Free Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Sandra Chastain Page B

the side of the ridge, through a smooth hole worn through a rock, a narrow stream of water plunged to a hollowed-out pool below.
    Standing in the pool was Tucker Farrell, hair in wet strands that dripped water down his massive, naked chest. His clothes were draped across the rocks to dry in the sun, and he was peering into a sliver of broken mirror, raking a razor across the last patch of soap on his face.
    She was acutely drawn to him. Despite her mental commands, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Everything was turning out to be so much more complicated than she’d thought. The journey, the unknown, the danger, all were things she could deal with. She hadn’t counted on Tucker Farrell.
    Gone was the unruly drifter he’d pretended to be. The man before her was now the sleek cougar he’d always been in her mind’s eye. She’d known he was big, but his clothing was deceptive, giving him bulk when he was pure muscle. A jagged scar streaked down his back, disappearing into the water at his waist. He was spectacular.
    It was all she could do not to call out to him, not to touch him, not to—
    “Ouch!”
    As he jerked away, his elbow caught the mirror and it narrowly missed his body as it plunged into the water. “Son of a—” He stared down at his body through the clear water. “Nothing like turning yourself into a gelding. Though you might as well be for all the chances you’ve had lately.”
    Raven let out a startled gasp, then held her breath as he looked over his shoulder. A narrow seeping of blood sliced his cheek and ran down the watery smear of soap left behind.
    She ducked down, her back to the rocks, eyes closed. Maybe if she was very quiet, he’d decide that the sound he’d heard wasn’t human. Maybe he wouldn’t know that she’d been spying on him, that she’d had improper thoughts.
    “I hope that’s you, Spirit Woman. I’d rather not have to shoot an intruder, since my gun is with my pants, and as you can see, I’m not wearing them.”
    She continued to hold her breath, willing him to reach down for the mirror so that she could escape.
    A slosh of water, followed by cold drops of it on the top of her head, said she’d been discovered.
    “I’m sorry, Tucker. I—I was looking for a place to bathe. The water looks very pleasant.”
    “You were staring at the water?”
    “Of course. I mean I wasn’t staring. I just didn’t expect you to be …”
    “You were staring. I saw you in the mirror. You want a bath. Come on in. I’ll even scrub your back.”
    She pressed her back against the rock, her face flushed and her breathing altogether too uneven.
    “Raven, stand up and look at me.”
    “I can’t.” She willed her eyelids to remain closed. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. But it didn’t matter. This time she felt it coming, the swirl of smoke that clouded even her mental sight. Powerful, different, the smoke was golden, shot with tiny points of iridescent light.
    What was happening? If this was a vision, it was very different from the others.
    The hot shower of mist seemed to draw into itself, forming a picture of an enormous bronze man looming over her, threatening, evil. Then, as quickly as it had formed, the shape softened and, almost as if it were protecting her, became the golden man she’d likened to a mountain lion. She didn’t have to see him with open eyes. And she didn’t have to touch him to feel his hands on her. He caressed her with his spirit. And she was welcoming him, reaching out to him.
    His hands were on her. His lips, moving across her face, her neck, and her bare breasts.
    Bare?
    How could that be? She felt the rocks against her back, the weight of her deerskin garment against her skin. Yet Tucker was surrounding her with his presence. And she was reaching out to pull him close to her. Beads of perspiration slickened their skin where they met. Between her legs came a hot dampness, and she felt the taut flesh of his buttocks beneath her touch.
    Yet