still fluttered painfully. She glanced at her aunt. Praise God, she was asleep! Miranda was afraid her face might give away her agitation, and she did not want to answer her aunt’s prying questions.
Bragg had kissed her! Her face burned even more. She lay on her bedroll and hugged herself. Dear God! Was she ruined? Should she tell John? Would he send her home in disgrace? She sat up abruptly.
If John knew that Bragg had held her half naked and kissed her, he would surely send her home. Her eyes sparkled and she almost laughed aloud in glee. Home! Oh, how much she wanted to go home, to get away from all this—these strange, barbaric men in a wild, untamed land. It was a wonderful idea.
Miranda knew she was a good girl—mostly—for Bragg’s kiss had repulsed and terrified her. That was the only explanation for the way her heart had threatened to burst from her chest at his touch. How could that man have touched her? How could her fiancé have sent him, a complete beast, with no control over his baser instincts, to escort her to his home? She didn’t understand it. What if John was no better than Bragg?
It was a bit later when Bragg had the audacity to call toher from outside the tent and tell her their supper was ready. She bit her lip, wanting to shout back that she wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want anyone, especially her aunt, to know what had happened. Her aunt would tell her it was all her fault for going to bathe in a pond, in public, practically in front of a man. No, she couldn’t tell Elizabeth. She didn’t dare.
Miranda ducked out of the tent cautiously, feeling his burning gaze upon her. Why was he always looking at her in that strange, hungry way—the way a starving child looks at a piece of cake? She kept her lashes lowered, filled two plates, and without looking at anyone disappeared back into the tent. She did not step out again that night, dreading his gaze, resolving to wait to take care of her needs until the next morning.
Because of her resolution, Miranda was up at dawn, before any wakeup call, and slipped out of the tent. Above the prairie, the sky was a peachy pink, turning the brown grass golden. In the distance, jagged, mauve mountains crested a darker sky. Miranda took a moment to inhale the sweet, morning-fresh scent of the raw land, enjoying the majestic sunrise. Then she glanced around. Fortunately there was no sign of Welsh or Bragg, and she assumed that the men were taking care of their own needs. The team was still hobbled, their packed gear lying unloaded on the ground. The coffee was heating, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. What she wouldn’t give for a bit of tea!
Miranda hesitated, wanting to wash at the pond, when Welsh appeared from the opposite direction, startling her. Surely by now Bragg had finished washing up, too—if that was what he was doing, or maybe he had been with Welsh. She headed down the embankment.
The sun gave forth a sudden burst of light as it crested higher, suddenly warming the cool morning, brightening the dawn to day. Miranda smiled and was even more pleased when she found the pond unoccupied. She washed her hands and face, brushed her teeth, and was about to stand when she heard a foul curse and was yanked up by her hastily braided hair.
“You never leave camp without my permission!” Bragg roared.
Miranda’s heart was pounding in fear. “You’re hurting me!”
“Good!” he shouted, deafening her. He was still holding her braid cruelly, and now an iron hand gripped her shoulder. He shook her roughly. “Foolish twit!”
“Let go of me,” Miranda managed, not knowing where the words of bravery, spoken so calmly, came from. In fact she was deathly afraid that he was going to beat her.
Bragg must have seen the terror in her eyes. He suddenly released her, and she wheeled abruptly and fled. She was brought up short, however, after only three steps. This time he had grabbed her wrist, and he whipped her around to face him. She
Bragg had kissed her! Her face burned even more. She lay on her bedroll and hugged herself. Dear God! Was she ruined? Should she tell John? Would he send her home in disgrace? She sat up abruptly.
If John knew that Bragg had held her half naked and kissed her, he would surely send her home. Her eyes sparkled and she almost laughed aloud in glee. Home! Oh, how much she wanted to go home, to get away from all this—these strange, barbaric men in a wild, untamed land. It was a wonderful idea.
Miranda knew she was a good girl—mostly—for Bragg’s kiss had repulsed and terrified her. That was the only explanation for the way her heart had threatened to burst from her chest at his touch. How could that man have touched her? How could her fiancé have sent him, a complete beast, with no control over his baser instincts, to escort her to his home? She didn’t understand it. What if John was no better than Bragg?
It was a bit later when Bragg had the audacity to call toher from outside the tent and tell her their supper was ready. She bit her lip, wanting to shout back that she wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want anyone, especially her aunt, to know what had happened. Her aunt would tell her it was all her fault for going to bathe in a pond, in public, practically in front of a man. No, she couldn’t tell Elizabeth. She didn’t dare.
Miranda ducked out of the tent cautiously, feeling his burning gaze upon her. Why was he always looking at her in that strange, hungry way—the way a starving child looks at a piece of cake? She kept her lashes lowered, filled two plates, and without looking at anyone disappeared back into the tent. She did not step out again that night, dreading his gaze, resolving to wait to take care of her needs until the next morning.
Because of her resolution, Miranda was up at dawn, before any wakeup call, and slipped out of the tent. Above the prairie, the sky was a peachy pink, turning the brown grass golden. In the distance, jagged, mauve mountains crested a darker sky. Miranda took a moment to inhale the sweet, morning-fresh scent of the raw land, enjoying the majestic sunrise. Then she glanced around. Fortunately there was no sign of Welsh or Bragg, and she assumed that the men were taking care of their own needs. The team was still hobbled, their packed gear lying unloaded on the ground. The coffee was heating, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. What she wouldn’t give for a bit of tea!
Miranda hesitated, wanting to wash at the pond, when Welsh appeared from the opposite direction, startling her. Surely by now Bragg had finished washing up, too—if that was what he was doing, or maybe he had been with Welsh. She headed down the embankment.
The sun gave forth a sudden burst of light as it crested higher, suddenly warming the cool morning, brightening the dawn to day. Miranda smiled and was even more pleased when she found the pond unoccupied. She washed her hands and face, brushed her teeth, and was about to stand when she heard a foul curse and was yanked up by her hastily braided hair.
“You never leave camp without my permission!” Bragg roared.
Miranda’s heart was pounding in fear. “You’re hurting me!”
“Good!” he shouted, deafening her. He was still holding her braid cruelly, and now an iron hand gripped her shoulder. He shook her roughly. “Foolish twit!”
“Let go of me,” Miranda managed, not knowing where the words of bravery, spoken so calmly, came from. In fact she was deathly afraid that he was going to beat her.
Bragg must have seen the terror in her eyes. He suddenly released her, and she wheeled abruptly and fled. She was brought up short, however, after only three steps. This time he had grabbed her wrist, and he whipped her around to face him. She
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