Wed To The Montana Cowboy. Carol ArensЧитать онлайн книгу.
arrival at Moreland Ranch. Even if Mike did not care about her welfare in a personal sense, he would want the rest of his money.
If nothing else, her guide did build a roaring fire. The flames chased away some of the chill setting in, now that the sun had set. She walked to her trunk where it was stored for the night beside the pair of saddles lying on the ground.
If the rest of the journey went as easily as the first three hours, it would be a pleasant trip.
She withdrew a key from the pocket of her skirt, opened the trunk, then lifted out her coat and shrugged it on.
Mike glanced over at her with a grin.
Compared to the place she had grown up, Montana was big and wild. In Kansas City, one ran into folks on every street corner. Here in the wild, even street corners were scarce.
She listened to the night sounds, how they all blended, composing a song. When she closed her eyes, she could clearly pick out the melody created by a pair of hooting owls. The sough of the breeze through the treetops made up the chorus. Far away, lifting on the wind, she heard what sounded like a man’s voice, but was more likely the yipping and yapping of a pack of coyotes on a distant hilltop.
“Beans?” Kneeling by the fire, Mike pivoted on his knee, his face lit up like a gap-toothed jack-o’-lantern. He lifted a can in his fist. “Ain’t much of a cook, so to speak, but I can warm beans.”
“Thank you, Mike.” She smiled brightly at him. Since they would be journeying together for a couple of days, they might as well be cordial. “Anything warm would be a dream come true.”
He stared at her for an uncomfortable moment, nodded his head, then shot her a sidelong wink.
How odd.
Ten minutes later, they sat beside the fire, each with a mug of warm beans cupped in their palms.
“How long do you reckon that birdie of yours is going to last?” Mike pointed his fork at Screech, who sat on his perch grooming his pretty feathers beside the fire.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a tough land, ma’am. Most critters tend to blend in. That one’s bright as a fancy gewgaw.” Mike picked a fragment of bean from his teeth with his fork tine and flicked it into the fire. “For an extra dollar, I could make sure he doesn’t get mistaken for a chicken.”
A chicken? Was the man daft? Show her the chicken that spoke English and had feathers so pretty they were iridescent in the sunshine.
She would like nothing more than to set her guide straight but she held her tongue, wanting to keep things friendly between them.
“Since it’s only the two of us, I can’t think that will happen.”
“Someone not as civilized as you and me might come along. Have themselves a right fancy dinner.”
A chill skittered up her spine wondering if he was truly concerned about Screech, or if that had been a veiled threat. How was she to know?
She was suddenly uncomfortable being alone in the forest with a strange man whose only recommendation was that he was available when no one else was, and he claimed to know the way to Moreland Ranch.
By George, she had better sleep with Screech’s cage on her lap. A woman in her situation could not be too careful.
“We seem so isolated out here,” she pointed out. “Is there really much danger of someone coming upon us?”
He slid toward her two inches. She slid six the other way.
“There’s wild things out there in the dark...bears, wolves, wildcats...wilder men. But don’t you worry, pretty lady. Big Mike is here to see to your needs.”
That ought to be a comfort, but the hair rose on the back of her neck and the goose bumps on her arms.
Tom, she had to remind herself, would not have sent her off with an unsavory fellow.
“Any beast or ruffian shows up, you run to me, snuggle in good and tight.” He opened his arms. She scooted away. “Come on, girlie, give it a practice.”
“If the time comes, I’ll know what to do.” She eyed the iron kettle sitting on a rock beside the fire.
“I don’t know about you, but I plan to keep good and warm tonight,” he mumbled.
His gaze wandered over her, slow and overly familiar. He scooted his rump uncomfortably close.
Suddenly his gaze jerked up, spotting something over her shoulder.
Her “protector’s” expression hardened. His lips peeled back in a snarl.
“Move away from the woman,” came a deep voice from behind her.
Oh, goodness. They were not as isolated as she had assumed. An intruder had come upon them without crunching a leaf.
She turned to see one of the ruffians Mike had warned of...a very large ruffian.
He had to be more than six and a half feet tall! In a moment, when she stood to defend herself she would have to look up at him.
Firelight reflected off his solid-looking form. The evening breeze blew streams of long blond hair in front of his face. Golden highlights flickered in the strands. It distracted her that his hair gleamed with cleanliness.
What kind of ruffian had clean hair and the build of a handsome Viking?
It didn’t matter what kind. A ruffian was a ruffian...and he was threatening her guide.
Her guide who, faced with danger, did not open his arms to protect her as he’d promised.
“Go find your own way to get warm tonight.” Mike stood, growled and balled his fists, clearly ready to protect his own pitiful self.
The intruder, rather than backing off, took several steps toward Mike.
Mike scuttled backward, nearly tripping over a large rock.
Screech began to screech when Mike began to holler about the man having no claim on her.
And, by the dickens, no man did!
Since the men were railing at each other and paying no attention to her, it was an easy matter to seize the iron bean kettle and swing it at the giant’s head from behind.
He crumpled to his knees, grasping his temples in his large fists.
Mike did not take that moment to defend her. Instead of tying up the disabled villain, he dashed for her trunk. He lifted the unlocked lid. Somehow, he seemed to know exactly where she kept her money. He plucked it out.
She ran after him, swinging the kettle, but he was up on his horse before she could do more than land a blow to his calf.
In his rush to get away, he left the older horse, the one she had been riding, and both saddles.
In all fairness, the animal and the abandoned belongings now belonged to her.
She would name the horse Hoodwinked.
“Screech! Be quiet!”
The bird obeyed for a full two seconds before declaring, “Uh-oh.”
This was a fine mess! Abandoned in the forest with a wounded criminal. Lost with no idea how to get to Moreland Ranch.
At least this fellow couldn’t steal her money. And, the kettle gripped tightly in her fist, she would fight for her virtue.
Let the man make a move, let him utter one untoward thing, and she’d smash his nose. She would batter his ears and knock out his teeth.
He looked up at her, silent. The light of the campfire revealed the intense blue of his eyes.
What kind of brigand had eyes like that? And perfect white teeth...and clean hair?
Surely his voice would give him away as an evildoer.