Free Sagebrush Bride by Tanya Anne Crosby Page B

forget. Forget that her dear
father was no longer around to hum her to sleep at night. For a while, after
her mother had gone, she had been afraid of the silence. Not the dark so much,
because that in itself was never so terrifying. It was rather soothing, really.
Only the silence had terrified her, because in the silence she was alone. So Papa
would sit in his own room, one door down, and hum to himself. She’d never asked
him to, but he’d done so nonetheless. For her. Because he’d known—to
reassure her that he was still there.
    Cutter’s whistling pierced her thoughts, and again
she concentrated on that bath—that warm, cleansing bath.
    Her father, too, had believed in cleanliness, and
she was thoroughly convinced, though there was no real medical evidence to
substantiate the claim, that cleanliness was an integral part of any cure. She
always cleaned her instruments in strong water. Truth to tell, it was the only
thing whiskey was good for—besides getting decent folks into trouble.
    This morning
was a very good example for the record.
    She surveyed the landscape, fretting. Nothing!
Nothing at all seemed familiar to her! Surely she’d made enough house calls
outside of town that she should know the area by now? But to her dismay, she
found that she didn’t recognize a single thing. Not one thing!
    Of course, she reminded herself, worrying at her
lower lip, it was hard to see much for the tall grass. Grassland was grassland,
after all, and there wasn’t much different about any one stretch of it to
distinguish it from the next. Right?
    Yes, of course, that was what it was. She nodded,
as though to settle her fears. And so it was a complete shock to find herself
suddenly staring at a gathering of blurry, nondescript, and very unfamiliar
buildings in the immediate distance. Her first reaction was to reach for her
spectacles. Finding them gone was her undoing. Her eyes widened in alarm. How
could she have been so absorbed in her thoughts that she wouldn’t have noticed
her spectacles were missing? Halting abruptly, she whirled to face Cutter,
hands on her hips.
    “Where are they?”
    Cutter came up beside her, his brow lifting in
response to her question. “Where’s what?”
    “My spectacles!”
    “Took you long enough to notice they were gone,
don’t y’ think?”
    Elizabeth ignored his goading. What business was
it of his anyway? She turned her palm up impatiently, certain that Cutter had
her spectacles somewhere on his person, and silently pleading with him to give
them back.
    There was an odd glitter in his eyes as he stared
at her hand. Then his gaze flicked up to her eyes, considering her. They were
so dark, and fixed on her so intently, that for an interminable moment
Elizabeth felt as though he were looking straight into her soul, searching out
every dark corner to reveal it.
    Feeling unsure of herself, she withdrew her hand
slightly. The moment was excruciating. She felt utterly bared to his scrutiny,
as though he knew all of her secrets somehow, every fear, every last little
ache in her heart. More than that even, she once again had the notion the man
pitied her, and a strange pang nearly overcame her outrage. Nearly.
    A quiver passed down her spine, breaking the
spell. “Well?” she asked. Unnerved, she watched as he turned from her finally
and reached into the saddlebag, retrieving her bent frames. Without speaking,
she accepted them from him, quickly placed them upon the bridge of her nose,
then turned back to the cluster of buildings in the distance, fully expecting
them to have reconfigured themselves somehow. The images only became sharper,
more distinct, and her shock was audible. She gave a startled little cry.
    She pointed at the buildings. “What is that?”
    Cutter lifted the brim of his hat slightly, his
brows rising as he peered speculatively at the structures in question. “Why,”
he drawled with distinct mockery, his gaze immediately reverting to hers,
“can’t be too sure,