Bride by Mail. Katy Madison
mountains.” Not for having a gun pointed at her.
His brown gaze slid down her dress.
Her heart did a little jig.
“Do you have dresses for mountain scaling?” he asked.
Good gravy, was her husband an imbecile? Was all that brawny masculinity just a shell around nothing? “No.”
“Mmm.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as if he were about to smile.
Was that all he could say? Or had he been trying not to laugh at her? She was tired of traveling and being stared at as if she were an oddity. Her palm up, Olivia gestured for him to lead.
Jack gave a tiny shake of his head as if rousing himself from a stupor. “I should have told you to change.”
Olivia huffed, a feat she wouldn’t have been able to manage before loosening her corset laces.
“But you looked so pretty in your carriage dress.” He mimicked her gesture as if he expected her to go first, and then looked over his shoulder at the rays that haloed up from the out-of-sight sun.
His compliment was so embedded in criticism, she didn’t feel obliged to acknowledge it. Why call her pretty, then look away? If he thought her pretty he would look at her more often. He was probably just trying to soothe her ruffled feathers. Perhaps he didn’t want a sulky bride on his wedding night.
A cold wash traveled down her spine. Olivia shivered all over.
“We have a lot to do before night falls,” Jack said.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
His forehead furrowed. “You’re not a squaw.”
She had no idea what he meant by that. She stared at his broad shoulders as he transferred his gun to his left hand and reached to put his hand at her back.
She twisted away, not wanting him to discover the open back of her dress.
“You don’t have to walk behind me,” he said.
“I’d rather.”
He shook his head. “Stay with me or I will carry you.” Then he took off up the incline at a fast clip. She trotted to keep pace. He left the road and Olivia waded through the tall grass. Her thin heels sank into the soft ground.
He tossed her clothing into the wagon, peeled back the hides and then pulled out the peeping box. “Watch the chicks while they forage. Don’t let them get away. I’ll see if a stream is in those trees.” He scooped out the half-feathered chicks and set them on the ground. “The fire pit is over there.” He pointed to a patch of bare dirt. “Gather up kindling, too.”
She retrieved her matching jacket and put it on. She couldn’t button it, but at least her exposed laces were hidden.
Jack walked toward the stand of trees in the distance. “I’ll hear you if you shout.”
Why would she need to shout for him?
“If you see a bear, or the horses start acting odd, yell.” With that he strode off.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Were there bears around? Had Jack had the gun ready because he feared a bear had attacked her?
* * *
Bears weren’t what concerned Jack. But warning Olivia that she should be wary of all beasts, four legged or two, had seemed unkind. Blood rushed in his ears. He’d been so sure when he saw her jacket near the road and her petticoats on the rock that he’d find her on the ground being violated by one of the low men who’d come West in search of easy money.
Jack had been ready to kill any man who dared touch her. And it angered him that she attracted attention and couldn’t fend it off.
The horses needed watering and the camp needed setting up. He slowed his breathing, attuning to what was around him.
The breeze shimmied through aspen leaves and pine trees darkened the woods. He slung his rifle strap over his back and walked into the shade. The tinkle of running water floated through the air. He’d been so focused on Olivia that he’d neglected to bring a bucket.
At least she’d finally showed a bit of spunk. Obviously she hadn’t liked him discovering her in the midst of ridding herself of layers of excessive clothing. Perhaps she had been lagging behind for privacy.
A smile tugged at the corners of Jack’s mouth. Taking off those ridiculous hoops may have been the first smart thing she’d done. He gathered up deadwood, then started back.
Olivia chased around in a circle shooing the chicks into a tight cluster. With her skirt and petticoats caught in her arm, her slender ankles were visible. She took off her hat and waved it at the chicks.
She looked young and naive as she valiantly kept the chicks from foraging. They peeped and tumbled over each other. Her back to him, she slowly circled.
Great, he’d acquired a sheepdog instead of a wife.
Olivia stepped sideways and fanned her hat at a chick that dared to stray a couple of feet from his brethren. The instant she saw him, she froze.
She pulled her jacket closed and lowered her skirt, hiding her ankles. She pushed a stray strand off her forehead.
The paleness of her hair struck him. The soft-hued blond mass was twisted and woven into dozens of thin braids in an elaborate confection on the back of her head.
Wetonga had braided her hair in two braids or worn it held back by a leather band around her forehead. The first time he’d met her, she’d entered the tepee where he slept, drawn off her doeskin dress and tossed it on the ground before joining him on his bedroll. He suspected it wouldn’t be so easy with Olivia.
His throat tightened at the idea of seeing her hair down, curtaining her naked body. Picturing Olivia flushed and naked, his blood heated.
His desire for her hit him like an ax, cleaving him down to the bone. He’d spent most of the day thinking her too refined to tempt him, but he’d been wrong. Her cool beauty called like forbidden fruit. Her slender fingers, the blush that swept over her cheeks, and the span of her slender waist in his hands all thickened his blood.
But then he’d promised he wouldn’t pressure her to be his wife in that way.
He sighed. Perhaps he’d been hasty, but she’d cast a longing look toward the stage office. He’d been willing to say anything to keep her here. Which made no sense at all, since she would be more trouble than help.
“They keep trying to get away,” Olivia said.
“They’re trying to eat.” He resumed walking. “Let them roam.”
“Oh.” Her forehead furled and she bit her lip.
Jack dropped the wood near the fire pit. She hadn’t gathered kindling. “I’m taking the horses to drink at the stream.”
“A stream? May I wash?”
“If it is still light enough to see when I get back.” Jack brushed bark off his chest. “You need to watch the chicks.”
“Will you light the fire?”
“The tinderbox is behind the seat.”
Her mouth tightened and her eyes darted nervously from the fire pit to the wagon and back.
“You don’t know how to use it,” he said flatly. Could she do anything beyond look pretty?
Olivia shook her head. She flapped her hat at a chick straying beyond some larger boundary she’d set in her head.
He sighed. “When I get back, I’ll take care of it.”
He moved to the wagon, removed his rifle and set it down. He unbuttoned and stripped off the fancy new shirt.
Olivia gasped.
She