Dreaming Of A Western Christmas: His Christmas Belle / The Cowboy of Christmas Past / Snowbound with the Cowboy. Lynna Banning

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СКАЧАТЬ counter. “I do not think...”

      “Take it or leave it,” he said. “Or you could go back east, like I said.”

      She bit her lower lip, considering the matter, and Brand tried not to think about how lush her mouth was.

      “Very well,” she said at last. She stuck out her hand. “I agree. We have a bargain, Mr. Wyler.”

      Without thinking he gripped her hand and shook it. Never in his life had he shaken hands with a woman. He’d waltzed with them, flirted with them, kissed them, made love to them. But shaken their hand? This one was so proper she squeaked.

      But her hand felt small and warm and womanly in his. Maybe not squeaky, just stiff and overproper.

      “Ya wanna try on them boots, miss?” Jase said from behind the counter.

      “Boots! I have proper shoes, thank you.”

      “Boots,” Brand snapped. “Winter’s just around the corner and on the trail you’ll want all the warmth you can get. Might hold those other duds up to you, see if they fit.”

      Again she stared at him, her eyes even wider and greener than before. Kinda slow in the brain department; you’d think she’d see the clothes and put two and two together.

      She dropped her gaze and very tentatively fingered the shirt on top of the stack, a red plaid. Jase shook it out and held it up to her frame. “Too big,” he muttered. He snaked it and two others out of the pile and replaced them. The jeans looked about right.

      She disappeared behind the door curtain with the boots. Jase grinned at him and added a wool poncho, a wide-brimmed black hat and a leather belt to the stack.

      “You got her between a rock an’ a creek, Brand. Don’t think she’ll be too happy till she’s broke in them boots.”

      Serves her right, Brand thought. She’d maneuvered him into this—he could maneuver right back.

      She stomped back through the curtain, slapped the boots on top of the pile and propped her hands at her waist. “What else?” she demanded.

      He turned to Jase. “Ammunition. Coffee. Bacon. Jerky. Couple cans of beans and tomatoes. And a blanket.” He’d borrow a saddle for the mare she’d be riding, along with saddlebags and an extra canteen. Didn’t figure they’d go five miles before she caved in.

      “Put it on my tab, will you, Jase? Better yet, send the bill to Colonel Clarke.” Yeah, he liked that idea.

      “I prefer to pay my own bills,” Miss Cumberland said, her tone frosty. “I have adequate funds on my person.”

      Brand studied her, wondering where she’d stashed it. “Best keep that fact under your hat, miss.”

      “But—”

      “And,” he couldn’t resist adding, “start learning to take orders. Here’s your first one—take these clothes over to the colonel’s quarters and pack ’em up in the saddlebag I’m gonna bring over. Colonel’s wife will help. Be ready at dawn.”

      Her eyes rounded. “You like giving orders, do you not?”

      “Got any objections?”

      “I most certainly do. It is rude and officious behavior.”

      Brand studied her flushed cheeks. Good. He’d made her good and mad. Maybe she’d give up this whole insane idea.

      “Well, like I said, ma’am, take it or leave it. You ride to Oregon on my terms, or you don’t ride at all.”

      The look she sent him could bake biscuits.

      * * *

      First thing the next morning, he gobbled Jase’s overfried eggs and bacon, outfitted his gelding and a sure-footed mare he’d picked out with bedrolls and his saddlebag, and strode over to Colonel Clarke’s quarters to collect Miss Suzannah Cumberland.

      She was waiting on the front porch, and he had to look twice to be sure it was really her. The red plaid shirt was filled out in all the right places, and the jeans clung to her saucy little butt like they’d been washed and shrunk on her body.

      He looked at her hard and his mouth went dry. She looked crisp and clean and brand-new. And damn pretty. She’d caught her shiny wheat-colored hair at her neck with a red ribbon, and the wide-brimmed black hat he’d picked out rode jauntily on the top of her head.

      He swallowed and led both horses up to the porch. “Here’s your mount. Name’s Lady.”

      She nodded. Brand picked up her saddlebag and slung it behind the saddle, then waited.

      She didn’t move.

      “Come on, Miss Cumberland. We’re wasting daylight.”

      “I—I did not expect the horse to be so large,” she said. The quaver in her voice made Brand’s gut tense. Oh, for cryin’ out loud.

      “All horses are ‘large.’”

      “Yes, I see.” Still she didn’t move.

      “You want to change your mind?” he prompted.

      “N-no. I will adjust.”

      Adjust! Riding a horse took a lot more than “adjusting.” What she needed to do was get on the damn horse.

      Slowly she descended the wide porch steps and edged over to where he stood holding her mare’s bridle. “How do I... I mean, is there a method for mounting?”

      “Yep. Put your left foot in this stirrup and grab onto the saddle horn, that little knob in front of the saddle.”

      She did as instructed, and he laid one hand on her behind to boost her up. It was so warm and plump under his palm he broke out in a sweat.

      She peered down at him. “It is quite far to the ground. Farther than I thought.”

      “Hold on to your reins and for God’s sake don’t kick the horse.” He mounted the black, leaned over and lifted the reins out of her white-knuckled grip. “Relax. I’m going to lead your horse till you get used to ridin’.” He touched his boot heels to the gelding’s sides and moved forward. The gray mare stepped after him, and Miss Cumberland let out a screech.

      “It’s moving!”

      “Damn right,” he said dryly. “Horses do this all the time. Just hang on.”

      He walked both mounts past the goggle-eyed sentry and out the gate while she clung to the saddle horn with both hands and made little moany sounds. God, four hundred miles of this was going to be pure hell.

      After a couple of miles he pulled up and laid the gray’s reins in her hands. The gloves Jase had picked out for her were so large the ends of her fingers were floppy. He didn’t want to think about those soft lily-white hands getting sweaty inside the leather.

      He didn’t want to think about her at all. СКАЧАТЬ