ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
Runaway. Carolyn Davidson
Читать онлайн.
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 you for pulling me out of the water. I can’t swim.” The words were grudging, but issued in a polite form that suggested she had just remembered her manners. Blowing ineffectively at a lock of hair that hung just in front of her right eye, she looked up at him.
“You wouldn’t have been in the water if I hadn’t scared you into jerking away from me,” he told her after a moment. Fair was fair, and the girl was trying to be decent. She was probably scared to death of him, too much so to get up and run, lest he be after her.
“Were you serious about building a fire?” Shivering as she spoke, she hugged herself even tighter as she rocked in place.
“Soon’s I find you enough warm clothes to put on.” He searched another moment, then cast her a glance. “You’ll have to do without underwear. I seem to be scrapin’ the bottom here.”
A faint flush crept up her cheeks, joining the sunburn. “I’m sure anything will do, as long as it’s dry and big enough.”
His laughter was short and harsh. “This shirt will wrap around you a couple of times, if my eyes serve me right Don’t know about the pants. You’ll have to find that out the hard way, I suspect.”
Stuffing the clothing into a compact bundle, he headed back to where she sat “I’ll gather up some firewood and get it going while you get those wet things off.” He waved his hand at a nearby thicket, where bushes and undergrowth vied for space near the stream.
The girl rose quickly, with a sinuous grace, her arms wrapped around herself, as if she would hold against her skin whatever small amount of warmth she had garnered. One hand reached for the proffered bundle, snatching it from him quickly, her eyes barely meeting his before she headed for the shelter he’d suggested.
Her clothing clung, draping her in a wet, dingy array, another tear exposing one shoulder blade, the hem of her dress trailing a torn portion in the dirt as she walked. And walk she did…her hips moving, that wet dress emphasizing the curve of her bottom.
A bruise caught his eye, the discoloration dark against her skin, showing through the torn part of her dress on her back. Either she’d been in one dickens of a fuss with someone, or she’d fallen and gotten herself scraped up somehow. Whichever, she was shivering and about at the end of her tether, so far as he could tell.
If he had his directions right, he was about ten miles or so from either the small settlement of Loco Junction or the town of St. Catherines. And which one this woman had come from was a moot question. Certainly, she’d not walked