Читать книгу The Mercenary's Kiss - Pam Crooks - Страница 12

J eb came awake instantly. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, his instincts told him she was gone.

He breathed a fervent oath and rolled to his feet. Only low-burning embers remained of the fire he’d lit, and he strained to see past them in the dark. Elena’s blankets were still there, but no womanly form lay beneath.

He turned toward the horses, his brain racing to determine how long she’d been gone and formulating a plan to go after her. But both their mounts grazed near the river. The saddles and valise still lay on the ground, and he began to suspect she hadn’t left after all.

Then where was she?

A faint nicker jerked his attention to the river again. The sound came from Elena’s mare, a palomino and part of the team they’d unhitched from the medicine-show wagon. The low, throaty sound conveyed concern, the kind when an animal senses trouble for his owner.

Jeb drew closer, his hand on the butt of his Colt. Moonlight peeked through a gossamer veil of cloud cover and provided enough illumination for him to search one side of the bank, then the other. He found her huddled near the water’s edge, her head bowed over her drawn-up knees, her body still.

Jeb frowned. She had probably sought out the river for the solace it could give her. He’d done the same thing himself a time or two over the years.

His hand fell away from his gun. She was thinking of her baby, he knew. Anyone could see how much she hurt from being separated from him, that the worry and anguish cut deep. She needed time to sort through the pain. To get a hold on it.

But Jeb couldn’t leave her just yet. Some unseen force kept him right where he stood, watching her, his concern building the longer she sat there looking so damned alone.

Maybe he should go to her. Lend a shoulder. Listen, if she needed to talk.

But he hesitated. Emotional women left him feeling inept, even one as hurting—or as deserving of a good cry—as Elena. Hell, he’d rather face a firing squad.

She hadn’t noticed him, so he lingered. Just a few minutes to assure himself she’d be all right sitting there at the river’s edge in the middle of the night.

When her hand lifted to cover her mouth, when she curled in a tight ball, his reluctance to go to her slipped. She began to rock, back and forth. She didn’t make a sound, not with her hand pressed to her face to stifle any she might make, and only then did he realize she didn’t want him to hear.

He started walking toward her. He didn’t want to scare her—she wouldn’t expect him to come up behind her—but he didn’t stop until he stood right behind her, an arm’s length away.

He hunkered down to her level. Now that he was this close, little sounds came from behind her hand, the sobs she tried so hard to hide. His fists clenched to keep from touching her; to do so would startle her even more.

“Elena,” he said gently.

The rocking stopped. She twisted around to face him, bolting to her feet in one fluid motion. Her speed and agility surprised him, left him still squatting and looking up at her.

He rose slowly. Her bosom heaved as she fought for the control that seemed so important to her.

“Elena.” This time when he spoke her name, he laced his tone with a thread of command. She needed to know she didn’t have to go through this alone. That she shouldn’t be afraid of him. That he was with her to help her.

“I woke you. I—I’m sorry,” she said shakily, her fingers swiping at the moisture streaming down her cheeks.

“You didn’t. And even if you did, it’s nothing to be sorry for.” His voice sounded rough. Rougher than he intended, and she flinched. His mouth tightened, and he reached an arm toward her. “Let’s go back to camp.”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I will. Soon. But not yet.”

“You have to get some sleep.”

“I can’t. I tried—”

He had expected her argument. Determined to overrule it, he took her elbow, but she jerked away with a step backward into the river. The water seeping into her shoes would be cold and uncomfortable.

“I keep thinking of Nicky,” she said, her arms folded tight against her. “How can I sleep when I don’t know where he is?”

“We’ll find him,” Jeb said. “I swear it.”

Her chin trembled. “You don’t know we will. Not really. You’re just being nice and telling me that so I don’t worry, but I am worrying and—”

A choking sound smothered whatever else she intended to say, and she angled her head away, her eyes closed tight. She stood in the water, her body stiff and proud but her grief tearing her apart.

It rankled that she fought to keep her pain from him. Why it bothered him he couldn’t fathom, but it did, and he reached for her again.

“Don’t, please,” she said, stepping around him. “I’ll be fine in a minute or two.”

Jeb’s stride was longer than hers. He took her arm and turned her toward him.

“Cry it out,” he growled. “Damn it, you’ll feel better.”

Her mouth opened, as if she intended to argue, but instead, her features crumpled and her shoulders hunched. She sank into his chest with a strangled sob.

His arms took her in. Her body felt heavy and vulnerable against him, as if it was all she could do to hold herself upright, and something surged through him, a protectiveness, a possessiveness, that left him shaken and teetering on new ground.