Читать книгу Beloved Outcast - Pat Tracy - Страница 15

Slashes of twilight stalked the day’s waning brightness. Restless shadows scuttled beyond the ever-shrinking horizon, disappearing into gaping holes of blackness. Unpredictable crosscurrents of chilling breezes cut through Victoria’s clothing. She shivered, glancing uneasily about.

When Logan finally brought their team to a halt, night’s rapid descent had transformed the mood of the dense pine woods to one of danger.

“Well, we’re here.”

“Wh-where’s here?” That the question came out in a dazed squeak didn’t surprise her.

It required a spurt of determination for her not to scoot across the seat and draw closer to Logan. She was startled by the need to seek comfort from a near stranger, especially this intimidating one. Her self-sufficiency was a trait she’d always taken pride in. Yet tonight, in this alien landscape, she battled the urge to reach out and touch Logan’s sleeve, to reassure herself that she wasn’t alone in this isolated stretch of timberland.

Valiantly she subdued the treacherous weakness. He might not be the despicable criminal she’d originally thought, but it wouldn’t be wise to become too familiar with him. It had been drilled into her since girlhood that distinct barriers must be maintained between herself and any member of the opposite sex.

The one occasion when she’d violated that stricture had been when she tried to aid Horace Threadgill in his battle against a homicidal bee. Look where that innocent act had landed her! In the middle of a wilderness, in the company of a man who’d entered her life under the most suspect circumstances!

Logan stepped down from the wagon. “This is where we will spend the night.”

She squinted into the thickening darkness. Just beyond the oxen’s shifting feet, she made out the outline of a narrow stream cutting across the nearly invisible trail they’d been following.

“I’ll unhitch the team so they can drink,” he went on to say. “We’ll be on the move again at first light.”

He was back to issuing orders. Victoria was too sore and tired, though, to make an issue of that fact. All she wanted was to stretch out on a blanket under the wagon.

She climbed down, painfully aware of the numbed but tender portion of her anatomy that had endured the jarring slap of the lurching wagon seat for their seemingly endless day of travel. Her thigh muscles trembled, and for a moment she wasn’t sure her legs would support her. It was because of the relentless pace he’d set and the rough terrain they’d covered that she was feeling so battered.

She stood beside a broad-spoked wheel, shivering as the rising mountain wind buffeted her. She knew she ought to do something useful, like find the extra pan biscuits she’d made the night before, at the fort. Her mind seemed incapable of provoking her body to movement, however.

“Victoria?”

She started. Had Logan already finished freeing the oxen so that they could drink? Surely she hadn’t been idle that long.

“What?”

She raised her head and tried to focus her blurred vision on the towering figure that had materialized before her.

“You look dead on your feet.”

She was too tired to take offense at his blunt remark. How could one argue with the truth?

“I’ll be all right. Just give me a minute.”

The mumbled request floated from her lips while she continued to stand in a stupor, knowing she should be doing something, but lacking the energy to decide what that something was.

A pair of strong hands settled on her weary shoulders. “I know I pushed us hard today, Victoria.”

She wanted to shrug off the unexpected gentleness of his tone, just as she wanted to shrug off the weight of his firm touch. She was incapable of doing either. The concern that laced his deep voice pierced a vulnerable spot within her. A sting of moisture filled her eyes. His hands massaged her sore shoulder muscles in slow, steady circles.

She tried to stand straight. She’d come this far alone. She was a resilient woman who didn’t need the respect of her parents, the loyalty of her sister or the association of friends. And she certainly didn’t need this man to offer comfort.

To Victoria’s horror, she felt the burning sensation of tears that would not be denied. The hot wetness welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks in emotional rivers of release. Somehow her face became pressed against Logan’s shirt.

She hated breaking down. She wanted to be strong. Besides, he was her prisoner. If anyone should be weeping, it was him. The more she struggled to subdue her tears, however, the freer they fell. His palms stroked her back. She felt as if she’d found shelter from a fierce mountain storm within the arms of this menacing stranger.

Which wouldn’t do at all, the logical side of her mind pointed out. As the flow of tears ebbed, that inner voice grew louder. She sought to extricate herself from his surprisingly tender embrace. That was what her mind instructed her to do, anyway. Her body seemed to have ideas of its own, however, and she couldn’t quite seem to pull free.

He held her with more than the indisputable strength of his arms. He held her with the silent solace another human being could transmit to another. The powerful cadence of his heartbeat kept time with a mysterious rhythm that soothed her ragged sense of control. His earthy, manly scent permeated her senses.

The feeling that she was close to experiencing something rare, something meaningful, momentarily drifted through her numbed thoughts before dissipating into the night air.

With a final, and this time successful, lunge for selfmastery, Victoria eased herself from Logan’s hold. As before, when he’d assisted her from the wagon, she thought she detected the smallest hesitation on his part before he released her.

“I’m sorry. I can’t think what came over me.”

Glaringly aware that Logan’s shirtfront had been drenched by her tearful assault, she braced herself for the words that would reveal his male superiority at her deplorable weakness.

In a like circumstance, her father would have been coldly contemptuous of her feminine frailty. Though, when she was growing up, she’d never known for certain whether her father’s disdainful attitude toward any form of human weakness was because he was a judge and therefore immune to sentiment, or because it went against his nature to view with patience any female shortcoming.

“It’s my fault,” Logan shocked her by saying. “I drove us pretty hard. What you need is food and a good night’s sleep.”

“Those chokecherries didn’t go very far.” She took a surreptitious swipe at her eyes, striving to compose herself.

A huge yawn came from nowhere, overwhelming her. She pushed back the hair that had fallen into her eyes. Her fingers brushed her sunbonnet’s wide brim, and she reached up to jerk it off. “Did you think to bring the extra pan biscuits from last night?”

His arm came around her waist, and he guided her forward. “I not only brought the biscuits, but I made a quick search of the fort and found some jerked beef and tins of peaches. I didn’t want to take the time to dig them out earlier. Just because tonight’s a cold camp, that doesn’t mean we’re going to starve.”

Victoria yawned again, thinking that whatever Logan Youngblood’s moral flaws, he did boast some favorable qualities. Like kindness and an enterprising attitude.

He went to the unhitched wagon and entered it. It wasn’t long before he emerged with several blankets. He spread them beneath the high-wheeled conveyance, then raised his head from his crouched position. “Come here.”

She staggered forward, feeling as if she’d exhausted the last particle of her energy. As she knelt to slip beneath the wagon, every muscle she possessed cried out in distress. Again Logan’s hands came to the rescue. He absorbed most of her weary weight and drew her the rest of the way onto the blankets.

It felt so wonderful to stretch out. She closed her eyes, even as she felt Logan lay another blanket over her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” came his low, disembodied voice. “I’m going to unhook your walking shoes. I noticed you slept in them last night. If we don’t get them off for a few hours, your feet are going to swell.”

“That’s nice…”

She thought she heard him chuckle. “You’re really tuckered out, aren’t you, little deputy?”

“Little deputy?”

“Since I don’t think you’re planning on earning a reward by turning me in to the sheriff when we get to Trinity Falls, I won’t insult you by calling you a bounty hunter.”

His words made little sense. But his tone was unusually warm, she thought. Even though she couldn’t see his battered features with her eyes shut, she suspected he might be smiling.

The blanket shifted, and a cool breeze rustled over her as he fumbled with the fastenings on her shoes. The sensation of being taken care of brought a tightness to her chest. A few unshed tears, the last of the torrent she’d released in his arms, trickled down her cheeks. His touch reminded her of her mother’s ministrations when Victoria was a child.