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Outlaw Bride (Mills & Boon Historical) Page 2


  “Water?” she whispered.

  He dragged a stool from beneath the stairs. “Sit there.”

  She did and he rushed away. Bridget turned to the lock, now at eye level. She could feel Ellis standing above her, just inches away as she tried one key after another.

  “Don’t,” he whispered.

  You’d think the man wanted to hang. She stiffened as realization dawned and she shot to her feet, staring hard into his eyes. Yes, he looked that hopeless.

  “Now, you listen to me, Mr. Ellis. You made a pledge.”

  “You tricked me.”

  “You’ll be seeing it through. After that, what you do is your own damn business.”

  He looked surprised—at her language, she wondered, or something else?

  “I won’t lead you to that icy hell.”

  “You will. You vowed on her soul.”

  She slipped another key into the lock and this time the tumbler caught. The click brought them both to stillness, she on her side and he on his.

  He glared at Bridget, but his face had gone pale.

  “Damn you,” he muttered.

  “As long as you don’t damn her. I’ve only seen Meredith—are there others?”

  “Sometimes. Best lock the door or you’ll be sharing my lodgings.”

  She couldn’t help but flinch. He noted it and smiled. How quickly had he found her soft spot.

  “Why, Miss Callahan, have you already been a guest here?”

  She managed only to shake her head.

  “Still time to change your mind, turn that key and walk away.”

  Oh, how she wanted to. Instead, she pulled the key clear of the open lock, flashing a challenge with her eyes. “I’ll see Meredith is occupied.”

  His eyebrows rose. No doubt he assumed the worst of her, and why not, after what he had already witnessed? Well, let him. What did it matter what a horse thief thought of her?

  But it did matter. The whys of it, she would not consider.

  Above them, Meredith’s footsteps marked his return.

  Bridget aimed a finger at Cole Ellis. “You vowed on her soul. Mark that.”

  She met Meredith by the stairs, allowing him to assist her up as she slipped the keys back into his pocket. Above deck, she drank the water he offered, keeping her attention on the galley door as Meredith kept his attentions on her. She didn’t like the way his glance slid over her like oil, lingering on her bosom before traveling back up to meet her gaze.

  She allowed him to aid her down the gangplank to Front Street, where she sat upon a barrel with a clear view of the ship. She waited there, busying Meredith with a performance worthy of the stage. But Mr. Ellis did not emerge. Damn the man. Had he passed out in his cell?

  At last she gave up. “Thank you, Mr. Meredith. I am feeling recovered.”

  “I can send for a doctor. We have a hospital in town, right next to the cemetery.”

  “How convenient.” She rose. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “You aren’t going up the mountain again, are you?”

  She smiled. “Don’t be silly.”

  His grin was hesitant, but it came at last, a confident smile that said he fully believed a woman would not be so impractical.

  She gave the brig one last furious glare and then rose. “Good day to you.”

  He doffed his hat, showing greasy hair. She headed directly up J Street, past the mercantile shops and eateries. Should she stop and buy supplies? Bridget hesitated in the street. But what to purchase? The task seemed so overwhelming. At least she had money. Her sister had given her all that was left from the sale of George’s shop. As a wheelwright, he’d been in high demand, both in Kentucky and as a member of the wagon train.

  She had been in this city two weeks already, recovering her strength and trying in vain to rally a rescue party. How much salted oxen had her family consumed already?

  She stopped at Ned’s Kitchen, knowing from experience that the food was hearty and fairly priced. She settled on the elk stew, knowing it was bound to taste better than the last elk she’d eaten. But that one had saved her life.

  The meal arrived with a generous biscuit still steaming from the pan. She savored the first spoonful of stew, holding it in her mouth as the thick concoction coated her tongue. How Mary would love this.

  She opened her eyes and noted two men taking more interest in her than in their meals, so she reached in her pocket and removed the Colt revolver, laying it by her coffee. The men returned their attention to their food, allowing her to do the same.

  After she settled her bill and was once more on the street, she had to resist the urge to march back down to the river and throttle Mr. Ellis herself. Why should the hangman have the satisfaction? Instead, she headed back to Mrs. Dickerson’s hotel. Mr. Giles, of the Sacramento Transcript, had kindly paid for her room, in exchange for her giving him an exclusive story of her ordeal. She’d thought it a fine bargain until he accepted without haggling, making her wish she had asked for board, as well.

  Bridget mounted the second flight of carpeted stairs, her slow tread reflecting her mood. At the top she passed the little table and flanking chairs, noticing that the flowers in the vase were starting to drop their petals, making them look as tired as she felt. One chair was askew, so she righted it.

  It must have been ten degrees hotter on this level. No wonder her room was stifling. She would leave the transom open again tonight, hoping to entice the cooler evening air. She glanced up, noting that she’d failed to pull it shut before leaving this morning. Not that it mattered. Everything of value, save her coat, was on her person.

  She fished in her pocket for her key and slipped it into the lock. The click sounded and she turned the knob, swinging the door inward.

  Catching movement across the room, she hesitated on the threshold.

  There, making use of her pitcher and washbowl, stood Cole Ellis, stripped to the waist, his skin glistening wet.

  Chapter Two

  C ole turned, still holding the cloth that Bridget had used that very morning on her own naked flesh, flashing her an expansive view of muscular male torso that nearly stopped her heart. She’d never thought of a man’s body as beautiful. But she had never really seen one, had she? On her only opportunity, he’d never removed so much as his shirt. Do you love me, Bridget Rose? She had thought so at the time. Then give me some comfort, girl. Can’t you see I’m burning for you? Sean had a flattering tongue.

  No, don’t think of him. She lifted her attention to Cole Ellis. There was no better distraction.

  The golden light from the setting sun danced off his chest as if it, too, longed to touch those flat planes and enticing valleys. He looked powerful, beautiful…dangerous. She became aware that no iron bars separated them now and felt vulnerable in a way that made her nerves jangle like sleigh bells.

  How had she not seen what a stunning specimen he was? Imprisoning him in a dim, dank cell had been like caging a mountain lion. Suddenly his incarceration seemed unnecessarily cruel. How could they want to kill such a man as this?

  She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes and she found his lips curved in a knowing smile. Was he used to women buzzing about him like bees? That notion irked her, but she couldn’t muster any indignation. He held her with those crystal-blue eyes, making promises he’d never keep.

  Their differences struck her hard. She had been curvy before she had lost so much weight, while he was solid muscle. His hair was straight, dark and in need of a trim, and hers was all riotous red curls. His eyes were frosty blue, whereas hers were green as moss on a rock. Was that why he stared at her with such intensity? Her breasts ached from his direct stare. He did this to her without so much as a word.

  Her innards trembled as he took up the cloth once more, dipping it and then running it over his face. He squeezed the rag, sending water down his square jaw to bounce off his chest. The droplets formed a river, cascading down his belly and disappearing into the cloth of his trousers. That was when s
he noticed that they were soaking wet, as if he had jumped in the river.

  Her brow lifted. Was that why she hadn’t seen him make his escape?

  Say something, you silly little twit.

  “I—I didn’t expect…expect to see you again.”

  He smirked. “Come to your senses, then?”

  Now, that did irk her. She gave her head a vehement shake.

  He sighed and reached for his shirt. She chewed on her fingernail and admired the bunch of muscle as he dragged the garment over his head. Look away, she warned herself, but instead she stood mesmerized by the play of light and shadow on his abdomen until his head emerged from the shirt’s neck. He raked his long fingers through his collar-length hair, forcing it away from his broad forehead. It stayed, for it was wet, as well.

  She pointed to the puddle at his feet. “You’re dripping on my floor.”

  He grinned and reached for the button on his trousers. “Want me to hang them to dry?”

  Her cheeks heated as he slid the button through the hole.

  “No!”

  The smile faded from his lips, releasing her from the spell of their locked gazes.

  “Did anyone see you?” she asked.

  “No one.”

  “How did you get here?”

  Bridget focused her attention on his shirt, hoping it would help her beat down the roaring excitement that she had no business feeling at all.

  “I climbed down the stern rope and swam to the western side of the American, then had to get back across.”

  It didn’t explain how he came to be standing, in his nothing-at-all, in her room. “But how did you get in here?”

  He pointed above her head. “Over the transom. Used the hall chair.”

  “And you knew my hotel by…?”

  “You should be careful what you say to reporters. Might attract the wrong kind of person.”

  They shared a smile at his jest.

  He took a step in her direction and she backed into the hall. The man made her sizzle like bacon in a pan. But she’d not tread that road again.

  He didn’t stop until he stood right before her. “That was a neat trick with the keys. Looked like you’ve had some practice.” He reached her now, grasping her wrists, turning her palms up. Did he feel her tremble at his touch? “Lovely hands.” He glanced up. “Lovely little thief’s hands.”

  His words and the cynical stare cut her like a cleaver. For reasons she did not wish to explore, she wanted him to like her, both inside and out.

  “Well, at least I have the good sense not to steal what will be missed.”

  He laughed. “Oh, I’ll be missed.”

  She hadn’t meant that but had referred to the keys she had lifted, and his slow, beguiling smile told her he knew it. Still, his words caused her to clench her fists until her knuckles whitened. He brought them to his lips, dropping a lingering kiss on her fingers before moving to her wrists. The warmth of his breath and heat of his mouth caused a rolling tension to build in her like water in a pot the instant before it boils over.

  She tugged, but he held her in an unyielding grip. Why didn’t he release her?

  She found her voice, such as it was. “Perhaps I should have left you there.”

  “Most assuredly.”

  She ceased her attempts to escape and, in turn, he released her. She tossed her head, feigning indifference to his disturbing kisses. “You prefer hanging?”

  “Why else would I steal the mayor’s prize carriage horse?”

  Did he tease her? He could not be serious, but still…

  “Drunk as a squirrel sick on fermented apples is how I heard it.”

  “That does make more sense.”

  More sense than what? She came back to her earlier notion and found it hard to draw a breath. Cole was still drunk and possibly crazy. Did she dare trust her life to such a man? She frowned. There was not a line of volunteers waiting to take up her cause. She only had him by trickery and that did not feel good.

  He stepped even closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “We’re the same, you and I.”

  Bridget backed away until she stood on the hall carpet. “We’re not, because I wasn’t caught.” Not this time.

  “Not yet. But how long until they put two and two together?”

  And run straight to her doorstep .

  Voices at the foot of the stairs triggered her to action. She pushed Cole back into her room with both hands and followed him as she drew the door shut, throwing the bolt. It wasn’t until it clicked that she realized she had trapped herself inside with Cole Ellis—a suicidal horse thief whose eyes glittered with desire. How long had they locked him alone in that cell?

  He didn’t grab her, as she expected, but neither did he move off, as she hoped. Instead he stayed close beside her, pressing an ear to the door.

  She felt the heat of him and backed away.

  “Just guests.” He righted himself.

  But the authorities were searching even now. Bridget knew it and panic turned her knees to water. She wouldn’t go to that brig. She wouldn’t walk to the gallows. She gaped at him. What had she done?

  “Sweet Mary and Joseph,” she muttered, then exploded into motion, rushing to her bed and dragging her woolen coat from the headboard. All her other possessions covered her or were secreted in the folds of her skirts. “You have to go.”

  He nodded.

  The knock on the door made her jump clean off the floor.

  She stared at Cole, hoping he’d say something, but he only ducked behind the door.

  “Who’s there?” she called, finding her voice did not sound like her own.

  “Mrs. Dickerson, dear. I brought the papers. You’re featured again.”

  Bridget cracked the door.

  Her landlady beamed at her, clutching the Sacramento Transcript to her amply endowed bosom. Bridget could see Cole staring intently through the gap between the door and frame.

  “So exciting to have you here.”

  Bridget forced a smile, but her stomach tossed like a stormy sea.

  She extended her hand for the paper.

  “Such an adventure. I’d love to hear about it. I’ve put on a pot of tea and laid out my own biscuits. We could have a nice sit-down.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  The innkeeper brightened, handing over the paper. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, then.”

  Bridget nodded. She would have agreed to anything, just to see the woman’s wide back descend the stairs. Mrs. Dickerson had barely turned to go when the door swung shut with a thud, revealing Cole, pressed flat to the striped wallpaper. With the sunlight gone, the room was now cast in gloom. The nights came early now that winter had its grip.

  He stepped from the shadows and she repressed the urge to scream. She was trapped between the gallows and the mountains with only this menacing stranger to help her.

  “What will we do?”

  “We? I’m going down the back stairs—alone.”

  “But we have to—you promised to help me retrieve my family.”

  “Like you promised to ask only five questions?”

  Bridget lowered her chin, preparing for a fight. “You made a vow.”

  He glared. “We’ll never do it, not there and back. You’re marching to your death and taking me with you.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  “You’re stubborn,” he accused.

  She smiled. “I’m Irish.”

  They stood facing off, she determined to hold him to his vow and he desperate to break it.

  “Three people and one ox and they’ve been there since October?” He shook his head. “We’ll never reach them in time.”

  “You did it before.”

  “I was too late.”

  “Not for all.”

  The hopelessness in his eyes told her that he had been too late for all that mattered to his heart.

  She squared her shoulders, ready to defend him, even to himself. “You did your be
st.”

  His voice turned hard. “My best? They died.” He pinned her with a look of pure hatred. “And I’ll not be responsible for another death. Do you hear?”

  “If you don’t go, you’ll be responsible for three.”

  “Better than four.”