Margaret Brownley Read Online Free

shrugged and tossed the snake to the side of the road. Taking her by the hand, he helped her to her feet. The nearness of him overwhelmed her. Something passed between them like a light or a secret message. A wave of warmth rippled through her, followed by a shiver. Shaken, she quickly pulled her hand free and sat on a rock.
    He dropped down on one knee in front of her. Lifting her foot ever so gently, he wiped it with a clean square of buckskin, applied a soothing salve, and affixed a piece of gauze over the wound.
    “I’m not sure I understand why you were in a tree,” he said.
    “What?”
    “You said you were in a tree when the highwaymen stopped the stage.”
    “I was looking for the white stallion,” she explained.
    He drew back in surprise. “In a tree?”
    She couldn’t resist the opening he gave her. “It was a horse chestnut tree.”
    He laughed out loud, and she watched him with open curiosity. This couldn’t be the wild man that had the town on edge. Still, his clothing, hair, even his black horse matched the description the Trotter boy gave after his encounter.
    “I better go,” she said.
    “You best not walk on that foot.”
    “I’ll drive the stage back.” She glanced with uncertainty at the six horses. Six .
    He frowned. “Have you ever driven a stagecoach before?”
    “Not exactly,” she admitted. “At least not while holding the reins.”
    His smile revealed perfect white teeth and her heart did a flip-flop. “If it was just a matter of holding on to the reins, I reckon an infant could drive it.”
    He was obviously enjoying a joke at her expense. No matter. He wasn’t the first man to underestimate her and probably wouldn’t be the last. “Just don’t stand in my way,” she warned.
    “Lady, standing in your way while you’re in the driver’s seat is the last thing I intend to do. But you’d be doing Wells Fargo a favor if you wait till you’ve calmed down a mite.”
    She was momentarily tempted to take his advice. Her whole body ached and it was painful to move. What could it hurt to rest for a while before starting back?
    Never one to fuss with her appearance, she was suddenly aware of how dreadful she must look. Her hand involuntarily flew to her mussed hair as she cast her gaze downward. Horrified to find her shirtwaist open in front where a button had popped off, exposing her chemise, she quickly clutched at the fabric. Fortunately her heart-shaped locket had not been lost during her ordeal.
    She tried to remember the precise words the Trotter boy had used. “The wild man almost killed me .” Could he have been exaggerating? She wouldn’t put it past him.
    “I better go,” she said.
    “I’ll take you back to town.”
    His offer was tempting but prudence prevented her from accepting it. Her already tarnished reputation would suffer if she were to be seen dressed as she was in torn clothes—in the company of a man.
    “That won’t be necessary,” she said with a determined toss of her head.
    He raised a brow but didn’t argue. Clutching the front of her shirtwaist with one hand, she allowed him to help her to her feet with the other. His gaze was steady as a camera lens and she felt her cheeks blaze.
    Conscious of his touch, she withdrew her hand quickly and started toward the stage on shaky legs.
    The full repercussions of the hair-raising ride and brush with death suddenly hit her full force. The sun was warm but still she shivered, her arms covered in gooseflesh. Worse, her head began to spin. Shaking off the dizziness that threatened to overcome her, she stumbled.
    He caught her before she hit the ground. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and he quickly drew her semilimp body into his arms. Comforted by the warmth of him, she rested her head upon his chest. His manly scent of leather, woods, and sunshine overwhelmed her senses.
    Being in his arms felt so . . . nice. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so safe and protected. But it scared her, too, and