Bride Of Shadow Canyon. Stacey Kayne

hair from her scalp.

      “Move your hands. I won’t hurt you.”

      When she didn’t respond, he set the brush down and lifted her hands from her hair. She trembled as he crossed her arms over her stomach and held them there. He lowered his head, talking close to her ear. “Trust me. I can get the knots out without scalping you. Do you trust me not to hurt you?”

      Jerkily, she nodded her head. Jed released her and again took the brush. Rachell remained perfectly still as he pulled the coarse bristles through her damp hair. He took his knife from the scabbard at his waist and carefully cut out the stubborn knots that refused to be brushed loose.

      When he finally had her hair brushed free of snags, the thick auburn mane flowed across her back like a brilliant, beautiful wave of fire. Jed slid his fingers across the center of her scalp, separating the shimmering mass, revealing her long, slender, kissable neck.

      He pushed the two sections over her shoulders then called himself ten kinds of fool for doing something so stupid as running his fingers through the silken flames of her hair. Not just stupid, dangerous.

      Damn his ignorant hide. He shouldn’t be attracted to this little charlatan who’d caused him nothing but trouble. So why wasn’t that stopping him?

      “Are you braiding my hair?” she asked in a tone of disbelief.

      “Yes,” he said, annoyed to discover his voice was so thick, it clogged his throat. “This is a surefire way to keep those tangles out.” She sat perfectly still while his fingers worked the three strands into a long weave.

      “Did you braid your wife’s hair?”

      The question took Jed by surprise. Had he ever braided Malika’s hair? “No,” he answered a second later, certain Malika would never have allowed him the privilege of such an intimate task. “Just my own.”

      Her head whipped around, pulling the near-finished braid from his hand. She gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Your hair? Are you of Indian blood?”

      To his surprise, the question carried no negative implications. Pure curiosity sparkled in her eyes.

      “No. My sister married a Cherokee Indian when I was six. Laura died in childbirth a year later. I was raised by Shuhquoy.”

      “I’m sorry. Did the baby survive?”

      Jed shook his head.

      “How horrible.” Her shoulders slumped as she dropped her gaze toward her lap. “My mother died in childbirth with me,” she said in a quiet voice. “When I returned from the Academy in New York, Olivia Carlson told me I was the spitting image of my mother. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was part of the reason why my father sent me away, because I reminded him of her.”

      She glanced up with somber eyes, and Jed was struck by her youthfulness.

      “Although, I really don’t see how my appearance mattered to him in the least. I was rarely in his range of vision.” She took a deep breath. “But that’s neither here nor there.” Her lips tilted slightly upward, her expression brightening.

      Jed was amazed by the wide range of emotions that flittered so rapidly across her face. The woman’s eyes were as readable as an open book.

      “Elizabeth and Amity raised me.”

      “Is Amity another sister?” Jed asked, certain Elizabeth had never mentioned the name.

      “No. She was our housekeeper, but more like our mother. I always seemed to be in the way, so I spent a great deal of time in the stables and fields with Titus.”

      “You must have been close,” Jed said, noting the sadness that darkened her eyes at the mention of Titus’s name, and somewhat interested to learn more of her past.

      “We were raised together. Amity was his mother. He wasn’t a full year older than me. Folks at church used to tease Amity about us being the strangest twins they ever saw. I sang quite a few songs from church on stage. No one seemed to mind, or perhaps they were too drunk to notice.” Her brow puckered as she said, “Hopefully the Lord saw it as missionary work and didn’t take offense at my singing spiritual hymns in such filthy places.”

      “Missionary work, huh?” A smile tugged at Jed’s mouth. He was certain that in the complex workings of Rachell’s mind, she truly believed singing hymns in a saloon could be perceived by the Heavens as missionary work. “My folks were missionaries,” he felt inclined to mention. “My father was a preacher. I don’t recall him ever—”

      “I’m so sorry,” she cut in. “I didn’t mean to be offensive.”

      “Sugar, if you’d let me finish, I was about to say that I don’t recall them ever fishing for lost souls in saloons, but I reckon that’s as fine a place as any to find those who’ve strayed from the Lord.”

      That hadn’t been what he was about to say, but something in her sad eyes pricked at his conscience and having said what he did, it did seem to make some sense.

      Rachell eyed him warily, apparently just as caught off guard by his supportive statement. After a moment, her lips twisted into a wry grin.

      “You’ve obviously adopted much of the Cherokee heritage.”

      “I have. With my dark hair and skin, I’m sure most folks we came across took me for a full-blooded Indian boy. Had hair down to my butt ‘til I was seventeen.”

      Rachell flashed a devastating smile. “Did you wear a headband?”

      Damnation. It was bad enough to be talking of such personal matters with her sitting between his legs. He didn’t need to see her smile. He never could have guessed just how enchanting her full smile would be. He’d pictured it in his mind, but he hadn’t come close. “Turn around so I can finish,” he instructed, taking her by the shoulders and twisting her back around.

      “Well, did you?” she asked a moment later.

      “Did I what?” he said as he separated one side of her hair into three even sections again.

      “Wear a headband?”

      “What the hell difference does that make?”

      “I saw what looked to be a leather headband in your pack. I was just wondering—”

      “Yes, I wore a headband, and yes, sometimes I still do. I’ve answered your questions, so now you can answer a few of mine?”

      “All right,” she said in a bright voice.

      “Why is Sumner after you?”

      Her spine stiffened. “I told you, I’m not his—”

      “You’ve told me what you’re not, but you haven’t given me a good reason, by any stretch of the imagination, why this man would resort to murder, and track you across the continent to keep you in his saloon.”

      “There is no good reason.”

      “Sugar, a man doesn’t go through this kind of trouble and expense unless there’s one hell of a reason. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with before I meet up with him in Shadow Canyon.” Jed felt a shudder rack Rachell’s body. “Are you frightened of the man for no reason?”

      “He killed Titus,” she said in a strained voice.

       “Why?”

      “I didn’t know he was in danger. Not until afterward. Titus was dead and Maxwell took me into his office and there was a picture of a woman, but it wasn’t me. He told me he’d not let me go. I did nothing to encourage such behavior. He’s a…a crazy old man!”

      “Relax,” Jed said, securing the end of her long braid with pieces of rawhide cording he kept tied to the end of his brush. “You’re not on trial.”

      Rachell didn’t respond. Jed tossed the finished