The Outlaw's Bride

“At the cemetery. I promised my mother I would go there.” Her lips trembled, and she stopped speaking.

Noah knelt again, reached out and covered her hand with his. “I’ll go with you.”

Isobel was cold, shivering. She clutched the ragged shawl close around her in one white-knuckled fist. How vulnerable she was, Noah realized. She was scared, too, though she would never admit it. Without her land titles, Isobel had nothing. She insisted she could shoot well enough to protect herself, but a cold-blooded murderer had threatened to gun her down.

“We’ll visit the courthouse tomorrow,” he told her. “They’ll have the record of your father’s burial. We can check the date and look for someone who remembers where the Horrell Gang was that day. But, Isobel, you’ll never be able to track down the killer. You should go to Santa Fe and try to stop the transfer of the titles.”

“You’re asking me to forget my father’s murder? Do you really think I can stop a land transfer without any documents or proof?” She shook her head. “Impossible without the titles. And without the land, I cannot marry Don Guillermo.”

At the mention of her intended husband, Noah stood and slapped the wood dust from his thighs. “Who cares about ol’ Don when you’ve got me? I mean, what more could a lady want?” He couldn’t hold back a grin as her eyes went wide. “Why, there’s a gal right here in Lincoln who’d be mad as a peeled rattler if she knew about this arrangement.”

“What arrangement?” Isobel stood. “Your woman has no cause to feel jealous. We have a contrato, a contract.”

Edging past Noah, she walked to the washstand, drew her shawl from her shoulders and draped it on the bed. After pouring water into the bowl, she splashed her face and rinsed her hands. Dabbing an embroidered linen towel on her cheek, she turned back toward Noah.

“For that matter,” she said softly, “there are many men who would gladly trade places with you, vaquero.”

Noah took a step toward her. “I don’t doubt that. For a woman who’s fretting over land titles and a Spanish dandy, you have a lot more assets than you know.”

“What do I have? My father left me nothing but empty land in a bloodthirsty country where no man can be trusted. And Don Guillermo—”

“Don Guillermo doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He caught her hand and pulled her close. “You’ve got everything you’ll ever need right now. You’re smart, Isobel. Gritty, too.”

“Gritty? What is that?”

“Brave. You’d take on Snake Jackson and the whole Dolan gang if you had to. You know how to ride and shoot. And you’re pretty. Real pretty.”

She removed her hand from his and turned her shoulder. “I have gowns and jewels, but here I dress as a peasant.”

“You don’t need fancy gowns to be beautiful, Isobel.” He lifted a hand and brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder. “You’ve got those eyes—green, brown, gray—what color are they?”

“My brother used to say they matched the mud in a pig’s pond.”

“What do brothers know?” He placed one finger under her chin and tilted her face toward the candlelight. “There’s a wild cat that hangs around Chisum’s bunkhouse. We call her La Diabla, and she’s a devil, all right. Always in trouble, always getting into things she shouldn’t. If you can catch her long enough to get a good look, you’ll see the fire in her eyes—a green fire that makes them glow like emeralds. Your eyes are like that, Isobel.”

For a moment she didn’t speak, and Noah stood trans-fixed by the scent of her hair and skin. He could almost feel the velvet touch of her cheek against his fingertips. Trying to breathe, he knew if one of them didn’t talk soon, he would lose himself.

“You should write a book, Buchanan,” Isobel suggested, her voice husky. “Any man who sees emeralds in my mud-pond eyes has lost his senses.”

“I will write a book,” he told her. “And my senses never let me down.”

Noah’s finger now traced the line of her jaw. He knew she was unaware of how her full, damp lips entranced him. His throat tightened, and his breath went ragged with just one stroke of her skin. She was soft, silky, dangerous. Like the barnyard cat, she was elusive. He knew he shouldn’t try to catch her. One look in those eyes, and all of his careful plans could go up in smoke.

“I trust my senses, also,” she was saying. “And I sense you are not keeping our contract.”

“I’ll keep the contract, Isobel. I’m a man of my word. But your lips are telling me one thing, while your eyes are telling me something else.”

“No. You’re wrong.”

She tried to step aside, but he caught her shoulders and drew her close. His hands slipped up and cupped her head. His fingers weaving through her silky hair, he pressed his lips against hers.

Her breath was sweet, fragrant, coming in shallow gasps as she stood rigid in his arms. Puzzled, he studied her face. Surely this gun-toting, haughty, gutsy woman had been kissed many a time. But she trembled against him, her eyes deepening to pools as she gazed into his.

“Isobel,” he whispered, uncertain what to do next.

“Kiss me one more time,” she murmured, her eyelids drifting shut. “Just once, and never again.”

Chapter Five

Moonlight wafted through the iron fretwork on the window to drape a lacy shadow over the room. Unaware, she drifted toward him as his lips brushed hers. She slid her arms around his chest. Reveling in the rich scent of leather and soft flannel, in the rough graze of his chin against her skin, she ran her fingers down his back, which was solid, as hard as steel.

The sense that he was someone she must keep at a distance evaporated in yet another crush of heated lips.

“Isobel,” Noah murmured. His blue eyes had gone inky in the flicker of the candles. “I promised not to touch you. I made a vow.”

Even as he spoke, she read his plea to be released from that oath. How should she respond to the unbearable tumult he had provoked inside her? She must think of who he was—a mere acquaintance, an American, a common cattleman.

But why did his words sound like poetry in her ears and his kisses feel like music? Perhaps it was the moonlight or the crackling fire. Maybe it was the turmoil that spun through her heart. Or simply the magic of a man’s touch.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” she whispered.

“The same thing you’ve done to me. But it’s not right. For either of us.”

She wanted to argue, but the words didn’t come. For endless minutes, they gazed at each other. Then with a deep sigh, Noah shook his head, grabbed his saddlebag and bedroll and left the room.

“Isobel.” A cool hand rested on her arm. “Isobel, wake up. The morning is half gone!”

Her eyes flicked open. But instead of the man with blue eyes who had walked through her dreams, she looked into the face of her sweet friend. “Susan? Where is…what time is it?”

“After eight. Noah sent me to look in on you.”

Isobel struggled to one elbow. “Where is he?”

“At Alexander McSween’s house. He and Dick have been talking since dawn.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. I was in the kitchen helping Mrs. McSween. Here’s your breakfast.” Susan set a basket of warm tortillas on a small table and glanced to the end of the bed. “Isobel, what happened last night? You look…rumpled.”

Isobel touched her tender lips, remembering. “I’m all right, Susan.”

“Did you and Noah…? Did he try to…?”

“No, it’s nothing.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “He wants me to go to Santa Fe. To Don Guillermo. Noah is…a problem. A problem for me. I’m sorry I agreed to the arrangement.”

She tried to make the words ring true, but they sounded hollow and empty.

“Isobel,” Susan spoke up, “if that cowboy is bothering you, we’ll find a way to get you to Santa Fe. I know your don will protect you.”