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  Darkness engulfed them and Becca shivered. She was stuck in a small dark space with a large strange man. As soon as the tarp shut out the cold and the wind, his heady scent surrounded her along with her fear. Through odors of dirt and sweat, arose a scent that was decidedly male. Fresh air and leather blended with warm, spicy skin.

  Becca knelt beside him and lit a candle so she could check on him one more time. The flickering flame cast eerie shadows on the walls, but it gave off a comforting light. The stranger’s face looked less intimidating in the pale glow, rather boyish and peaceful in sleep. The only thing that gave away his age, besides his size, was the shadow of whiskers that shaded his jaw. Becca reached out to touch it, then pulled her hand back. What was she doing?

  She sat back on her heels and looked her patient over. His clothes were those of a common man, but they were in good repair. He didn’t have a beard—save a day or two’s growth—so he must shave. And bathe. The smell of soap mingled with his scent.

  The storm arrived. Rain pelted the tiny structure and dripped through the cracks.

  Becca tucked the blanket in around the man, then huddled against the wall under a smaller one of her own. With one last glance in his direction, she blew out the candle and plunged them into darkness.

  “Get away from her!” an enraged voice growled.

  Becca screamed as an arm landed a heavy blow to her shoulder. Her heart pounding, she scrambled back into the corner of the hut, unsheathed her knife, and clutched the grip.

  “I said, get away!”

  It sounded like the man. He was thrashing in the dark next to her, but who was he yelling at? She didn’t sense anyone else in the room.

  “Don’t do this.” His tone became fearful. Pleading, almost. “No! Rachel!”

  Rachel?

  “No! No, Rachel, no...” His shouts decayed into sobs.

  Becca pressed a hand to her chest and blew out the breath she’d been holding. He must be dreaming. “Mister.” She nudged him with the toe of her boot. “Mister. Wake up.”

  He swung at her again, barely missing the knife.

  “Mister! Wake up! You’re having a dream!”

  “Rachel?”

  “No, I’m not Rachel.” Becca lit the candle as quickly as she could.

  The man squinted and threw a hand over his eyes, then lowered it and looked at her as if she had three heads.

  “Relax. You’re safe.”

  He looked around. “Where am I?”

  Becca sheathed her knife and wedged the candle safely between two of the branches. “You’re...” How should she answer that? “You’re in southern New Mexico Territory, just west of the Rio Grande. I found you lying unconscious on the ground. A storm was coming, so I brought you here.”

  He studied her again—she must only have two heads now.

  “Are you thirsty?”

  He nodded, still studying her.

  Becca lifted her canteen from its resting place against the wall.

  “Ahhh,” he groaned. He’d tried to sit up.

  “You’re hurt. Stay where you are.” She bundled up her blanket and placed it under his head, then opened the canteen and held it to his lips. “Here. Drink some.”

  He pulled away and eyed her with suspicion.

  “It’s just water.”

  He hesitated, then placed his lips against the spout. After the first sip, he tipped it up and drank so greedily he nearly choked.

  “Easy. There’s plenty.” She gave him his fill and capped the canteen. “Are you hungry?”

  He relaxed against the rolled blanket and shook his head, wincing with the movement.

  Becca sorted through her things and fished around in a cotton sack. The candle barely gave off enough light to see inside, and it took her a while to find what she was searching for. She pulled out two potatoes and a bag of dried fruit. “Are you sure? I have enough to—”

  His eyes were closed. His head lay lolled to one side, and his breathing was slow and deep.

  A smile tugged at her lips. His face was lax again—long, brown lashes grazing his cheeks and lips full and round, now that they weren’t stretched thin with doubt. Handsome, she thought as she settled her back against the wall. He was certainly handsome.

  She drew out her knife and peeled a potato, then sliced it and ate as the slowing rain pattered against the roof. She couldn’t tell if it was day or night, but she didn’t care. They were stuck there till the storm passed anyway.

  Becca started to peel the second potato, then set it aside. Better to save it. Once the man got his appetite back, he’d be hungry as a bear. She cleaned her knife, nibbled on some dried berries, and then put the knife and the food away.

  After slipping outside to relieve herself, she crouched down and ducked back into the hut, careful not to clomp her boots and jar the sled. The man was still sleeping... and, she frowned, he had both blankets. That was a problem. She didn’t fear a freeze, but her clothes were damp and the temperature was dropping by the hour. With the sled covering most of the floor, there was no room inside the hut for a fire, and the rain would douse it if she put it outside.

  Becca chewed her lip and pondered her predicament. She finally snuffed out the candle and lay with her back to the man, then tugged at the edge of the blanket and scooted closer still. Aunt Prudence wouldn’t approve. Heck, most everyone she knew wouldn’t approve, but she was cold. And they weren’t here.

  As the stranger’s heat warmed her spine and his snores brushed her ears, she decided there was no harm in breaking the rules for the sake of survival. It was prudent to stay warm and dry. And it was nice not to be alone.

  “Mmm.” Becca nuzzled closer to the warm, solid mass pressed against her cheek. The fabric under her skin was soft and the heat seeping through it was pure heaven.

  “Miss.” A deep, raspy sound vibrated her face. “Miss?”

  She bolted upright and stared into blue eyes fixed on hers. She must have rolled over sometime in the night. She’d been asleep with her head on the stranger’s—oh, dear—on his chest! “I... I...” Becca scrambled out from underneath the blanket. “I’m sorry. I—” Heat blazed from her neck to the roots of her hair.

  Seeming unfazed by her proximity or her mortification, the man threw back the blanket and attempted to sit up. “Owww.” He lay back down, clutching his side and his head. After taking several breaths, he tried again.

  “Don’t.” Becca knelt next to him. “You’re hurt. Remember?” She touched his arm, then jerked her hand back and patted the air instead. “You should stay put.”

  “I need to get up.” He propped on one elbow and prepared to rise a third time.

  “Mister, please. You hit your head and probably cracked some ribs when you fell. I’ll get you whatever you need, but you must stay put.”

  “I’ve got to get up. I need to make use of your outhouse.”

  “Oh.” Becca reached for a rusty can in the corner and handed it to the man. “Here. Use this and call for me when you’re done.” She got up to leave, but the look on his face stopped her. She was back to having three heads.

  “I can’t use this.” Disgust thickened his tone.

  “Why not? You used it yesterday.”

  “I did?”

  Becca nodded. “You were in and out of consciousness, and you were in no condition to walk. It was the only way.”

  “I don’t remember.” His gaze dropped to the buttons on his pants, and the color of his cheeks deepened. “Please tell me you didn’t have to...”

  She wondered if her face was as red as his. “No. You were able to do everything for yourself except empty the can.”

  Embarrassment fled and his brow turned as dark as a thundercloud. If he were more able-bodied, she’d have been scared.

  He tossed the can aside with a loud clank. “I’m not an invalid. Help me up.” He gritted his teeth in a twisted expression of pain and pushed himself into a sitting position. When she didn’t move, he glared at her. “Help me up!”
>
  Becca flinched, but she did as he asked.

  Acting as a human crutch—something for which she was a good height, even bent over—she pushed aside the canvas and helped him out of the hut. The man groaned as he straightened up. His face was pale in the morning light and his forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  He wasn’t, but she didn’t argue.

  The man took a few steps more and looked around.

  “There isn’t an outhouse. You’ll just have to—”

  “I get the picture,” he ground out.

  She tried to walk with him to the thicket, but he pushed her away and staggered there by himself. When he reached the trees and caught hold of one, she turned around and went inside.

  The man was gone quite a while, but Becca resisted the urge to check on him. She shoved down the worries rising up from her gut and busied herself laying out some food in the dappled light. She was glad for her new cave home, but part of her missed this place—especially this time of day. Even with the solid roof and the canvas in place, the sun found its way through the walls.

  “Miss?”

  Becca shot to her feet—ouch. She whirled around and rubbed her head where it struck the roof.

  “I—” He motioned to the place where he’d slept. “I need your help.” He looked weak and paler than before.

  Becca hurried to the man’s side and helped him lie down. The whimper of a moan that escaped his throat made her wince with him. He must really hurt.

  Once he was situated, she gave him a few sips from the canteen. “Would you like something to eat?”

  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and shook his head. “Not right now.” When he closed his eyes and rested his head on the rolled blanket again, a shaft of light illuminated his face. He was terribly pale, almost green, and the tiny beads of sweat hadn’t dried in the cool morning breeze.

  Becca fetched a cloth and returned to his side. She wet it with water from the canteen and proceeded to mop his brow.

  His eyes opened and he stared at her. Her hand paused as his gaze traveled from her eyes to her nose to her lips and back again.

  “I’m sorry to put you to all this trouble,” he said.

  A slight smile curved her lips, and she pressed the cloth to his face again. “It’s no trouble.”

  Once his color improved, Becca laid the cloth aside and settled herself against the opposite wall. “Will it bother you if I eat in front of you?”

  “Nah.”

  She pulled some dried fruit from her bag and nibbled on it as unobtrusively as possible.

  “My name’s Seth,” he finally said. “Seth Emerson.”

  “Nice to meet you, Seth.” She took another bite of fruit.

  “What about you?”

  “Hm?”

  “Do you have a name?”

  Becca stopped chewing. She bought herself time by taking a drink from her canteen. Maybe it would wash down the lump that had formed in her throat. How should she answer?

  Once the stranger was able, he would leave. What would it matter? “Angel.”

  He studied her, his clear blue eyes filled with questions his lips held at bay.

  Becca’s heart thudded in the silence. Did he remember calling her that? Did he know she was lying? She looked away and took another sip from her canteen.

  “Where am I?”

  Now she studied him. “You don’t remember?”

  Seth shook his head.

  Becca capped the canteen and set it aside. She told him again where they were and that she’d found him unconscious. Instead of the glazed look he’d given her the first time, his face lined with genuine concern.

  “How far away from here was I?”

  “’Bout half a mile.”

  He looked her up and down. “How’d you get me here?”

  Becca inclined her head. “The wood you’re lying on is a flat sled. I loaded you on it and dragged you here.” His mouth fell open and she bit back a grin. Three heads again. Maybe four. “I’m stronger than I look, you know.”

  He frowned. “Apparently.”

  “I waited as long as I could for your horse—”

  Seth came up off the pillow and cursed. When she stiffened, he blushed and looked at her from under those long lashes of his—a look his mother probably got a lot when he was little. “Beg pardon. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just can’t believe I forgot about Cyrus. I musta hit my head pretty hard.” He lowered himself again and sighed. “Everything I own was on that horse. All I got now are the clothes on my back.”

  “And your life.”

  He looked at her full on now. “You’re right,” he replied, even though the look in his eyes said he thought his life wasn’t much worth saving. He held her gaze, but it looked to be a struggle. “I don’t recall thanking you for bringing me here and taking care of me. So... thank you.”

  Becca set aside the food and brushed off her hands. “Wasn’t anything special. I’d have done the same for anyone. I’d be a pretty poor excuse for a human being if I’d left you there—” She swallowed past another sudden lump, then managed a pleasant expression. “Speaking of clothes, I have a spare outfit that’s about your size. If you like, you can change, and I’ll wash the ones you’re wearin’.”

  Three heads again. Men. Did he think she’d put him in a dress?

  “Do whatever you wish,” she said, pulling a gray pair of trousers and a white shirt from among her supplies, “but today is wash day. You can change and let me do your wash, or you can stay in your grimy things and hold your peace.” And I’ll hold my nose.

  “Whose clothes are those?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He narrowed his eyes. When he held out his hands, she tossed him the clothes.

  She placed a basin of water nearby, along with some soap and a cloth. “Can you manage by yourself?” Seth nodded, so she rose to leave.

  “Wait. Can you help me with my boots before you go?” He looked like a whipped puppy. Was it really so hard to ask for help?

  “Of course.” Becca straddled his leg with her back to him and pulled, freeing his foot, then did the same for the other. She set his boots neatly in the corner. “Anything else?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be back after a while,” she said as she pushed the canvas aside and stepped out. “Take your time.”

  Seth awoke to the sight of the slanted wood ceiling, still surprised by it after three days. He stood and rolled the stiffness from his shoulders, then pulled back the canvas door of the hut only to stop when he saw Angel a few feet away.

  She was kneeling on the ground with her back to him, dipping a cloth into a basin of water and washing her face. The soles of her boots peeked out from under the hem of her skirt, and her shirt, still tucked at the waist, hung inside out over her hips. The only thing covering her upper body was the sleeveless top of her chemise. Her honey-colored hair hung in a braid to her waist, and her skin was creamy white. There wasn’t much to her at all, she was thin, but the way her muscles shifted and sloped with every move revealed the source of her remarkable strength.

  Remarkable. The word described the woman in every way. Angel—or whatever her name was. She’d lied about that, he was sure—was a very big puzzle in a very small package. Stubborn as a mule and twice as mysterious. Every time he tried to get information out of her, she’d turn mute or change the subject.

  Truth be told, he couldn’t be sure she wasn’t an angel. Except for an outpost being built quite a ways to the south, there wasn’t an ounce of civilization for at least eighty miles. Why a woman would live alone in the wilderness baffled him. And how baffled him more.

  As Angel squeezed out the cloth and began washing her arms, a clash of conscience struck. This wasn’t right. A gentleman would turn away or make his presence known.

  Seth stepped out of the hut and cleared his throat.

  Angel dropped the cloth and
grabbed for her shirt, stuffing her arms in the sleeves as if her life depended on it.

  Way to go, imbecile. You interrupted her bath and embarrassed her in the process.

  She glanced back as she pulled the shirt on. A shaft of light lit the fine fringe of her hair, outlining her face in glowing strands of gold—and pointed to a purplish bloom of blue on the front her shoulder.

  Seth closed the distance between them in three long strides. “What’s that?” he asked, reaching for the bruise.

  Angel shrank from his touch. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing, Angel. What happened?” Had she lied about being alone? She was getting supplies from somewhere. “How did you get it?” he demanded.

  She pulled her shirt closed and shrank from him even more.

  “Did someone hit you?” His blood boiled at the thought.

  She nodded.

  He’d gladly beat the bastard. “Who?”

  She lifted her hesitant gaze until it met his. “You.”

  Seth’s lungs seized at her reply. He wished she were lying, but the candor in her pale, round eyes told him otherwise. Angel may have lied about her name, about other things she’d said, but she wasn’t lying about this.

  He dropped to his knees. “How? When did I do this to you?”

  She turned away and buttoned her shirt, then faced him again. “It happened the first night you were here. You had a dream—a nightmare, more like. You were yelling at someone and you struck me with your arm.”

  Seth nearly muttered a curse, but he stopped himself. Now it made sense, why she recoiled from him whenever he showed the least sign of anger.

  Angel brushed his forearm with her slender fingers. “It was an accident, Seth. You didn’t mean to hurt me. You didn’t know what you were doing. In fact, I think you were trying to protect someone. At first, I thought it was me, but...” Her hand fell away. “You were just dreaming.”

  “Did I hurt you any place else?”