Their Wayward Bride(3)

I rolled her onto her back and her full breasts were beneath my gloved palms. I could tell they were full, lush mounds even through the layers of clothes. Her head had been protected by a tightly wrapped scarf, but she'd been laying there long enough for an inch of snow to cover her. I didn't even know if she was alive or dead. I wouldn't waste time finding out now. She had to be out of the elements and quickly.

The horse, however, was another matter. Leaving the woman, I went back to the horse, looked down at his front legs. There, as I'd suspected, was a nasty break, the bone sticking through the flesh in a white jagged edge. He must have stepped in a prairie dog hole. It was not uncommon and unfortunately, deadly. Cocking the rifle, I went back to the horse's head, stroked its sleek coat, and aimed.

The shot rang out in the night, but was muffled by the snow and blown away with the wind. I doubted any other men besides Brody would hear the shot. If they had, they'd wait for two more, three in a row being our signal for an emergency. No one would venture out in this weather otherwise. It was clearly deadly.

I couldn't take another moment over the horse; the woman was now my concern. Lifting her easily, I turned and followed my tracks back to the door. It would only be a matter of time before they disappeared. The wind wasn't as strong returning.

"So...cold," she murmured.

She was alive!

"I've got you," I replied. "In just a minute you're going to be nice and warm again. Just stay awake for me, sweetheart."

"You...you smell good," she slurred.#p#分页标题#e#

I couldn't help but chuckle at her words. Clearly she was out of her mind, for what woman would admit that while in such a predicament?

She wasn't a slight woman. I could feel her curves beneath my arms. It was her stillness that had me hastening my steps. Finally! The warm glow of the kitchen lantern came into view.

"Almost there, sweetheart."

I kicked the door with my foot. Once, twice.

Brody opened it right away. "Holy bloody hell," he muttered, stepping back to let me enter.

"Here. Take her."

I handed her off to a surprised Brody, his eyes widening when I'd said the word her and even further when he, too, felt her woman's shape.





CHAPTER TWO





BRODY





I stood in the kitchen, holding a woman. Stunned. Mason had gone back outside because he thought he heard a horse—I figured it had been the deceiving sound of the wind—and came back with a woman. Yes, she most surely was a woman. The size of her, the feel of her soft curves, even through her coat, provided no doubts. She was covered head to toe—boots, long dress, wool coat, a scarf that came down low over her face. I could see nothing of her skin, only feel her femininity. Her attire was no match for the fierce weather. What was she doing out in this storm? Why was she here, on Bridgewater? Where had she come from?

"Is she dead?" I asked Mason, who stripped off his gloves and coat. She was freezing cold and the snow that covered her began to dampen my shirt.

"No," he replied, breathing hard.

This spurred me into action. Spinning around, I gently placed her on the large kitchen table and started to rid her of her layers of clothes.

I worked the scarf from her head, unwinding it and dropping the damp item to the floor and she moaned. It made me pause. "I just want to sleep," she mumbled.

Her face was pale, so pale, and her were lips leeched of all color. If she slept now, she might die. We had to warm her up and keep her awake. "Oh, no. No sleeping," I said.

Her hair was a fiery red, a bun at the nape of her neck with wild tendrils falling over her face, the tips of some coated in snow and ice. I touched her cheek. It was icy cold.

"Mmm," she said and tilted her head into my fingers.

I looked up at Mason, who'd come to stand across from me, the woman between us on the table. "Get a quilt from the other room. Sit it on top of the stove to warm. It's not hot enough now to burn."

Her life was in our hands. I went down to her feet to take off her boots, but ice encrusted the laces. I grabbed a large kitchen knife and cut through them. I tossed the knife onto the stove with a clatter, tugging one boot off, then the other.

"Wait," she called out, shifting on the table. "What are you doing?" Her eyes opened and she looked at me, confused and lost. Her eyes were so green, so clear.

"You're cold and wet, and some of you clothes are covered in ice. We need to get you warm."

I didn't wait and discuss this further; it was a matter of life and death. Next came her heavy stockings, tied with a ribbon just above her knees.

Mason returned with two quilts, one he laid on the stove, the other on the chair beside him. He nimbly worked the other stocking free, as I undid the buttons of her coat.