Early Dawn (12 page)

She yearned to press him for more information, but after all she’d endured the last five days, she was afraid of making him angry. A part of her desperately wanted to believe he was her salvation and that she was finally safe, but another part of her held back, keeping an iron grip on her emotions and schooling her every expression. Until she knew more about him and felt certain she was safe, she would be a fool to trust him.

Apparently oblivious to her growing alarm, he scooped up some dirt in the palm of his hand, added creek water to form a paste, and then, without warning, grabbed her wrist to make her kneel in front of him. Before she could guess his reason for that, he grasped her chin. The instant he touched her, Eden cried out and tried to jerk away, but he held her fast, the grip of his fingers relentless.

“Be still. I only want to protect you from the sun. Your face is already scorched to a fare-thee-well.”

The mud felt cool and wonderfully soothing on her burned cheeks and forehead. Though Eden knew it would feel awful when it dried and started to crack, she released a taut breath, ceased struggling, and allowed him to slather her face with the paste. When he finished, he regarded her for a moment, as if her appearance displeased him somehow.

“I must look a fright.”

“How you look isn’t important. Much more sun on that fair skin of yours, and you’ll be done enough to go on a supper plate.”

“Do you have a name, sir?”

He gave her a deadpan look, a tendon ticking along his jaw. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Eden searched his expression, wondering if he was still miffed because she’d found the smell of his jacket unappealing. “Yes, most people have a name, and I’d like to know yours, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Why is my name important? I’m saving your ass. Seems to me that’s all you need to know.”

“How am I to address you? Yelling, ‘Hey, you,’ is impolite.”

“After staring at the back of a horse’s head for three years, I don’t worry overmuch about what’s polite. ‘Hey, you’ works fine for me.”

Her wariness of him increasing because he was so reluctant to reveal anything about himself, Eden sighed in defeat.

He bent sideways to rinse his hands. Then, relenting with a sigh of his own, he said, “The name’s Coulter.”

Encouraged, Eden queried, “Have you a surname?”

“You are full of questions, aren’t you? That
is
my surname. First name’s Matthew.” He wiped his hands on his dusty jeans. “I hail from Oregon.” He angled an expectant look at her. “How about you? You got a name?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” She let that hang there a moment. Then she said, “My name is Eden Paxton. I’ve lived in San Francisco most of my life.”

“A city bird. I figured as much.”

Eden could have told him that this particular city bird had a lot of country dust on her tail feathers, but caution held her tongue. The fact that she’d been taught wilderness skills and knew how to handle firearms might prove to be her only aces in the hole if Coulter was the scoundrel he looked to be.

“When the train was held up, my mother and I were traveling to No Name, where all my brothers now live,” she settled for revealing. “She wants to be closer to them.”

He pushed to his feet, collected the animals’ reins, and led them back to where the saddles and packs lay. Watching him move, Eden couldn’t help but notice the powerful contours of his thighs. With every step he took, muscle bunched beneath his jeans, snapping the denim taut.

“Are you always so reticent?” she called after him.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Always so what?”

“Reticent,” she repeated. Then, realizing he didn’t know the meaning of the term, she added, “You don’t talk very much.”

His sky blue eyes narrowed on her face. “Not much point unless I have something to say, and most times, I don’t.”

Eden wondered if his economy of words was due to an inherent quietness or if he harbored secrets he didn’t wish to reveal. Was he friend or foe, savior or tormentor? She didn’t know, and the uncertainty made her insides quake.

As she followed him, the horses, and the mule, she pondered her predicament, trying to stay focused on the facts. Though prickly and stingy with information, he had treated her kindly thus far. She touched a fingertip to her mud-smeared cheek.

He ground-tied his animals, a method that worked only with well-trained and loyal beasts, because the ropes and reins dangled loose, anchored to nothing.

“I don’t know if ground-tying is advisable for the borrowed gelding,” she called out. “The Sebastians always tether their horses, even during rest stops.”

“When you mistreat an animal,” he replied, “you can’t very well expect it to hang around when you turn it loose.”

He stepped over to the bay, talking softly as he stroked its reddish brown neck and glossy black mane. The horse nickered in response, the sound plaintive and heart-wrenching. The poor creature had probably never been petted and wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I hate to get off on the wrong foot with him,” Coulter muttered, to himself or to her, Eden wasn’t sure. “If he wanders off, I’ll tie him to a stake next time, but he deserves a chance to prove himself first.”

She gave her rescuer a curious study. Her brothers held to the belief that an equine’s intelligence and capacity for love should afford it the same regard that one would show to a human being. Not many men felt that way, though, only the ones with hearts that ran deep.

“That gelding has never had a chance to run,” she warned. “If he gets one now, he may take it. I’ve seen Pete Sebastian work the poor thing until he was lathered and hanging his head. Then Pete would pistol-whip him to make him keep going.”

Coulter touched a scar on the bay’s forelock, then rubbed the spot lightly with his knuckles. “Pete Sebastian has a vicious streak a mile wide. That doesn’t mean this fellow won’t respond to a little kindness. He’s taking my measure right now.” Cold amusement flickered in his eyes when he glanced her way. “Unlike fine-feathered city birds, horses don’t judge a man by the condition of his clothes. Maybe he’ll decide I’m not so bad.”

The comment stopped Eden in her tracks. Heat crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks. She parted her lips to retort, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think what to say. The truth was, she
had
passed judgment on him because of his clothing. Now, pinned by his sharp gaze, she felt small and petty for having done so.

The right corner of his mouth quirked. “The Sebastians aren’t much for bathing or doing laundry. To keep up with them, I’ve adopted some of their bad habits.”

Eden looped her arms around her waist and resumed walking. “I see.”

She had just reached the saddles and packs when he stepped around to the other side of Smoky. The next instant, she heard him voiding. After being with the Sebastians for five days, she couldn’t be shocked by much of anything, but she was disheartened, nevertheless. A man with any modicum of decency would have walked off into the trees to do his business in private.

Determined to maintain at least some semblance of propriety herself, Eden headed for the woods. It had been countless hours since she’d had an opportunity to relieve herself.

“Don’t wander too far,” he called after her. “If they show up and you’re to hell and gone off in the woods, I can’t protect you.”

Eden stopped and turned to give him another wondering look. Was that why he hadn’t sought privacy in the trees a moment ago—not because he was uncouth, but out of concern for her safety? As she continued toward the pines, she turned that possibility over in her mind, and then, heeding his warning, did her business behind the first large tree trunk she found.

Moments later, when she returned to the clearing, he was rubbing down the horses and mule with a burlap sack. After she sank onto the grass, he dug through his saddlebag and tossed her a piece of jerked meat. Eden was sick to death of the stuff, but looking on the bright side, she was lucky to be getting some breakfast. She remained on the ground near the packs to consume the small meal, which she found to be more filling than usual because she’d drunk so much water. It was nice not to feel hungry for a change.

“It appears that your assessment of the bay was right on target,” she said, observing the gelding as it munched on grass. “He doesn’t seem eager to run.”

“Maybe he recognizes decent folks when he sees them.” Coulter finished rubbing down the animals and grabbed a piece of jerky for himself. Even under the scruff of whiskers, she could see the tendons in his lean cheek bunch as he chewed. “Nothing to fear, no reason to flee.” He collected his canteen. “I’m going down to rinse this out and fill it with fresh water. Stick close.”

While he was gone, Eden circled what he’d just said about the gelding recognizing decent folks. Was Coulter a decent man? His rough and filthy appearance indicated otherwise. She could only hope the bay gelding was a better judge of character than she was.

Shortly after Eden finished eating, Coulter started saddling the horses. He moved with the same blend of strength and masculine grace she’d noted earlier, handling the weight of the gear with practiced ease. He said nothing while he worked, and the silence made her nerves as taut as overextended rubber bands. She wanted to ask him what town he was heading for and when he thought they would get there, but his reluctance to talk made her hesitate. She didn’t want to be told she was full of questions again.

He said nothing more, and soon it was time to go. As eager as Eden was to put the Sebastians far behind her, she dreaded having to mount up. Her nether regions were deeply bruised, her back ached from sitting erect, her inner thighs felt as if they’d been pounded with a hammer, and knifing pain shot through her ribs every time she took a deep breath. She couldn’t recall ever having been quite so exhausted and wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going.

As if she’d spoken the thought aloud, Coulter angled a piercing glance at her over his leather-clad shoulder, his blue eyes locking on hers. “Come twilight, we’ll make camp. You’ll be able to get a good night’s rest, and I’ll even scratch together a hot meal.”

“Will it be safe to make a fire?”

The brim of his battered Stetson shadowed his face as he nodded. “By scattering their horses, I put quite a hitch in their get-along. They’re at least eight hours away, if not more.”

Eden needed no further explanation. A horse could cover four miles an hour at a walk. That meant the gang was at least thirty-two miles away. In this hilly, wooded terrain, they wouldn’t be able to see a fire or smell the smoke.

After Eden mounted her horse, her rescuer surprised her with another piece of jerky. When he wasn’t looking, she tucked it into a pocket. If it became necessary for her to flee from him, bits of hoarded food might come in handy. Her gaze fixed on Coulter’s back, she nudged her gelding to fall in behind the pack mule. Soft from wear, Coulter’s leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders like a thick second skin. Each time he moved, she glimpsed a play of muscle. If he had villainous intentions, she was in big trouble, she thought dismally. Even six days ago, when she’d been physically strong, she would have been no match for him.

For most of what remained of the morning, they rode northwest through breathtakingly beautiful but ruggedly treacherous terrain, climbing ever higher into the foothills. Eden had inherited her mother’s love of wildflowers, and at any other time, the multihued displays tucked here and there among buckthorn, wavy-leaf oak, and silver buffaloberry bushes would have made her sigh with pleasure. It was as if God had sipped too much wine and spilled splashes of color from His heavenly palette, sprinkling the slopes, draws, and gulches with touches of loveliness nearly everywhere she looked.

She drank it all in, much as she had the water during their brief rest stop. Maybe it was the distraction that she craved. Identifying the plants helped to take her mind off the mess she was in. She knew only that the sight of the delicate yellow-white blossoms of golden currant rubbing elbows with the deep purple spikes of silvery leadplant made her feel lighter of heart.

Matthew Coulter seemed not to notice the riotous display of spring colors. He rode past the daisylike faces of fleabane without glancing their way and allowed Smoky to trample the star-shaped white blossoms of mouse-ear chickweed. Eden winced and began to tremble. For reasons beyond her, she felt an affinity with the chickweed, as if it were she and not the petals that were being crushed. Her reaction made no sense. It was silly to grieve over flowers. But when she suspected that he meant to destroy in the same careless fashion a patch of incredibly blue sugarbowl clematis, her heart gave a painful twist, and she couldn’t hold her tongue.

“Mr. Coulter!” she cried.

He drew Smoky to a stop and whirled in the saddle to look at her. Eden was about to admonish him for his callous disregard of the beauty around them when she realized she was looking down the barrel of a Colt revolver. He’d drawn the weapon with such speed that she hadn’t seen his hand move.

“What?” he asked, scanning the trail behind her. “Did you see something?”

Eden moistened her lips and tried to swallow. Her throat had gone as dry as parchment paper. If he wanted to destroy every wildflower in his path, who was she to argue? Had she learned nothing during her time with the Sebastians? The trick to surviving was to do as she was told and keep her mouth shut.

“Nothing, I saw nothing,” she managed to push out weakly.

“Nothing? You scared the holy hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just—”

He holstered the weapon and reined Smoky around to face her. “Just what?”

Eden glanced at the clematis bells that his gelding’s back hooves were brutalizing. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

“You screamed my name. You must have had a reason.”