Brides of the West by Michèle Ann Young Read Free Book Online Page B

rope snaking behind him.
    Matt hesitated. “That lady. Tess. She ain’t
so bad after all.” He flushed red and dashed after his brother,
head down and arms pumping.
    Jake stared at the running boy, a knot
forming in his gut. What the hell did he mean? Had Uncle Raven put
some crazed notion in the lad’s head? Jake wouldn’t put it past the
old buzzard to try some old Indian match-making trick.
    Suddenly, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut
back there at the crossroads, given the whole thing a chance. Who
was he fooling? She’d made it perfectly clear she wanted to leave,
to hit the nearest town. Hell, she would’ve been gone by now if not
for those damned steers breaking down the fence. Just because she
could ride a horse and had faced a herd of angry cattle as well as
any of them didn’t make her good wife material. Not when she didn’t
want to stay.
    The same kind of woman had sent Bill to his
death and left the boys deeply wounded. He couldn’t allow the boys
to suffer that kind of rejection again. He knew how bad it
felt.
    He gave his knots a hard tug, fixed one that
looked loose and then followed the fence along the top of the cliff
looking for signs of whatever had disturbed the herd. This wasn’t
the first time cattle had gone over the bluff, but never so many
all at once. He inspected the ridge for tracks. Nothing. He peered
over the sheer drop into the narrowest part of the fissure.
    His mouth dried. He closed his eyes and
opened them again to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. There, where the
water fell into inky depths, Tess lay in the shallows, her long
hair a halo around her head and her body white and clearly visible
through her thigh-length clinging shift.
    Dear God. She looked like one of them
mermaids. Her limbs were long and slender and beautifully curved,
her belly flat like a young girl’s and the curls at the juncture of
her thighs a dark red triangle and all the more erotic because of
their transparent veil. He let his gaze drift to her high tiny
breasts and their rose-tinted peaks. He imagined the nipples tight
and hard. They weren’t the only things tight and hard. His erection
was going to burst his belt buckle. He glanced over his shoulder,
wanting to do the gentlemanly thing and walk away, not wanting
anyone else to see her in all her glory.
    Leisurely, she rolled onto her stomach,
revealing rounded buttocks, the crevasse between a hypnotic draw.
The dimples at the base of her spine begged his exploration. He
groaned his frustration as a few splashy strokes brought her to the
bank. She stood up, ankle deep, her hair cascading water down her
elfin body.
    She wrung the water from her hair, and pushed
it back, her body arching like a bow. He knew poets had the words
to describe women. The only one in his vocabulary was goddess. He
wanted her. And the wanting drove so deep it hurt.
    Lust grabbed him hard and wrung his withers.
He almost let go a yell of frustration as she slipped on her shirt,
then sat to shimmy into Matt’s pants. Jesus. What was he doing
peeping at her like some perverted old man?
    He turned his back and ran hell for leather to find the boys.
    Tomorrow. He’d get her to San Antonio
tomorrow, come hell or high water.
    ***
    By the time Tess returned from her bath,
Raven had a fire lighted and three small tent-like constructions
made from branches and horse blankets. He told Tess the tents were
for her and the boys, he and Jake would sleep in the open. He
cooked over the fire while they waited for Jake and the boys to
return from checking the cattle. They also went down to the stream
to wash up.
    The mess of pork and beans Raven called
supper was mouth wateringly wonderful. She recalled the picnics of
her youth, family outings on Hampstead Heath, when the food always
tasted better in the open air. She glanced across the fire at Jake
who appeared lost in thought, as he had been for most of the
meal.
    Dave yawned and rolled on his side, one hand
propping his head.
    “Bed,”