“Let go of me, you filthy bastard!” As if it were familiar to her lips, the curse was spit in his direction, and he met it with a snarl.
“I’ll teach you to talk to your pa thataway, girl!” His other hand reached for her and he shoved her to the wall, slamming her head against the logs.
Pitching her slight weight against him, she retaliated, and caught him off balance. Together, looking like a tipsy pair of dancers in a barroom, they slid across the floor, Remus tottering, Cassie shoving him in a desperate attempt to free herself from his grasping hands.
The table was against his back and his whiskey-laden breath was foul in her nostrils when he pulled her flush against his scrawny body. She reached to balance herself on the table, and her fingers met the sharp side of the knife he’d used to saw at his stringy beef last night.
She grasped at it, unaware of the slice she inflicted across her palm. Allowing the knife to slide within her clasp, she gripped the bone handle with a fierceness that radiated to her very soul.
Lifting the weapon, she plunged it to the hilt. It entered his back just next to his shoulder blade, the tip exploring the very center of his heart.
It looked like a bundle of clothing, tossed by the side of the stream, until he caught sight of a bare foot emerging from the froth of undergarments.
If Will had had his druthers, he’d have finished watering his horse and gone on his way without a second glance. But the upbringing he’d received at his mother’s knee, way back when, would not allow such a thing to happen.
Looking into the face of death would be disruptive to his morning, but over the years he’d managed to inure himself to the sight So it was with a sigh of resignation that he nudged the toe of his boot beneath the middle of the shabby bundle of clothing and lifted the slight form buried within.
The body rolled, the foot being joined by a second as it slid even farther from the protective folds of fabric surrounding it. Two rounded calves, pale against the grassy slope, caught his eye. Then a slender arm that had covered her face fell beneath her, exposing a length of dark hair, a bare shoulder and the profile of a young girl.
“I’ll be damned!” Whether he was relieved by the flutter of eyelashes that bespoke life or aggravated by the responsibility he’d taken upon himself with his investigation was a moot question. Will was on his way to parts north, and being attached in any way to a female—and especially one as young as this—was not a part of his plan.
He squatted, reaching with one finger to nudge at the bare shoulder. “Hey there, missy! Let’s take a look at you.”
The eyelids ceased fluttering, the nostrils flared and the mouth opened.
The finger he’d poked her with joined the other three just in time to curve across her mouth, stifling the scream he’d figured would be greeting him. What he hadn’t figured on was the set of even white teeth that nipped sharply at him, just as the creature within the bundle of female clothing rolled from his touch.
Already too close to the bank of the stream for any degree of safety, she plunged with amazing speed into the gently rippling water. Within seconds, the flurry of movement spurred Will into action. Kneeling in the spot the girl had occupied, he reached one hand to grasp at an arm that was groping from the surface of the water.
She was small, slim and supple, but weighed down by the dress and petticoats she wore, and his muscles bunched and flexed as he hauled her from the water. Hoisting himself to his feet, he dragged her up the creek bank, both hands full of wet clothing, then held her before him.
Her dark hair hung in wet strings across her face, and her eyes squinted shut against the water. Coughing and gagging, she clung to his arms, sagging as if her legs would not hold her erect. The blue dress was torn, exposing her right arm and shoulder and the very top of a lush, curving breast.
Hell’s bells! This was no kid, no youngster in need of rescue. He’d just managed to get himself tangled up with a woman, full grown from the looks of it. And of all the things in this world Will Tolliver didn’t need, a stray female topped the list.
She’d coughed her way out of choking to death at least, and her legs seemed better able to hold her upright. He eased his grip on her shoulders, noting idly the texture of her skin as his fingers slid over the wet surface.
And then she looked at him. Opening her eyes, blinking several times at the sunlight, she gaped at him.
Eyes like the forget-me-nots his mother had growing by the outhouse took his measure. Blue as the summer sky, edged with a darker rim and surrounded by a fringe of black lashes that clumped together with a residue of water from the stream, those eyes made a journey from the top of his head to the middle of his chest and then back.
“Who are you?”
It was a woman’s voice, sure enough, he decided. Low pitched, holding only the faintest tremor, it issued from a soft mouth that trembled and then stilled its giveaway movement as she clamped her lips together.
The shivers racking her body were another matter altogether. Only a warm fire and dry clothing would solve that particular problem, and with a sigh of aggravation, Will set about bringing it to pass.
“My name’s Tolliver,” he grunted. “And takin’ care of a half-drowned female is a far sight from what I had planned for today.”
Her eyes widened at his words, and she planted her feet more firmly against the creek bank. “Then take your hands off me, mister, and make tracks. Nobody asked you to wake me up and shove me into the stream.”
Will plopped her down where she stood, only too aware of the clinging fabric of her dress and undergarments, resisting the urge to tug the wet material into place over the rise of her bosom.
Bad enough to be needing a woman’s touch for longer than he could remember. Even worse was standing here eyeing this female’s form, bosom half exposed to view, and him randy as a barnyard rooster.
His sigh of resignation was deep and heartfelt. “Sit right there and don’t move. I’m gonna build a fire and find you something to put on.” He turned from the sodden lump she’d become with his urging, her arms winding around her knees, bent almost double to better warm herself.
“Yes, all right,” she said grudgingly, her eyes wary as she watched him head for his horse and pack mule. Within moments he’d stripped the mule of a bulky, canvaswrapped bundle and begun rooting around in its depths. With a grunt that appeared to signify success, he pulled out a nondescript shirt, slinging it over his shoulder. It was wrinkled, but looked to be fairly clean. A pair of heavy stockings came next, joining the shirt, and then a pair of trousers.
“Tolliver?” Her voice had lost its tremor, but not the low, sultry sound he’d noted right off.
“Yeah?” He looked back at her over his shoulder. She was too young to sound so damn womanly, he decided. Her face was sunburned across her nose and forehead, freckles dotting her cheeks and joining across the bridge of her narrow nose. The dark hair was long, hanging almost to the ground as she crouched before him.
“Thank
