Early Dawn (15 page)

The warning no sooner left his lips than he wanted to give himself a swift kick in the ass.
Damn.
Couldn’t he have come up with something better than that? His mother, a devout Irish Catholic, often prayed to the Holy Mother for divine intervention. Matthew had fallen out of the habit of praying over the last three years, hadn’t stepped foot in a church. But he was sorely tempted to send up an appeal now, something along the lines of,
Please, God, help me to stop being such a dumb son of a bitch.

Eden staggered toward the horses, making his heart leap with every step she took because he feared she might fall. When she reached the animals, she homed in on Pete Sebastian’s gelding, leaned against the beast as if her knees were about to buckle again, and looped her arms around its neck to hold herself erect. Even at a distance, Matthew could hear her broken sobs. Every hitch of her breath made him feel guilty as hell. She’d been with him now for almost twenty-four hours, and she’d spent every minute of that time uncertain of his intentions and not knowing if she could trust him.

He might have eased her mind a bit if he’d told her a little about himself, but, oh, no. Instead he’d gotten in such a snit when he saw her sniffing the sleeve of his jacket and wrinkling her nose that he’d balked at even telling her his name. Not because he’d had good reason, but because he’d been angry. What in tarnation had he been thinking? Truth was, the jacket stank, and he’d been embarrassed that she noticed.

He bent his head, staring at the backs of his hands curled over his knees. His attention was caught by the coat of grime on his jeans. Was it any wonder she’d taken his measure and judged him to be a no-account trail bum who might do her harm? Whether he wanted to face it or not, that was exactly what he’d become: a filthy, ill-mannered, rough-talking trail bum who’d been deprived of polite company for so long that he no longer even said
please
,
thank you
, or
excuse me
. This morning, instead of handing her the piece of jerky, he’d tossed it at her. Hello? You tossed food to a dog. And when she’d wanted a cup to drink water from the stream, why hadn’t he gotten her one? It wouldn’t have taken him more than a minute.

Matthew felt a little sick to his stomach. Being around Eden was making him see himself through her eyes, and he didn’t like the picture. Since leaving Oregon, he had traveled as far south as Mexico and as far north as Canada to even get in the Sebastians’ general vicinity, and somewhere along the way, he’d lost touch with who he was and where he came from. His father had always done filthy work from dawn until dark, and when he’d come into the house at night, sometimes he’d been too exhausted to want to eat. Yet Matthew had never seen him sit down at his mother’s table without washing up and changing his shirt first, and he’d demanded the same of all his sons.

Matthew turned one hand palm up to examine his fingernails, but seeing that they were clean didn’t make him feel much better. He had some fresh clothes at the bottom of his pack, and it didn’t take all that long to jump in the creek for a bath. Yet he hadn’t done that recently, because he’d stopped caring how he looked.

Matthew tried to remember when that attitude had taken root, and he realized it had happened slowly. Taking a bath in a creek after dark was damned cold business. His laundry didn’t always dry by a fire before morning, either, so he’d had to pack it away damp sometimes, and then it soured. His horse and mule didn’t give a hang whether he was clean or dirty, and he seldom saw people unless he visited a town. Over time, he’d started making excuses. He was too tired and hungry to bathe. One more day wouldn’t matter. Why wash clothes if they wouldn’t dry by morning, and he’d only have to wash them again? Who was going to see him, anyway?

When Matthew finally pushed to his feet and collected his rifle, he felt almost as exhausted as Eden looked. He needed to walk over there and assure her that she was absolutely safe with him, damn it. Only, when he played it out in his mind, he saw himself bungling it. He’d blurt out something stupid, sure as rain was wet.
You’re safe
. Yeah, like that would be convincing.
I’m a decent man
. Same result. After Livvy’s death, everything within him had locked up, almost as if a cell door had clanked shut, and he no longer had the key to disengage the bolt. What he felt—which was precious little, because he preferred it that way—was buried deep inside him.

Walking toward the tumble of dropped wood, he decided to be useful in the only ways he could be—by building a fire, caring for the animals, finding her some clean, dry clothes so she wouldn’t catch her death, and then fixing a hot meal. His ma had always said that actions spoke louder than words. He could only hope that was true.

 

Eden kept her wet cheek pressed against the gelding’s sweat-slicked neck. Her body vibrated with spasmodic shudders from the cold, her legs felt as useless as wet rags, and it was all she could do to remain standing. The starch in her spine had dissolved and leaked out the bottoms of her feet.
Exhaustion
. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so drained. Part of it, she knew, stemmed from relief. After six days of living in fear, she finally felt halfway safe. Matthew Coulter was unkempt, sorely lacking in social graces, and she still wasn’t sure how far she could trust him, but at least she now felt nearly certain that he wasn’t connected to the Sebastian Gang. His explanation for why he’d ridden in a circle all day made sense, and something in his eyes—she wasn’t sure what—had convinced her he was telling the truth.

Right now, he was little more than a shadow in the darkness. Lifting her head, she watched as he fetched the wood he’d gathered earlier and laid a fire. A moment later, he struck a lucifer, cupped a hand around it, and bent to ignite the handfuls of dry grass that he’d placed under a crisscross of kindling. With a bit of coaxing, flames soon leaped to life.

Like a moth drawn to lantern light, Eden steeled herself against the pain in her ribs and moved haltingly toward the fire, afraid with every step that her legs might fold. Once there, she warmed her hands, but the sodden folds of her skirt repelled the heat. Feeling like a musk-melon that had been hollowed out with a spoon, she was only vaguely aware of Matthew, who was now rifling through his packs. When he emerged from the darkness again, he pushed a roll of denim, a length of rope, and a pair of wool socks into her hands.

“The britches will be too big. I figure you can use the rope to cinch them in at the waist.”

Eden hugged the clothing to her chest. “Thank you.”

He nodded and gestured toward the horses. “I need to rub down the animals, take them to the creek for water, and give them some grain before I start cooking. While I’m doing that, you can change here by the fire. I’ll keep my back to you. You’ve got my word on it.”

Eden watched him disappear into the shadows again. He wanted her to strip naked by the fire where he might see? Not on her life. As reluctant as she was to move her aching body or leave the warmth of the flames, she sought privacy behind some bushes before she peeled off the jacket and shirt Matthew had lent her. With a quick sniff, she determined that the jeans were clean. They smelled of leather and soap, but no body odor clung to them. The socks were fresh, too.

Relieved that he hadn’t given her filthy garments to wear, she set herself to the task of stripping off her torn dress, boots, and underwear. As quickly as possible, she put the shirt back on to shield her modesty, then buttoned the front with shaky hands. Just as Matthew had predicted, the jeans were too large, so she used the rope as a makeshift belt, then sat on the ground to roll up the cuffs. The oversize wool socks felt heavenly on her ice-cold feet.

“You decent yet?” he called from the darkness.

The question was telling. He truly had kept his back turned and obviously thought she was still by the fire. “Almost!” she called back.

She grabbed the jacket and put it back on, then stared at the vague outline of her discarded clothing. The thought of wearing the garments again filled her with revulsion. She never wanted to see them. They would always remind her of the Sebastians and dredge up horrible memories. The bloomers were badly torn, and the toe of Pete’s boot had broken some of the whalebone in the corset. The skirt was still mostly intact, though, and her practical nature wouldn’t allow her to leave it. Out in the wild, one never knew when extra cloth might come in handy.

She collected her boots and lifted the skirt between her right thumb and forefinger, holding it well away from her body. She turned her back on the other clothing. For all she cared, birds and squirrels could make nests with the cloth, and varmints could consume the whalebone.

As she moved back toward the light, Eden glanced up at the limitless expanse of dark blue sky where the Rockies rose, craggy and coal black, to loom over the landscape. Their vastness made her feel tiny, insignificant, and completely cut off from everything familiar to her.

“I’m dressed now,” she called out as she drew near the fire.

Coulter moved toward her, a dark blur that took on definition as he came closer to the flickering amber glow. He had the well-oiled, loose-hipped stride of a horseman, his broad shoulders shifting with every step of his lean, powerfully muscled legs. She saw that he held a whiskey jug in his hand. After pulling the cork, he extended the bottle to her.

“Bottoms up. It’ll warm you from the inside out.”

Eden accepted the jug, tipped its mouth to her lips, and took two generous swallows. With a tremulous smile, she handed it back to him. “I’m sorry I leaped to conclusions and called you those awful names.”

His white teeth flashed in a brief smile. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Still, I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

“Like I said earlier, you did nothing you need to apologize for.” The firelight played over his face, delineating with shadows the sharp bridge of his nose and the chiseled cut of his cheekbones above his beard. As he met her gaze, his eyes glinted like molten silver. “The whole mess was my fault, not yours. I should have told you I was riding in a circle and explained why.” He rubbed his whiskery jaw. “Just didn’t occur to me.”

“Because you mistakenly believed I couldn’t tell north from south?”

He shoved the cork back into the mouth of the jug and set it on the ground near her feet. “I guess that’ll teach me never to judge a book by its cover.” Gesturing at the whiskey, he said, “Help yourself to more if you’d like. I still have work to finish up. Then I’ll get busy cooking those fish.”

 

A few minutes later, when Matthew returned to the fire to erect a spit for the trout, he found Eden huddled on her side, sound asleep.
Good
. A nap might make her feel better. He went to get his bedroll, which consisted of a quilted pallet and a wool blanket. He hated to let her lie on the cold ground, but unless he woke her, he had no choice. Instead he carefully covered her with the bedding and then hunkered at the opposite side of the fire to stave off his hunger with some jerky.

He allowed her to sleep until his belly started to rumble again. Then he set to work on their evening meal, being as quiet as possible, no easy task when he was pounding on a stick with a rock. She stirred awake and blinked sleepily at him.

“Sorry I woke you.”

Stifling a yawn, she hooked an arm tightly over her side to sit up. The gesture wasn’t lost on Matthew. She’d been favoring her ribs all day, giving him cause to wonder if Pete Sebastian had busted a couple of them with the toe of his boot.

Hesitant to admit that he’d seen Pete kick her, because then she’d know he’d also seen everything else the bastards had done to her, he settled for asking, “You hurt?”

She winced as she shifted to get comfortable. “Just very sore. It’ll get better with time. How long was I asleep?”

“Three, maybe three and a half hours. I figured you needed the rest, so I held off on cooking for a while.”

“Thank you. I truly did need the rest.”

Her gaze fixed on the flames, her expression grew distant. She barely glanced at him as he speared the fish and suspended them over the fire. It reminded him of the way she’d looked last night while the Sebastians had bedeviled her. He could only hope she wasn’t recalling what they’d done to her. He wasn’t sure how he would handle it if she started crying again. Not that he would blame her if she did. Most of the females he knew would be off balance for months after going through something like that. Even his mother, one of the strongest, most resilient women he’d ever known, might have had trouble coming to grips with it.

“You feeling okay?” he asked.

Her eyes still swollen and puffy from weeping, Eden met his gaze and nodded. “Better than I was. I’m sorry I fell apart that way.”

“No worries. You were taken hostage by a bunch of brutes and mauled, most likely ever since they took you. If anyone has a right to fall apart, I reckon it’s you.” The instant the words left his mouth, Matthew wanted to call them back. “Sorry. I don’t mean to remind you of things best forgotten. It’s just that I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. Most women and a lot of men couldn’t handle what happened as well as you have.”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, then watched as he drew the mixings for corn bread from a pack, measured out the dry ingredients, then added water. After giving the concoction a good stir, he spread some coals at the edge of the fire and set the pan on them. His campfire bread wasn’t the best-tasting stuff, but it would be warm and fill their empty spots. Along the trail, that was about all a body could hope for.

Rocking back on his boot heels, he fixed Eden with a long look. She was gazing into the fire again. Under the remaining streaks of dry mud, her sunburned face still managed to look pale. His heart twisted at the pain in her eyes. He leaned forward to give the fish a turn and then sat back on his heels again, uncomfortable because she was unearthing emotions within him that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.