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The Drifter's Bride
Tatiana March


Arizona Territory, 1881Rescue the girl, claim the reward, get out of town. It's the kind of mission that Carl Ritter has completed many times before. Except that Jade Armstrong is no meek captive. She's a strong-willed, half-Apache beauty. And instead of leaving town, Carl agrees to marry her.Without a white husband, Jade will lose her land. The rugged bounty hunter offers a temporary marriage, just long enough to father the child she needs to secure her inheritance. But the fierce mutual desire unleashed on their wedding night kindles a fire neither expected, turning a business arrangement into a union forged in pleasure….







Arizona Territory, 1881

Rescue the girl, claim the reward, get out of town. It’s the kind of mission that Carl Ritter has completed many times before. Except that Jade Armstrong is no meek captive. She’s a strong-willed, half-Apache beauty. And instead of leaving town, Carl agrees to marry her.

Without a white husband, Jade will lose her land. The rugged bounty hunter offers a temporary marriage, just long enough to father the child she needs to secure her inheritance. But the fierce mutual desire unleashed on their wedding night kindles a fire neither expected, turning a business arrangement into a union forged in pleasure….




The Drifter’s Bride

Tatiana March





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Contents


Chapter One (#u220708b9-a1c5-53b6-92da-3073a7846ce7)

Chapter Two (#u95bc49f2-eaa4-5e5e-abee-61a8bb613b1a)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


Arizona Territory, 1881

He spotted the white girl at once.

Ignoring the prickle of coarse grass through his clothing, Carl Ritter crawled forward on his belly over the crest of the hill and lifted the field glasses to his eyes.

Not a girl. A woman, full-grown.

Twenty, her father had said. Of an age to marry, the old man had added, as if that made the rescue attempt all the more important.

Carl compared the woman in his sights to the description he’d been given. Slender body, more than average height. Light skin, tanned to gold. Black hair tumbling in unruly curls past her shoulders. Everything matched, although her father had not talked about the wide, sultry mouth or the big eyes framed with thick, dark lashes.

No doubt he’d found Jade Armstrong.

Taking care to keep the late afternoon sun from reflecting in the lenses, Carl surveyed the small Apache village ahead of him. Half a dozen native women bustled around, cooking, curing hides, weaving baskets, their chatter drifting toward him on the spring breeze. A bunch of ragtag children chased each other around the wickiups.

The white girl was not tied down, and she seemed unharmed. She was kneeling on the ground, pounding corn on a flat stone, appearing to be competent at the task.

Carl lowered the field glasses and settled down to wait. The braves must have gone out hunting. If they didn’t return for the night, he could use the cover of darkness to sneak in and snatch the girl to safety.

If the braves returned, he’d have to come up with another plan.

After thirty minutes, the white girl rose to her feet. Unlike the others, who wore belted tunics over wide skirts, she was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt and denim pants. She called out a few guttural words to the native women, then disappeared into the wickiup behind her. A few seconds later, she came out again and set off across the clearing in his direction.

Alone. Unguarded.

Tension coiled inside Carl. Could it be that for the first time in his twenty-seven years luck was smiling on him? Field glasses in one hand, Winchester rifle in the other, Carl inched backward through the tall grass, twisting like a lizard, taking his weight on his elbows and knees. As a boy, he’d learned to hide, and three years as a bounty hunter had honed his ability to move without making a sound.

When the brow of the hill hid him from the Apache camp, Carl rose to a stealthy crouch and eased down the slope. He guessed the girl’s destination was the creek. He’d used the course of the water to find the village and had left his horse a quarter of a mile downstream.

He was right.

She followed the twisting path to where several boulders blocked the stream, trapping the current into a whirling pond. With a soft thud of her moccasins, she jumped onto a flat stone and deposited the small object she’d been carrying in one hand down by her feet.

Carl looked through the field glasses. A cake of soap.

In the next instant, the girl started to unbutton her shirt. His gut tightened. If he waited… The field glasses jerked in his hands as he imagined her standing there, her skin gilded by the sunlight, every feminine curve and contour bared for his inspection.

If he waited.

It was crazy to wait. But his body refused to move. Throat dry, heart hammering, blood thundering in his veins, Carl watched as the girl slipped the shirt down her shoulders, revealing a thin cotton chemise beneath. She tugged her arms free of the shirt and tossed it on the stone. Bending, she balanced on one foot, then the other, to pull off her moccasins. Next she unsnapped her denim pants and pushed the sturdy fabric down her legs.

She bundled up the clothing and straightened. In a quick move devoid of any vanity, she crossed her arms in front of her, gripped the edge of the flimsy chemise and lifted the garment over her head. Her breasts were small and firm, rosy-tipped. She tilted her face up to the sun. Then she undid the knot at her waist and stepped out of her frilly cotton drawers.

Sweat beaded on Carl’s skin. The tightness in his gut spread to his loins. His muscles quivered as he fought between the guilt of intruding on a woman’s private ritual—something he knew the Apache punished by death—and his yearning to witness more, to see her pick up the soap and slowly run it over her skin, down her arms, into the dip of her waist, and up again over her breasts…

Releasing a rough sigh, Carl lowered the field glasses. Only a fool built up a longing for what he couldn’t have. With a final glance, he saw Jade Armstrong crouch on the stone and dip one foot into the water. Resolutely, he turned away and retreated through the juniper thicket, taking care not to snag the branches with his rifle or his body as he forged a path.

He’d go and fetch his horse.

Then he’d come back for the girl.

By the time Carl returned, she was out of the water and almost dressed. He waited for her to finish pulling on her moccasins. The instant she jumped down from the stone, he emerged from the forest scrub and hurried up to her, a finger lifted to his lips as a sign for silence.

‘Your father sent me.’ He spoke in a rushed whisper, trying to reassure her without wasting time on explanations. ‘My horse is nearby. Stay quiet and follow me.’

Her eyes widened. Green eyes, he noted. Her mouth sprang open.

‘Talk quietly,’ he warned her.

He saw her chest rise as she filled her lungs, getting ready to cry out in alarm. The poor girl was too frightened to understand he’d come to rescue her. Before she could send a scream rippling across the landscape, Carl grabbed hold of her. He spun her around, slamming her back against his chest, and clamped one hand over her mouth.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said softly into her ear. ‘I’m taking you home.’

Muffled sounds of protest erupted beneath his callused palm. She thrashed about, fighting to break free from his hold. Soft curves molded against him. The smell of honeysuckle soap drifted in the air, enveloping him.

Carl steeled his senses against the distraction of feminine lure.

He had a job to do. A captive to rescue. A reward to earn.

Keeping one hand pressed across her mouth, he tugged free the red kerchief around his neck and used his teeth to rip the faded cloth in two. Then he slid his hand away from her face and stuffed one half of the fabric into her mouth. The other half he wrapped around her head and secured the gag in place with a knot.

For her wrists, he used a strip of rawhide that he pulled from his coat pocket. The girl kept fighting him, clearly scared out of her wits. He didn’t like the idea of trussing her up like an outlaw, but it was for her own protection, to keep her silent while they made their escape.

‘You’ll be safe soon,’ he promised as he tossed her wriggling body over his shoulder.

Angry growls assaulted his ears. Small fists pounded at his back. A pair of feet in moccasins plowed into his ribs. Carl ignored it all. He wrapped one arm around her legs, cupped his other hand over her buttocks and raced to his horse, his boots meeting the hard ground in light thuds that only an experienced tracker might hear.

A hundred dollars, he reminded himself.

He’d never expected it would be easy money.

But he had assumed the trouble would come from the Apache.

* * *

Jade gave up struggling and draped herself like a dead weight over the man’s shoulder as they hurtled along. Her head dangled down his back and her damp curls slapped about like a bunch of slithery snakes. She hadn’t been subjected to such undignified bouncing since her first ride on an Indian pony.

She emitted another growl of complaint as the man tossed her facedown on a horse—a blue roan with dark stockings on the forelegs, she could see from her upside-down perch. Sliding too far forward, she almost plunged to the ground. Her captor, now in the saddle behind her, hauled her away from the danger by the waistband of her denim pants. She squirmed as the fabric cut into her belly and the saddle horn poked into her side.

‘Take your hands off me, you bastard,’ she yelled.

It came out as ay-oo-ha-o-e-u-as-ar. Jade gritted her teeth around the dusty cloth he’d stuffed into her mouth and fell into silence. He’d learn her opinion of him soon enough. If, as she suspected, he’d been watching while she bathed in the creek, she’d make him pay for it.

They rode north two hours, Jade estimated. By the time the man reined in his roan, discomfort had escalated her anger into fury. They had descended from the mountains, to the last sheltered clearing before the trees gave way to the dusty desert plain.

‘I’m sorry I had to do this,’ the man said, his palm resting warm and heavy on her buttocks. His hand rose and fell in a comforting pat, as if to add weight to his apology.

‘Eh-e-own,’ she mouthed. Let me down.

‘Sure.’ He dismounted in a fluid motion, then reached up and pulled her down along the flank of the horse. When the momentum had her sliding toward him, he curled his hands around her waist and lifted her to her feet.

‘Ai-eh-oh.’ She lifted her bound hands to point at the gag. Take this off.

‘Sure.’

Unimpressed by his conversational skills, she shot him a sour glance. Tall and muscular, her rescuer was dressed in wool pants and a coat so shabby they belonged in a bonfire. She tried to get a better fix on his looks, but between the tangle of brown hair, the thick coating of stubble on his chin, and the hat pulled low over his brow, all she could see was a flash of white teeth and a pair of amber eyes.

He pulled a bowie knife from his boot and slipped it between her wrists. Then, appearing to think again, he left the rawhide twine in place, spun her around, and used the tip of the knife to pry apart the knot at the back of her head. As soon as the gag fell loose, she spat out the soggy cloth and whirled to face him.

‘You son-of-a-bitch,’ she yelled, fists clenched and shoulders rigid. ‘God only knows what diseases that filthy rag carries. I’ll make sure you regret ever laying eyes on me. You’ll pay for this, you—’

Her rant came to an abrupt halt as the stranger swooped down to the ground and snapped upright again. Moving faster than a striking rattlesnake, he grabbed her hair with one hand and stuffed the rag he’d picked up from the dirt back into her mouth.

‘U-on-oh-a-ith,’ she grunted, full of rage.

He glared at her, his amber eyes no longer warm. ‘Leave my mother out of it.’

She glared back, her head tilted to one side to ease the tug of his fist in her hair.

The man inhaled a long breath and slowly let it out again. ‘Sorry,’ he said. His tone was conciliatory. ‘When you panicked by the creek, I didn’t have the time to explain that I’d come to rescue you. I had to silence you. If you’d screamed, you might have brought the braves down on us.’

She let out a derisory snort, then spat the rag out for a second time, half expecting the man to stop her, but he didn’t even try. ‘You’re a fool,’ she told him.

He released his hold on her hair. His other hand remained curled around the handle of the bowie knife. ‘I guess I am a fool,’ he said. ‘A hundred dollars isn’t much for saving a woman from a band of hostile Apaches.’

‘A hundred dollars?’ Her tone was caustic. ‘The man before you demanded two hundred, and the one before that asked for three.’ She heaved out a dramatic sigh. ‘Still, I guess it hardly matters anyway, since my father never pays.’

Her revelation brought about a startled silence. The man stiffened, the knife jutting up in his clenched fist. Jade stepped closer, positioned her wrists against the serrated blade and snapped the leather twine apart, freeing her hands. ‘It will get dark in an hour,’ she said with a glance at the pink glow on the western horizon. ‘Since you rescued me, I expect you to feed me. There’s a creek that flows down the hillside behind those trees.’ She motioned with her head. ‘I’ll go and wash. Call me when dinner is ready.’

With that parting shot, she marched away.

The stranger made no attempt to follow.

* * *

Carl unsaddled his horse, frustration seething inside him. He should have figured it out before. She’d been moving freely among the Apache women, had talked to them in their own language. What was the truth? Had Jade Anderson fallen in love with a brave who stole her back each time her father sent someone to rescue her? Or did she defy her father and run away of her own free will?

Run away…

It occurred to Carl that the girl was taking too long with her washing. He dropped the saddlebags to the ground and rushed down the narrow path, weaving his way between the twisted pines and thorny junipers. When he reached the creek, a startled blue jay flew screeching out of the scrub.

But there was no sign of Jade Anderson.

He scanned the hillside left and right. Up the slope, he caught a flash of blue plaid disappearing into the trees. Carl hurtled after her, his boots slamming against the earth, needled branches swiping at him as he plowed through the thicket. She darted ahead, but with greater strength he forged a straight line where she had to circle around obstacles.

He caught her at the top of the ridge. Lurching forward, he grabbed her by the waist. They rolled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. The grass softened their fall, but Carl could feel the air rushing out of the girl’s lungs as his weight landed on top of her.

He pinned her wrists against the ground and scowled into her flushed face. ‘I’m taking you back.’ His harsh tone carried a warning. ‘Your father offered me a hundred dollars to rescue you from the Apache. I’ll take you home, and he’ll pay.’

‘I don’t want to be rescued.’

‘That’s your problem, not mine.’

She glowered at him, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Awareness of her body beneath his pulsed through Carl. He knew he should move, but the pleasure that gripped him was too intense. He remained sprawled over her, one thigh wedged between hers, his swelling groin butting into her belly.

She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘What else did my father offer you?’

Puzzled, he frowned at her. ‘Hundred dollars. That’s it.’

Her face grew shuttered. She jerked her hips, trying to dislodge him. ‘Get off me, you big brute.’

Carl pushed up on his arms, easing his weight off her. For a second, he remained poised above her, clinging to the primitive sense of possession that had sent waves of heat surging through his body. ‘I’ll return you to your father, and he’ll pay me what he owes,’ he told her. ‘That’s what I do. I take people back to where they belong and collect a reward for it.’

As their gazes locked, the fighting spirit seemed to drain out of her. She made no reply but started to wriggle out from under him. He levered his body away from hers and stepped aside. She scrambled up to her feet and spent a moment picking bits of grass from her flannel shirt and tumbling dark curls, pointedly ignoring him.

He ushered her into motion, and they made their way along the ridge back toward the clearing. When they reached their campsite, she turned to him and raked a resentful glance over his tangle of brown hair and dusty coat and trousers.

‘You can take your turn to wash,’ she told him. ‘God knows you need it.’

He didn’t reply at first, and when he did, his voice was gruff. ‘I’d been riding for a week through the desert when I came across the valley with your father’s orchard. When he told me about you, I didn’t stay. Not even to eat. I rode on without stopping.’

She shot him a curious glance. ‘It’s a two-day ride to the Apache camp.’

Carl looked away. It seemed foolish now to have rushed out like that. He’d been eager to rescue a woman, hoping it might ease the pain of failing to rescue those young girls so many years before. ‘I rode through the night,’ he admitted finally. ‘Slowly, mind you, not to risk injury to the roan.’

‘I’m sorry that my father…tricked you…’

He listened to her muttered words and shrugged to dismiss the reluctant apology. He’d deal with her father when they got back to the farm. ‘I’ll go and have a wash,’ he informed her, and rubbed a hand over his bristly jaw. ‘Shave, too.’

‘If I hadn’t dropped my soap when you grabbed me, I could lend it to you.’

‘It’s all right.’ He gave a grudging nod to indicate that he appreciated her gesture of friendship. With a wry smile, he added, ‘I wouldn’t want to go around smelling of honeysuckle. Attracts flies almost as much as it attracts men. I have a cake of carbolic in my saddlebags.’

‘Do you have any food?’

He sauntered across the clearing and pulled a bar of soap and a towel from his saddlebags on the ground. Then he tossed the worn leather satchels in front of her and walked over to his horse. ‘You’ll find something to eat inside,’ he promised. ‘I’ll take Grace down to the creek with me.’

‘Grace? You gave a woman’s name to a gelding?’

‘Seemed fitting. The horse is the most precious thing I own.’ He regretted the words as soon as they were out, but Jade didn’t stop to question the comment.

‘Beans…jerky…coffee,’ she muttered as she dug in the saddlebags.

A few paces down the path, Carl brought the roan to a halt and turned to look back over his shoulder. ‘Remember,’ he told the girl. ‘I’ll take you back, and I’ll get paid for it. If you run, I’ll catch you every time. I’ll take you back because that’s what I do. And I always get paid for my trouble.’

Past memories flickered through his mind. Too often as a child he’d worked until his body ached and his hands bled raw, and then had not been given what he’d been promised, even if it might have only been a few scraps of food.

Never again.

If Carl Ritter took on a job, he’d damn well collect his pay.




Chapter Two


Jade stirred the pan of beans over the flames. Behind her she heard the clatter of hooves as the man led his horse back up the slope. Moving without a sound, like a shadow in the thickening darkness, he paused to secure the gelding to a grassy spot on the edge of the clearing and then came to sit down on the ground beside her.

‘I’ll give you the plate and spoon,’ she told him, focused on the food she was dishing out. ‘I’ll use the wooden ladle and eat from the pan.’ She turned to pass him the heaped plate. As her gaze fell on him, she almost tipped the beans and jerky into the dust.

He had shaved, and since he hadn’t taken a razor from his saddlebags, he must have used the bowie knife he kept in his boot. A frisson crept over Jade as she imagined the lethal blade scraping against his skin. He’d managed it with only two cuts, one on the side of his jaw, the other at the corner of his mouth—the exact spot where a woman would place her lips if she couldn’t decide whether to kiss him on the cheek or full on the mouth.

Up to now, she hadn’t realized how young he was. He couldn’t be more than thirty. And he was beautiful. His face was sharply drawn, with high cheekbones, a straight nose and a square chin. The wide, full mouth contrasted with the hollow leanness of his cheeks—a leanness she suspected was natural to his features, for his body lacked the gauntness of a man suffering from starvation.

Unaware of her scrutiny, he took the plate from her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and directed his attention to the food. After a moment, he spoke again. ‘Your father wants you home, but you’d rather be with the Apache. Is that right?’

She nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Why what? Why I go to the Apache, or why my father wants me back?’

‘Both.’

Jade dunked the wooden spoon into the pan and swirled it about. ‘My mother was Apache. Pa married her when she was just a girl. Arizona Territory was young then, and there were few white women around. Many men took Indian wives.’ She paused to slip the final mouthful between her lips, chewed and swallowed. ‘Then, after the War Between the States, people started pouring out West. The Indians became the new enemy. I was only a few years old, and I didn’t look Indian. Ma and Pa decided I’d have an easier life if people thought I was white. They told people my mother was from Italy, but she died birthing me, and Pa took an Indian woman to look after me.’

‘How did the truth come out?’

Jade hesitated. ‘I never minded the lies while Ma lived. I got to go to school. They don’t take half-breeds. When I grew up, I was invited to dances. I had friends, girls from good families. Then…’

She shifted her shoulders, not quite sure if even she fully understood the actions that had made her into an outcast in the small ranching town of Mariposa. ‘Then Ma died. After we buried her, I just couldn’t take the lies anymore. I wanted people to know she’d been my mother, even if that changed how they saw me. I ran off to join Ma’s tribe. They’re not on a reservation, although I expect they’ll soon be herded onto one. The word soon got around. Everyone learned that Sam Armstrong’s daughter was living with a bunch of dirty savages, and they finally figured out she was one herself.’

‘Why does your Pa send men to rescue you?’

‘Pa has a fruit farm. Indians are not allowed to own property, and he fears the farm will be taken from me when he dies, now that people know I’m half Indian. He wants to…’ Jade fell silent. How could she tell the stranger that her father wanted to marry her off to the first white man who’d have her?

She pushed up to her feet and put out a hand to take his empty plate and spoon. ‘Pa doesn’t want me living with the Indians. When a stranger rides by, he spins a story that I’m a captive and offers money for my rescue. Star—that’s my horse—gets left behind, but he finds his way home when the Apache turn him loose.’

Her rescuer leaned forward to throw another dry branch into the flames from the pile she had collected before she started cooking. ‘I promised your father to bring you back and I intend to keep my promise,’ he informed her. ‘And I’ll collect the money, you can be sure of that. Then if you want me to, I’ll take you back to the Apache camp.’

Startled, she watched the flames flare and leap. Flickering lights danced over the stranger’s stark features, making him look grim and dangerous. ‘You’ll take me back?’ she asked, not quite sure she’d understood him correctly.

‘Yes.’ His voice was low, his gaze fixed on the fire. ‘No one should be forced to be somewhere they don’t want to be. Man or woman, white or Indian, each person should be allowed to choose their own fate.’

‘What’s your name?’ Jade asked, battling the odd tension that had seized her.

He shot her a glance. ‘Carl Ritter.’

‘Carl Ritter,’ Jade repeated in a soft whisper.

Then she turned away and used water from her canteen to rinse the dishes. Worry over what might happen the next day twisted in her belly. She knew without a doubt that her father didn’t have the hundred dollars Carl Ritter expected to collect.

* * *

A cry woke her. Jade sat up in the darkness and strained her ears. It came again—a muffled wail of distress. She threw the blanket aside and eased around the fire circle where embers still smoldered. Carl Ritter lay tossing restlessly in his sleep. He had given her his bedroll, and the folded towel beneath his head provided the only comfort against the hard ground.

The choked sounds formed into words. She bent closer and listened.

‘I’ll get you out. I promise. Stand back. I’ll get you out.’

His hands shot up and made clawing motions in the air. She jerked away, but not fast enough. His fingers caught the front of her shirt and fisted in the fabric, tipping her off balance. She toppled forward, landing half on top of him, the prickly grass biting into her palms as she tried to control her fall.

His arms closed around her, as if in an embrace. ‘I’ve got you. You’re safe now.’ The hoarse, throaty voice broke into a sob of relief. Beneath her breasts, she could feel his chest heaving with harsh intakes of breath, could feel the frantic pounding of his heart.

‘It’s okay,’ Jade whispered. ‘It’s only a dream.’

His hold tightened, anchoring her close. Jade lifted her head to study his face. Even in sleep, terror and grief flickered across his features, contorting them into a grimace. She reached up and touched her fingertips to one lean cheek.

‘Carl, wake up.’

His eyes blinked open. His gaze darted around in panic.

‘You had a nightmare,’ she told him softly. ‘You were crying out.’

It took another moment for his confusion to settle. His body tensed and then relaxed, a long, rustling sigh shuddering out his chest. His eyes came into focus and settled on her. ‘Jade?’

‘That’s right.’ She managed a nervous smile. ‘I’m safe. You got me out.’

She didn’t know what made her say that. They both knew he hadn’t rescued her, but an urge welled up inside her to comfort him, to drive away the memories that had caused him to cry out in the darkness.

‘I didn’t…save…them…’ His words faded into silence.

It might have been the sadness in his voice, or the anguish in his eyes. Jade could think of no other explanation as to why she dipped her head and brushed her lips against the tiny cut at the corner of his mouth.

‘Hush,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all right.’

Carl made another choked sound of despair. His arms banded around her, crushing her to his chest. Alarmed by his strength, Jade pushed back. His grip eased and she started inching away, sliding down along his body. He halted her progress, his hands sweeping up her spine to slide into her hair, his splayed fingers cradling the back of her head.

And then with slow but inexorable pressure, he brought her head down and guided her mouth to his. Jade stilled. Every nerve in her body thrummed. She’d never kissed a man before, had always kept aloof at dances and social gatherings, the lie about her birth standing between her and any young men who might have shown interest in her.

Not daring to move, she waited for Carl to take the lead. His head tilted to one side and his mouth slanted across hers, hungry and bold, demanding a response. Without thinking she parted her lips, and his mouth roamed over hers with increasing pressure.

For years Jade had wondered. Dreamed. Kisses would be gentle, she had thought. The soft flutter of a butterfly’s wings, the sweet scent of a peach blossom, the cool ripple of a spring breeze. How wrong she’d been. A kiss was fire and thunder. A kiss was an invasion, a tongue thrusting past her lips and gliding along her teeth. A kiss was a sound, a deep masculine growl and the breathless feminine response that hummed low in her throat.

She hadn’t expected a kiss to start a tingling current that pulsed all through her, from her toes to her fingertips, finally settling deep in the pit of her belly. Her breasts grew heavy and full. Beneath her reclining form, she felt Carl’s hips bucking against hers. Her body took on a mind of its own, undulating in response to the masculine demand that she recognized and could not ignore.

Carl stopped. He buried his fingers in her hair, pulling her head up.

Jade leaned back and opened her eyes. In the darkness she couldn’t see his features, but she could hear the rasping sound of his heavy breathing. The harsh rise and fall of his chest rocked her up and down on top of him.

‘Damn…Jade. I didn’t mean to.’

She might not be able to make out his expression, but his voice told her it was a scowl. Not waiting for her to reply, Carl rolled to one side and separated their bodies. When Jade turned to look at him, she found him framed by the faint glow of the dying embers. He was sitting up, forearms braced against upraised knees, eyes locked on the darkness.

He’d been caught in a dream, she realized, not knowing what he was doing.

‘It’s all right,’ she said in a shaky whisper. ‘No harm done.’

In the shadows, she could see him lower his head onto his arms. His voice came out muffled. ‘I’m sorry. I…’ He took a deep breath. ‘I watched you bathe. I shouldn’t have, and it’s making me…’ His words broke on a brief, grim laugh.

She lay in silence beside him, not knowing what to say. With a scrape of his boots against the ground, Carl jumped to his feet. Leaning down, he slipped one arm around her shoulders, the other arm behind her knees and scooped her up.

Sensing his mental withdrawal, Jade fought the impulse to wrap her arms around his neck. It only took him a second or two to carry her back to the bedroll and lower her down.




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