THE OUTLAW BRIDE Read online

  She'd had him alone, out here in the woods all the day through, and now he was packing the tools back into the little cart, drawing his horse over to it and hitching it up. Soon her opportunity would be over!

  "We'll wait for a day when it's not so danged windy to burn this brush," he said matter-of-factly. Just making conversation while he piled the tools into the cart. "But for now, this is good. There's supposed to be a little rain tonight. So the grass seed'll take root right off. We can pick up some flower bulbs and such in town. Chelsea would know more about that than I do, but…"

  "Elliot?"

  He stopped talking, turned to face her. She stood just about two feet in front of him, and it was clear he was making a concerted effort at keeping his eyes off her chest. And succeeding, damn him.

  "It's … so hot. And we've worked so hard. Isn't there a … a water hole where we could go to … ah … cool off?"

  "Cool off?" he repeated.

  "Sí." She offered a slow smile, tugged the damp shirt away from her skin. "I don't want to go back to the house so sticky. What about the stream?"

  "Oh, well, hey, you don't want to go in the stream. It's too damn cold. I mean, uh, you'd have goose bumps the size of…" He blinked fast, gave his head a shake.

  "I don't care. I just need to cool off." She turned away, started marching off toward the stream, and called over her shoulder, "You don't have to wait for me, Elliot. You can go on without me. I will walk back to the ranch on my own."

  Odd, she thought, how she already knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't consider that an option.

  And then that thought led to another. If he was truly too decent to let a guest wander around alone after dark, then maybe he wasn't putting on a big act after all. Maybe he really was nothing like his ancestors.

  But that had no bearing on her situation. She needed her ranch back, and the moral character of its wrongful owner didn't matter in the least.

  "Now, I can't let you be doing that. I'll come with you," he was saying, and when she glanced behind her it was to see him hurrying to catch up. "Just one quick dip, though. The horse is all hitched up and ready to go. All right?"

  "Okay." She blinked at him. "Whatever you say, Elliot."

  "Right."

  "Is this a good spot?" She'd reached the banks of the stream now and, walking along the edge, had located a place where the stream widened and deepened. A natural pool of crystalline water.

  "As good as any," Elliot said, sounding genuinely unenthused.

  The sun was on its way to setting. A soft pink hue had settled over the sky, just a whisper darker than daylight, but a shade less than twilight still. "No one will come along, will they, Elliot?" she asked, feigning shyness … sensing it was called for this time.

  He looked at her, said no, then looked again. "Why would you ask that?"

  "Well, I don't intend to bathe in public, silly!" she said. And gritting her teeth, stiffening her spine, she peeled the sweat-damp tank top off over her head.

  Elliot swore and quickly turned away. She pretended not to notice and shucked off the jeans, as well, standing there in only the small panties and bra she still was unused to. And finally she took a step and jumped into the water.

  When he heard the splash, her unwilling voyeur looked her way again, probably thinking it was safe now to do so. But Esmeralda was beyond caring what he thought. The water was liquid ice! Her body went rigid with cold, and she surfaced, found her footing and hugged herself. Her teeth chattered, and her entire body felt as if it were turning blue. She swore, too. For far different reasons than Elliot had, she suspected. Shivering violently, she walked toward the edge through the waist-deep water.

  Elliot grinned at her. "Told you it was cold." He came closer, no longer embarrassed, extending a hand.

  She took it. "You didn't t-tell me it was frozen!" she said accusingly.

  He pulled her up, and she went … right up out of the water and right into his arms. He yelped and would have backed off, but she gripped him and held on. "Don't you dare push me away," she stammered. "I'm freezing!"

  "Yow!" No doubt the cold water on her body was chilling him, too, but he stood still as she pressed against him, even put his arms around her after a moment. "So, are you cooled off enough now?" he asked her.

  "Sí. Too cooled off."

  "Let me get my shirt for you." He let her go just for a moment, to retrieve the shirt he'd discarded earlier, and then came back to her. Standing in front of her, he draped the shirt over her shoulders, but as he did, his gaze strayed lower. And she saw its heat. His eyes raked over her breasts, their nipples pebbling beneath the bra. And then slid lower, over her belly. And finally he pulled the shirt closed in front, shutting his eyes.

  "I'm still cold," she whispered. "Hold me again, Elliot?" She leaned against his chest. But his arms remained at his sides.

  "I … don't think that's such a good idea," he muttered.

  Lifting her head, staring up into his eyes, her lips only a heartbeat from his, she said, "Please?"

  He swore again. Softly. And then he bent his head, and he kissed her. It started out soft, gentle, and she knew he expected her to object. To push him away, or go stiff. But she didn't plan to do that. She planned to kiss him back.

  But the moment his mouth covered hers, it didn't matter what she had planned.

  She melted in his arms when they closed around her. She parted to his mouth when it nudged hers. She accepted his tongue when it slid between her lips. And when his body pressed to hers, hers pressed back. When his hips moved, and his hands urged hers to do likewise, they obeyed. There was no plan, no thought, no will, no conscious action. There was only sensation. A swirling cyclone of feelings. Touch and taste and smell. His skin was hot against her chilled flesh, hard against her softness. She smelled like ice water, and he like horse and sawdust and sweat. And she liked it. She loved it.

  Her hands touched his hair, running over it and under it and threading through it. She tasted his mouth … he devoured hers. Nothing eased, nothing cooled. It only got more and more intense. His hands pulled her harder against him. His body grew harder against hers.

  And he was parting that shirt he'd only just put on her, running his hands over her bare back and over the silky panties she wore. And higher, over her shoulders, and then creeping around one side, all the way around until he cupped a breast, his fingertips rubbing that chilled, sensitized peak. His mouth trailed a hot path from her mouth to her jaw, down to her neck, and lower, and…

  And he paused … and she knew he wanted to put his lips on her breast, and she was waiting … aching, longing for him to.

  He was so close … she could feel his breath, hot and quick, bathing her nipple. Her hands tightened at the nape of his neck where she held him. Just slightly. Just enough to tell him…

  He shook his head, pulled away from her, so that her hands fell to her sides. He turned his back and pushed his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry, Esmeralda," he whispered, his voice coarse. Rough. So filled with regret and still laced with so much passion that she trembled at the very sound of it. It was like a touch. Like a rough, gentle touch.

  "No," she whispered. "No, Elliot Brand, you must not be sorry."

  "No?" Slowly, he faced her again. And his eyes, when they roamed over her face, were so … tender. He reached up, pulled the shirt closed. "You lost your father a few days ago, were nearly raped after that. Then you killed a man, were arrested, beaten up and nearly hanged. Then you were dragged off by someone you probably thought was a ghost, shot at and, finally, you were whisked through time by some magic pendant. You telling me you're in any shape to be thinking clearly right now?"

  She lowered her head. "I don't know."

  "You don't need to know. I'm not an idiot. I have a brain, and I do know. This isn't the time for this, Esmeralda."

  Her head snapped up fast. "I want you, Elliot Brand. That much I do know. I've never … never wanted a man this way before…" She saw how his e
yes darkened, saw him avert them, and lowered her head. "You think I am wanton for saying this to you?"

  His hand came to her face, tilting it up. "I think you're a dream, Esmeralda. A dream come to life. And I want you, too. So much it's all I can do to keep my hands off you right now. But…"

  "But what?"

  "It wouldn't be fair," he said. "Because you are alone and confused, and maybe turning to me because I'm the only person here who knows the truth about you, or because of what we went through together. I don't know. But … but I can't take advantage of you."

  She nodded slowly, studying his face. "And what if it is none of those things, Elliot Brand? What if … it is simply that … we want to make love to each other?"

  He shuddered visibly. "Then we will. Make no mistake about it, Esmeralda. We will."

  She closed her eyes, lowered her head until it rested upon his shoulder. "And how long will you make me wait for you?" she whispered. "Until I lose my mind? Until I go up in flames and nothing remains but ash?"

  His hands stroked her hair, her back. "You do wonders for a man's ego, you know that?"

  "I speak only what I feel," she whispered.

  "I need to be sure of something, Esmeralda. I need you to be sure of something."

  "I am sure that I want you," she told him, nestling closer in his arms. "What more can there be to know?"

  "Oh, a lot more." Gripping her shoulders, he set her back just slightly and stared into her eyes. "Look at me," he said softly.

  She did. He was a beautiful man. Deep, dark eyes, and hair of russet brown with a rusty auburn light in its depths. Full lips, and a strong jaw.

  "I want you to be sure of who I am, Esmeralda. Elliot Brand … not Eldon. Not anything close to Eldon."

  Confused, she frowned at him, shaking her head. "But I do know that."

  "Do you? Do you really?"

  "Sí! You are nothing like Eldon."

  He nodded. "No, I'm not. And when I make love to you, Esmeralda, I want to know you'll remember that. I don't want you to look at me and suddenly remember him. Or think of him. I want there to be no nightmarish memories. Only you and me."

  She nodded, unsure what to say.

  "Right now I think it's too soon for that. All that happened to you is still too fresh in your mind to be so easily forgotten. But it will be … in time. You need to rest, you need to heal. And when you're ready … if you still want me…" He stepped back again, to search her face. Then his eyes widened. "Esmeralda? Why are you crying?"

  "Am I?" She lifted her fingertips to her cheeks and felt the tears there. She shook her head as if in denial. "I don't know," she told him. "I … I don't know." And, turning her back to Elliot, she walked away to find her jeans, and her sanity, and her plan.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Wes was on the porch swing, booted feet propped on the railing, black hat shading his eyes, when they got back to the house. Elliot could see he didn't look happy, even with his eyes hidden. And he figured Esmeralda could see it, too. It was in the angle of his head, in his posture. In his lips. She stiffened a bit. Elliot wished he could soothe her. Poor thing. Wes had never looked exactly friendly, and he must remind Esmeralda painfully of his historical counterpart, the outlaw Waylon Brand.

  Sighing, Elliot slowed the horse but didn't get down. He tipped his hat at his brother, intending to head straight to the stable, but Wes got to his feet.

  "We need to talk."

  "Yeah? About what?" Elliot drew the horse to a halt but still didn't get down.

  "Lots of things." Wes leaned backward, pushed open the screen door and called, "They're back."

  A second later Garrett appeared in the doorway, and Sara Brand was standing beside him. Elliot blinked. "Sara? Hey, what are you doin' here?" This time he did get down off the horse, forgetting all about Esmeralda as he ran up the steps and scooped the slightly built blonde right off her feet.

  When he put her down, she was laughing. "I came to spend some time with my family," she said, beaming. "Don't tell me you're all sick of me already?"

  "Hell, no. We lost you for twenty years, hon. That's lots of time to make up for." He hugged her again. Garrett cleared his throat, and when Elliot glanced at him, he nodded toward the woman Elliot had left sitting astride a tired horse. Esmeralda.

  Oh, hell, the look on her face right now would burn holes through solid rock. "Ah, shoot, I'm sorry. Sara, meet Esmeralda Montoya. Esmeralda, this is Sara Brand, my cousin."

  Esmeralda's eyebrows rose. "Cousin?"

  Did he detect a hint of relief in those dark eyes? Then … had that been jealousy blazing there before? No, it couldn't…

  Esmeralda dismounted and came forward. Sara took her hand and offered a smile. "So you're the mysterious houseguest I've been hearing so much about," she said.

  Esmeralda looked alarmed, and her gaze shot to Elliot's. Elliot shrugged. "That she is. Um, look, I know we have a ton of catching up to do, Sara, but I ought to take care of the horse, and I think Wes here wants a minute with me. How long are you staying?"

  "A couple of weeks, if you'll have me that long."

  "Shoot, cuz, we'd keep you permanently if we could, and you know it."

  He turned as if to go and tend his horse, but Sara's hand on his arm stilled him. "Why don't you let Esmeralda and me do that?" she said.

  Elliot turned back again, and frowned.

  "It'll give you a chance to have that talk with Wes. And give me a chance to get to know your new friend. Besides, I've been dying to get out to the stables. You know how I love the horses."

  Elliot tilted his head. Something was up. He felt an ambush coming on. The hairs on the back of his neck were bristling. He looked at Esmeralda.

  She shrugged. "It is fine with me," she said. Then she looked Wes square in the eye. "But in future, Señor Brand, if you wish a word alone with your brother, you need only say so. How long do you wish for the señorita and me to play at conversation in the stables, eh?"

  Wes blinked in shock, gaping at her. It was seldom that Elliot saw his brother rendered speechless, but he saw it now. He felt his admiration for Esmeralda go up another notch. And he felt proud of her, too.

  While Wes stared, Garrett spoke. Only he sounded too serious, and slightly grim. "Ten minutes ought to do it."

  She nodded once, firmly. "Fine. I would also add, Señor Brand, that I prefer to be present when I am the subject of conversation. However, I will abide by your wishes in this." Turning sharply on her heel, she walked to the horse, gripped its harness and started off toward the barn.

  Sara stood there, looking worried. "Not exactly friendly, is she?"

  "I'm not feeling too friendly just now myself," Elliot said. "What's this all about, Wes?"

  Wes nodded at Sara, and Sara nodded back, then hurried off after Esmeralda and the horse and cart. When they were out of earshot, Wes said, "Sit down, Elliot."

  "I'll stand, thanks. Just say what you have to say and let's get this over with."

  "I intend to."

  "Now calm down, you two," Garrett said, cutting in. He came down two steps and sat. Elliot stood leaning on the porch rail just to one side of the steps, and Wes stood in front of the swing on the other side, looking poised for a fight. "This isn't any cause for an argument."

  "Yeah, well, I'll reserve judgment on that," Elliot said. "What is it, Wes?"

  Wes sighed, shook his head. "First off, it's that the artifact is nowhere to be found. Taylor and I have been over every inch of your pickup and the area where you crashed, and there's no sign of that skull anywhere."

  "So?"

  "So the only two people there were you and this Esmeralda person. We started looking last night, and we've turned over every inch of ground since. It's not there, Elliot."

  Elliot straightened away from the rail. "Are you accusing me of something, big brother?"

  Wes sighed hard. "Someone took it. Someone had to take it or it would still be there, El. And
you know damn well I don't mean you."

  "Esmeralda, then."

  Wes lifted his brows and his shoulders. "Hey, if the shoe fits—"

  "My shoe's gonna fit right up your—"

  "Now hold on!" Garrett got to his feet just as Elliot surged toward Wes. He stood between them, a palm against each brother's chest. "Elliot, I know you like her. Okay? I know this is gonna upset you, but you have to hear us out on this."

  "Us?" Elliot blinked at Garrett. "You telling me Wes has you believing this bull, too?"

  "Elliot, there's more," Garrett said slowly. "Look … I ran a background check on her … or tried to. Elliot … there's nothing. It's as if she doesn't exist."

  Elliot closed his eyes, lowered his head.

  "You don't seem surprised by that, Elliot," Wes said. "You knew she was using a false name, is that it?"

  Shaking his head, Elliot said, "It's her real name. And she does exist … and she didn't steal the damned skull."

  "Taylor said it was priceless, El," Garrett went on. "To a woman in her situation, it might be awfully tempting to—"

  "She didn't steal the skull."

  "No, I didn't." Esmeralda's voice came from behind them, and all three heads turned sharply. She stood in the driveway about ten feet away. Sara came running out of the stables after her, but she'd already heard all she needed to. "I didn't steal the skull, because it was already mine. Given to me by my father before he was killed. But it vanished … and I have no idea where it is now."

  The men stared. Garrett curious, Wes suspicious. But Esmeralda's eyes were fixed only on Elliot's. "We have to tell them the truth," she said. "It is time, Elliot."

  Closing his eyes, he nodded. "They're not gonna believe it."

  "Not gonna believe what?" Wes demanded. "Will one of you please tell me what the hell you're talking about?"

  Elliot nodded slowly, sighed deeply and dreaded what he was going to have to do. "Yeah. In a bit. Garrett, you may as well call a family meeting. No sense us going over all this more than once. Come on." He held out a hand to Esmeralda. She walked toward him, came up the porch steps, and took hold of it. She looked offended, and maybe a little bit scared. "Just stay by me," Elliot told her. "It'll be all right."