Bushedwhacked Bride by Eugenia Riley Read Free Book Online

“lady” and set her in her place . . .
    ***
    Jessica felt rather risqué, bathing in an old-fashioned tin bathtub on the back porch. But Ma had assured her no one would dare bother her here. Though Mrs. Reklaw had taken all of Jessica’s clothing to be washed, a wrapper and towel were laid out within reach on a slat-back rocker.
    The porch was enclosed on two sides by exterior walls, while a row of trellises covered the third, so Jessica was afforded some measure of privacy. And she had to admit it was pleasant and picturesque here. The aroma from the lavender soap was sweet, as was the smell of honeysuckle wafting from the trellises. It felt good to cleanse the dust from her body, even though the tub was small, forcing her to sit with her knees cramped up against her chest, and the bathwater was tepid rather than hot.
    Jessica shared the porch with a gray calico cat, a fe male by the look of her enlarged teats, who sat grooming herself nearby on a large stump of wood. Beyond the porch stretched a backyard lined with clotheslines, with sheets and towels blowing in the breeze; in the distance loomed misty blue mountains. Jessica couldn’t recall the last time she’d bathed with a mountain view .
    Still, the entire setting filled her with a sense of unre ality. Ever since these “outlaws” had captured her, she’d seen no trace of the twentieth century. There was cer tainly no indoor plumbing, evidenced by the very tub in which she sat, and by the fact that Ma had filled it by hauling water in an old tin bucket.
    Jessica had also been required to use an antique “chamber pot” after undressing in Ma Reklaw’s bedroom. That particular boudoir had been really quaint, with its iron bedstead with feathered tick and lacy Victo rian linens, its old-fashioned dressing table with beveled mirror, not to mention the antique china accessories laid out everywhere, the pomander balls in a homey wicker basket near the hearth.
    Where was she? Were these people members of some obscure religious sect that forbade any accoutrements of the twentieth century? Or, even more horrifying, was she no longer in the twentieth century? Was she stranded far away from her family, her friends, from the very life she’d known before?
    She carefully considered what had happened to her. One minute, she’d been riding along in the stage with her col leagues; the next, she’d hit her head and poked herself with the cameo, and everything had changed. Could the cameo have possessed magical properties? She’d have to examine it carefully when she returned to Ma’s room. She smiled as she recalled that Sleeping Beauty had pricked her finger on a spindle, then had fallen asleep for a hundred years.
    Of course, it hadn’t been her finger she’d pricked.
    Jessica was still smiling over this, running the soap over her arm, when abruptly the back door of the house banged open and Cole Reklaw stepped out.
    Jessica recoiled in horror. Wide-eyed, she covered her bosom with her arms and watched him advance with all the arrogance of the cock of the walk. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded hoarsely, heart pounding frantically.
    Cole didn’t answer right away. With a brazenness that in furiated her, he simply strode closer, appearing daunting as hell with the intent gleam in his eyes, the powerful rhythms of his body, and especially the way his jeans molded to his muscled thighs and to the male bulge between them that was as audacious as this outlaw’s entire manner.
    At last he paused before her, shoving his thumbs into his pockets. “I’ll be having a word with you, lady.”
    “The hell you will! You get out of here!” Jessica re torted. “Can’t you see I’m taking a bath?”
    He looked her over with an insolence that made her blush deepen. “Yeah. I can see.”
    “Get out of here or I’ll scream.”
    “Go ahead. Scream,” he taunted.
    “Your ma will. . . “
    Jessica’s voice faded into a creak as she watched Cole lazily