like her, curls the color of sunbeams tumbling across her shoulders and skin as pale as moonlight.
She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever encountered and obviously madder than hell at him. All he’d done was stand waist deep in a stream. The past few days were fuzzy in his head. She seemed like part of a dream he’d had, more wishing than real. He knew he could never do anything to hurt such an angel even in his dreams. So why was she so angry?
Maybe she thought this stream was hers and him a trespasser?
“Name’s Sam Gatlin!” he yelled by way of introduction.
She stomped her foot and, if possible, rage rose in her tone. “I know who you are, you idiot. Get out of the water!” She leaned closer to the edge, as if irate enough to come in and get him if he didn’t follow orders. “I swear, you’d think that knife I pulled out of you sliced right through your brain and not your back.”
Sam frowned. He vaguely remembered someone pulling a knife from his back. Someone said there would be a condition, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. Someone had helped him into a wagon, someone fed him soup. “Do I know you, lady?” He might as well ask before he got close enough for her to take a swing at him. If he’d seen her kind of rage in a man, Sam would have made sure his Colt was ready to pull.
“Of course you know me, Sam Gatlin. I’m your wife.”
She showed no sign of kidding.
“But if you don’t get back in that bed right now, I’ll probably be your widow by noon.”
Sam saw no choice but to head toward the shore. She looked as if she meant every word she said. Besides, he didn’t know how much longer he could stand. The river must have seeped into his brain along with some of the bottom mud, for his thoughts were muddled.
As he stepped up to the shore, he heard her sharp intake of breath and looked up.
She might be the one who pulled the knife from his back, she might even be his wife, but one thing Sam knew ... she had never seen him without clothes. She stared at him with a mixture of horror and curiosity.
Sam groaned. He’d seen the same kind of stare from folks looking at freaks at tent shows.
He wasn’t a man who thought of himself as modest, but if he could have vanished in thin air, he would have. She looked at him with huge round eyes, and it crossed his mind that this lady might never have seen a man before.
“What is the matter?” He tried to stand still and not act like he noticed her gaze moving over him. He never thought of his body being anything out of the ordinary, more scarred maybe than most. If she was his wife, as she claimed, surely she’d seen him naked.
“Are you all right, lady?” The edges of his brain were starting to clear. She did look vaguely familiar. The past and dreams began to separate in his mind. “Is something the matter with you ... or me?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. Her glance darted the length of him once more, and she added, “You shouldn’t bathe with your socks on.”
He looked down at the wool socks. “All right,” he answered, as if she made any sense. “I’ll try to remember that in the future.” If she was his wife, he must have forgotten how picky she was. A woman with white-blond hair sitting on a bed crossed his mind. He remembered she refused to put on a dress.
She marched back to the campsite. He followed, wondering if clothes often made her angry.
Without looking at him, she tossed a blanket in his direction. “If you’ll sit on the box, I’ll rebandage the wound. There is no telling how many bugs or how much mud got beneath the bandage. I’ve heard of folks getting infections from river water.”
“All right,” he answered, hoping not to make her angry or shock her again until he figured out who she was. He didn’t believe it possible such a woman could be his wife. First, he had no time or place in his life for a wife, and second, a lady like her would never give him more than a
She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever encountered and obviously madder than hell at him. All he’d done was stand waist deep in a stream. The past few days were fuzzy in his head. She seemed like part of a dream he’d had, more wishing than real. He knew he could never do anything to hurt such an angel even in his dreams. So why was she so angry?
Maybe she thought this stream was hers and him a trespasser?
“Name’s Sam Gatlin!” he yelled by way of introduction.
She stomped her foot and, if possible, rage rose in her tone. “I know who you are, you idiot. Get out of the water!” She leaned closer to the edge, as if irate enough to come in and get him if he didn’t follow orders. “I swear, you’d think that knife I pulled out of you sliced right through your brain and not your back.”
Sam frowned. He vaguely remembered someone pulling a knife from his back. Someone said there would be a condition, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. Someone had helped him into a wagon, someone fed him soup. “Do I know you, lady?” He might as well ask before he got close enough for her to take a swing at him. If he’d seen her kind of rage in a man, Sam would have made sure his Colt was ready to pull.
“Of course you know me, Sam Gatlin. I’m your wife.”
She showed no sign of kidding.
“But if you don’t get back in that bed right now, I’ll probably be your widow by noon.”
Sam saw no choice but to head toward the shore. She looked as if she meant every word she said. Besides, he didn’t know how much longer he could stand. The river must have seeped into his brain along with some of the bottom mud, for his thoughts were muddled.
As he stepped up to the shore, he heard her sharp intake of breath and looked up.
She might be the one who pulled the knife from his back, she might even be his wife, but one thing Sam knew ... she had never seen him without clothes. She stared at him with a mixture of horror and curiosity.
Sam groaned. He’d seen the same kind of stare from folks looking at freaks at tent shows.
He wasn’t a man who thought of himself as modest, but if he could have vanished in thin air, he would have. She looked at him with huge round eyes, and it crossed his mind that this lady might never have seen a man before.
“What is the matter?” He tried to stand still and not act like he noticed her gaze moving over him. He never thought of his body being anything out of the ordinary, more scarred maybe than most. If she was his wife, as she claimed, surely she’d seen him naked.
“Are you all right, lady?” The edges of his brain were starting to clear. She did look vaguely familiar. The past and dreams began to separate in his mind. “Is something the matter with you ... or me?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. Her glance darted the length of him once more, and she added, “You shouldn’t bathe with your socks on.”
He looked down at the wool socks. “All right,” he answered, as if she made any sense. “I’ll try to remember that in the future.” If she was his wife, he must have forgotten how picky she was. A woman with white-blond hair sitting on a bed crossed his mind. He remembered she refused to put on a dress.
She marched back to the campsite. He followed, wondering if clothes often made her angry.
Without looking at him, she tossed a blanket in his direction. “If you’ll sit on the box, I’ll rebandage the wound. There is no telling how many bugs or how much mud got beneath the bandage. I’ve heard of folks getting infections from river water.”
“All right,” he answered, hoping not to make her angry or shock her again until he figured out who she was. He didn’t believe it possible such a woman could be his wife. First, he had no time or place in his life for a wife, and second, a lady like her would never give him more than a
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