand flew to her brown hat. “She didn’t touch it. She’d didn’t take one bite!”

      He was standing next to her again, the last place he wanted to be. He felt the movement of her breathing and the maddening rush of his own. He said nothing but shook his head in disapproval.

      Brown eyes smoldered in his direction. She tossed her hands onto her angled hips. “You think I don’t know anything, but it’s because you don’t tell me anything. Mr. Merriweather gets your precious sympathy, but all I ever get is your blasted temper.”

      He gritted his teeth. “Because you’re nothing but trouble.”

      “And you’re nothing but a thorn in my behind. I want you out.”

      He glared at her, wishing he could say a magic word to make her disappear. Her braids were never able to contain all of her hair. Escaped strands of gold framed her heated face. Her white blouse had pulled out from one side of her waist. The creamy pants that had been crisp and clean yesterday morning were looser and stained with dull splotches of coffee and grass. The freckles on her nose had deepened in color.

      She glanced at Independence, who was grazing grass by his boots. “Many people mistakenly treat me like I’m upper class. You treat me like I’m lower.” Her lips stiffened; her tone was harsh. “I don’t think we’re so different. You were raised to believe if you worked hard, you could make a difference. Well, I was told the same.”

      Momentarily rebuffed, he tossed his Stetson to the grass and ran a hand through his hair. “All right, you want to know some things? This is yew.” He pointed to the line of shrubs. “They’ve got straight, green leaves, which almost look like coniferous needles. Keep the horses away from that.” He emphasized his point by gouging the air with his finger. “They can all graze in the clearing at the tall grass where I left them. But the shorter, fresh grasses, there—” he pointed past her shoulder “—have more nutrients. We’ll let Independence graze there for the sake of her foal.”

      She squinted in the sunlight. “A kind word from the king.”

      She’d roused his anger, then tried to leave.

      “Go ahead, run away again.”

      “I’m not running.” She turned briskly at his other side. He felt the breeze of her movements, smelled the scent of her skin.

      “Yes, you are. Just like last night when I caught you at your saddlebag. You can’t face a confrontation.”