Bride by Mail. Katy Madison

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      He turned toward her, shut one eye and swiped water away from his face with a broad hand. “I thought you wanted to wash.”

      “Yes, of course.” Olivia stepped gingerly toward the edge of the rushing water. The stream frothed around rocks and boulders. The sides lapped at grassy shoals. She stepped close, but her foot sank and tore grass from the soggy bank. With Jack watching her, she didn’t want to slip.

      Jack lathered up with a brown bar.

      Wary of the rushing water and the dark shadows concealing who knew what, Olivia stepped onto a large rock. Her chosen perch was not as flat as his. She wobbled, fighting for her balance.

      Kneeling on the surface, she reached down into the icy water and flinched. “That’s c-cold.”

      “Snowmelt off the mountains.” Jack stood and brushed water from his arms. He shoved the wet tendrils of his hair back from his face. “Streams around here are always cold.”

      Scarcely able to look away from him, Olivia cupped water in her rapidly growing-numb fingers and raised it to her face.

      “Want this?” he asked. He held out the brown bar.

      “I brought my own, thank you.” Olivia unwrapped the perfumed bar of factory-milled soap she’d bought in Connecticut.

      “The biscuits are probably done.” Jack leaped off his rock and retrieved his shirt.

      Although the icy water made her shiver and shake, Olivia lathered her face and neck. Taking care not to get her clothes wet, she rinsed.

      Jack lifted the lantern, casting the stream around her into darkness. Undoubtedly he was impatient to get back. Olivia placed the soap back in its paper wrapper and dunked her hands in the frigid flow. Wiping her hands on her towel, she stood. She stepped toward the side of the stream.

      Jack leaned and retrieved his rifle. The lantern swung behind him and the illumination disappeared as she stepped onto another stone. The wet surface of the stone provided no purchase. Her demi-boots were barely meant for walking, and the thin heels made her skid worse. Off-balance, Olivia flayed. The precious soap squirted out of her hand and plopped into the stream.

      She twisted to retrieve it. Her heel skidded sideways and slipped off the rock. She pitched forward. She caught her soap just before her face hit the surface. The icy blast made her gasp.

      Water filled her mouth and nose. The freezing water stabbed with a thousand pricks. Coughing and sputtering, she thrashed. The rushing stream rammed her, knocking her feet sideways. Her lungs refused to fill with air. Rocks shifted under her hands and knees. Each time she tried to find purchase, the bed shifted. The knifing flow relentlessly tossed her like a cork.

      God, she didn’t want to drown now.

      The memories of clawing to be free of the underwater train wreckage flashed in her head, jumbling with the pounding of the creek water. The same sense of imminent death coldly knifed her. Her throat tightened. Silent screams echoed in her head.

      She had to survive. Her hands scraped the streambed. If she could reach the bottom, surely she could push up. Her lungs fought to expel the inhaled water. Choking, she convulsed, coughing.

      No! She wouldn’t die now. Not like this. She scrabbled against the rocky bottom. Her thick, sodden skirts caught the water like sails. Their weight dragged her. The rush of water swept her along. Her head glanced off a rock. Her starved lungs sucked in water as blackness closed in.

      Chapter Five

      My cabin is on the southern side of a small mountain to the northwest of Denver City. The tallest of snow-covered purple peaks can be seen through the windows. The glass was hard to get out here, but well worth the trouble. A quiet woman might appreciate being able to look out on the majestic Rockies, but it is isolated and far from any loved ones you might leave behind.

      Jack couldn’t believe Olivia was about to drown in less than three feet of water. She’d surfaced once, but now the current tugged her into the swiftest rapids. Jutting boulders stirred froth. He pitched his rifle and dropped the lantern. To get ahead of her, he hurdled along the uneven bank.

      The swollen creek rushed furiously along, tossing and turning her.

      His throat squeezed and his heart hammered. He splashed into the water and grabbed a fistful of sodden material. Her weight and the force of the water nearly unbalanced him. His shoulder strained as he braced his feet against the shifting streambed.

      He managed to get his arm under her midsection. Her soaking clothes doubled her weight.

      Her abdomen heaved against his arm. She thrashed against him. Her heel connected with his shin.

      Nearly dropping them both into the drink, Jack reared back. “Stop fighting!”

      Setting his feet, he lifted her all the way out of the water.

      She coughed and sputtered.

      His boots squelching, he lugged her to the bank. He set her down. Hacking and choking, she fell to her knees.

      Cold stabbed him. His toes stung. He hadn’t noticed the iciness when he’d been trying to pull Olivia out, but he sure as hell noticed it now. Soaked through and through, Olivia had to be worse. Hell, if she didn’t drown, she’d probably die of exposure.

      He heaved in a couple of deep breaths. “Are you all right?”

      He didn’t really expect an answer, but she lifted a hand. A flash of white caught his attention. He leaned closer. She held her soap. Merde, had she plunged into the water after a bar of soap?

      His heart thundered. He should toss her back out in the churning stream. “What were you thinking?”

      She coughed and then pushed up slowly to stand. Scowling, she straightened her spine to the rigid erectness of her normal posture. “I was thinking I’d like a b-b-bath.”

      A bark spewed from his mouth. He couldn’t have said if he was amused or angry. Both, perhaps.

      Did his wife have a sense of humor under all that frosty hauteur? God help him if she was serious. He stared at her and she stared back.

      “C-c-could we go b-back to the f-f-fire?” She turned and took a dragging step toward the lantern. Thank God it hadn’t tipped and started a forest fire.

      He had to get her dried and warm. The wet cotton would suck the warmth out of her faster than a deerfly could suck blood. She’d end up with pneumonia or worse. Olivia took another slow step. The sodden wet weight of her skirts tripped her.

      Olivia squelched a couple of awkward steps away from the frigid stream. Her soaking-wet dress, nightgown and petticoats dragged. She gathered the brown twill hem in numb fingers. Shaking uncontrollably, she wrung out water.

      She couldn’t feel her feet. Not daring to look at Jack for fear of the disappointment she’d find, she wished herself far away.

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