Sagebrush Bride

CHAPTER ONE


August 1865 Dakota Territory



“I need a man.”

The quietly spoken words had nearly the same effect as though they had been shouted at the top of the woman’s lungs, drawing every ear and eye within spitting distance. At least seven brows lifted in silent question, four hat brims rose in consideration, three card hands laid flat, and a disbelieving jaw dropped in stunned surprise.

The storm of voices abated completely, and the cessation of sound was punctuated by the noisy thumping of mugs as one by one they came down upon the wooden tables.

In the ensuing silence even the flickering gas lanterns seemed to roar in Elizabeth Bowcock’s tender ears.

The glass Josephine McKenzie had been wiping clean plummeted to the floor, shattering. “Are ya crazy?” she asked. Reaching over the counter, she slapped a hand over Elizabeth’s mouth to halt her impetuous words. “What do you mean coming in here spoutin’ off that hogwash?” Her eyes narrowed in censure.

With an exasperated sigh, Elizabeth smacked her friend’s hand away from her face. “Where else would I expect to find one?” She fought back the despairing urge to crawl over the bar and spend her tears upon Jo’s shoulder. Only the knowledge that everyone’s eyes were suddenly fixed upon them kept her rooted to the spot.

As though trying to calm herself, she removed her worn spectacles and blew at a nonexistent speck of dust. Replacing them haphazardly on the bridge of her softly freckled nose, she straightened her shoulders and tried to bolster her pride.

She’d never been anything more than Doc Angus’ spinster daughter. When her father had just up and died last fall, it had seemed only natural she take over his practice. Doc Liz, the men called her. And no, she didn’t attract men’s attention, with her ugly specs, her baggy clothes, and her thick, dark blond braid of hair hanging like a donkey’s tail behind her, but for the briefest moment, with those spectacles gone, she had felt… well, passin’ pretty.

Maybe it was simply the effect of those four little words: I need a man. But she did suddenly attract unusual attention—especially since there was such a shortage of women in Sioux Falls these days, both marriageable and unmarriageable alike.

Ears perked.

Jo’s dark eyes blazed. The red plume in her auburn hair shook determinedly. “Not in my place you won’t—leastways not the kind I reckon you’re hoping for!’’

With a glaring sidewise glance at their unwelcome audience, Jo came around the bar and seized hold of Elizabeth’s arm. “Look what you’ve gone and done!” She fired another anxious look over her shoulder. “Good Lord, no—don’t! Come on, we’ll talk in the back. Quick,” she urged. “Looks like you’ve hatched yourself a mess o’ trouble this time, sugar.”

With the sound of a chair being raked behind them, Elizabeth realized her blunder.

Too late.

“Now, now, Miss Josephine, where ya thinkin’ ta take the gal?” Dick Brady asked, keeping pace behind them.

Elizabeth could almost smell his liquor-charged breath as he slipped a hand over her shoulder and jerked her to a halt.

“Dadburn it, I said ta wait a minute,” he blustered.

Squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth swung about to confront the bristle-faced man.

“I believe, if’n I heard the gal right, Miss Josephine,” Brady continued, “she said she was needin’ herself a man. I don’t rightly think you ken help her out with that, now ken ya?” He scratched his heavily whiskered jaw, his face contorting with the brutish pleasure that skin scraping gave him. “Best you leave that business to me,” he crowed. “What ya got ta say ’bout that, Miss Lizzy?” He gazed at her lewdly. “You want me to help ya out, sweet Miss Lizzy?”

Sweet Miss Lizzy?

Elizabeth’s stomach recoiled at his revolting proposition. And since when had she become sweet Miss Lizzy?

“Doc Liz!” she snapped. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Brady—and no! I surely don’t need your help!”

Turning from him, she shuddered with disgust and started away, refusing to allow him to intimidate her.

By most accounts, the man was a shiftless ranch hand, unable to find permanent work with decent folks. Mostly he just gambled with drifters, cheating for his money—and he didn’t do that very well, from the rumors Elizabeth had heard. How he’d managed to hang around Sioux Falls so long, she really didn’t know, burning bridges as freely as he did.

Taking her cue from Elizabeth, Jo turned, too, her eyes lifting skyward in supplication. She hoped it would end there, prayed it would. Trouble was, she knew better.

Brady moved in front of them, blocking their path. He leaned his elbows back much too casually upon the bar, all the while eyeing Elizabeth obscenely.

Darting a look across the room, Jo found their one chance at deliverance fast asleep, hat on face and all, and she muttered an unintelligible curse. How dare Cutter sleep so placidly just now? For a moment, in her irritation, she considered screaming for help, but then decided against it. How many times had she spouted off to Cutter that she could manage things well enough on her own? Besides, if she could keep from mopping up blood tonight, that was the way to go. There was no telling how her brother would react if she roused him from his nap, particularly to the sound of her screaming.

Brady scratched his forehead. The scraping sent another shudder down Elizabeth’s spine. “Well now… I think ya do, Miss Lizzy. You ask for a man and here I am,” he said with a meaningful grin. He reached out and seized Elizabeth’s dowdy spectacles from her face before she’d realized what he intended, looking the shiny lenses over, this way and that, finally raising a matted brow at her.

“Well, lookee here,” he said finally. “Don’t think I done spected there was a real lady behind these things.” He looked up at her meaningfully. “Shame on you, Miss Lizzy. You gonna bother to tell us what else you’re hiding from us poor fellas?” With a dirty little self-satisfied chortle, he glanced toward the table where he’d been playing cards with his friends. He winked, his face contorting hideously with the drunken effort. “Whattaya think, boys? Think Doc Liz’s been keepin’ stuff from us?”

A round of laughter answered his question as one man rose, swaying, from the table and headed their way.

The other rose, too, unceremoniously dumping a petite, dark-haired woman onto the dusty floor at his feet. “Wait right here,” he demanded, then stumbled forward after his comrades, unwilling to miss any of the evening’s promising entertainment.

As the enormity of the situation finally registered, Elizabeth’s heart thudded frantically. How very stupid she’d been. She could see that now. But she passed these same self-loving clods on the street every day. Never once had they given her a second glance. She’d honestly never considered this a possibility.

Actually, she’d expected to pay dearly for the services she required—had even considered blackmail, in fact. But though she was a physician, she was only a woman, and while no one hesitated to seek her out for medical aid, neither did they seem to value her overmuch either. Threatening to leave the town without a doctor would have done little good for her cause.

With a sigh, Jo inched closer to Brady, darting another irritated look toward the figure sprawled comfortably in the corner. She forced a smile, and slid a hand down Dick Brady’s arm to lessen the sting of her coming rebuke. “Now, Dickie boy,” she said, looking reproachfully at his men. “Boys... iffen it’s a woman you’re after, there’s plenty of ’em here other’n Doc Liz. Why,” she continued on a sweet high note, winking at him coyly, “Doc Liz here wouldn’t know your heads from your hairy heinies!”

Riotous laughter exploded.

Dick Brady’s smile turned lascivious, but his gaze remained pasted to Elizabeth.

Her cheeks warming with a mixture of chagrin and outrage, Elizabeth shot Jo a warning glare, but said nothing. She and Jo were very unlikely friends—a physician’s prudish daughter and a saloon madame—but friends they were. Jo would never intentionally malign her, she knew.

Still, Elizabeth couldn’t quite contain her indignation. Never had she been spoken to so rudely! Though there was no way they could know of her grief, Dick Brady’s crudeness was inexcusable. She was the town’s only physician—no respectable man of medicine would even come near the place. She deserved to be treated with a modicum of respect.

“But they’s costly,” the tallest man whined. “And if Miss Lizzy here’s offerin’ for free... ” He shrugged. “Well, then...” The statement was left hanging in the air as each man mulled it over.

In the darkest corner of the Oasis, a Stetson lifted. Eyes as black as midnight peered out to scrutinize the woman in question. With a lazy effort, Cutter McKenzie removed his boots from the small bare-wood table and quietly set down the front two legs of his rickety chair.

He’d heard every word, of course, and his curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. The woman, “Miss Lizzy,” had said very little in her own defense. On the other hand, it seemed his sister was near to panicking on the gal’s behalf. Likely the poor woman was frightened out of her gourd, and Jo, naturally good-hearted, just couldn’t bear to let her be gobbled up.

Squinting as his eyes adjusted, Cutter focused, and he saw her, her eyes blazing in the dim light, her expression wrathful, and more than his curiosity was piqued. Never had he seen eyes so brilliant. Without trepidation, she snatched her spectacles out of Dick Brady’s churlish hands.

“Doc Liz,” the woman said, her face pale and pinched with anger, “is not offering anything at all!” She shot his sister a withering glance, then turned back to glare at Brady. “And I sure enough would know a man’s posterior from his head,” she assured them both, her eyes flashing. “Especially yours, Mr. Brady, since it was I who had to stitch that miserable knife wound of yours.” She gave him a tight little smile, advising him without words that she’d reached the end of her tether... that he might want to see himself off before she was forced to tip her hand.

Brady started visibly, almost as though he’d been physically smacked, turning a deep, mottled shade of red.

Miss Lizzy, on the other hand, Cutter thought with a touch of respect, looked right pleased with her little bit of extortion, and it roused a satisfied chuckle from him.

“Two years past, wasn’t it?” Elizabeth persisted, further emboldened by Brady’s silence.

“Damn, Brady, how in tarnation did you get stuck in the ass?” the tallest man asked, scratching his head.

Brady swallowed convulsively. He looked to Elizabeth, and seeing the resolve there, quickly averted his gaze, slapping his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, boys, Doc Liz says she ain’t offerin’... and sure t’Betsy’s she ain’t offerin’. Let’s let her be.”

“Uh-uh,” the friend refused. “I know I plainly heard her say she was needin’ herself a man, and I reckon I’m more’n qualified to give her what she’s needin’.” He leered at Elizabeth, speaking to Brady without turning in his direction. “What’s she got on ya, anyhow, to send ya scampering like a spooked squirrel? How’d ya happen to get a frogsticker in that mangy ol’ butt o’ yers?” Tension mounted as the man turned to pierce Brady with an accusing stare.

Chuckling over Brady’s flustered expression, Cutter stood, stretching slowly. He was sure Doc Liz could handle herself; the little harridan didn’t even seem to need his sister’s help. Still, he was ready to step in if the need arose. In the meantime, he stood back, watching with an admiring grin on his face as she replaced those god-awful spectacles on her face.

And damn, if he didn’t suddenly have a hankering for her eternal gratitude.

She wasn’t a looker, not in the usual way, but she was pretty, despite her obvious efforts to prove otherwise. And he had to hand it to her, she had more spirit than Cutter had ever witnessed in a woman—aside from his sister. Jo had come by hers the hard way, though. A lifetime of dealing with prejudice did that to a body, it seemed. Some would say he wasn’t the most agreeable sort himself. With good cause. Their father had been an Irish trapper, their mother Cheyenne, and that made them nothing more than breeds, with no place to hang a hat. Didn’t fit in with the Cheyenne, didn’t fit in with the Anglos, either. But it didn’t matter. He preferred it that way. Life was safer when you played a lone hand.

Still, Jo never complained. She understood, without having to be told, how lucky she was to have the Oasis, and she gave it her best, knowing that money and their father’s name had gotten her further than she could ever have expected to go in the white man’s world. Aside from that, folks had a healthy fear of the business end of Cutter’s Colt. Anyone who tangled with his sister, tangled with him. He’d made that very clear.

Despite the fact that Cutter’s mood soured over the turn of his thoughts, his expression revealed none of it as he pushed the brim of his John B. up out of his eyes and made his way toward the bunch. The discussion being carried on was such a heated one that no one even noticed him until he had slipped his arm cozily about Liz’s waist.

She stiffened.

He stifled a chuckle as he bent to conform her body to his. “Mmmm, mmm,” he murmured, embracing her as though she were his long-lost kissin’ cuz. “You’re looking better than ever, gal.”



Elizabeth’s heart jolted violently at the deep, unfamiliar voice. Warm lips kissed her cheek in a familiar way, taking just a fraction too long to leave her flushed skin, lingering at her lobe. She swallowed convulsively.

He whispered in her ear. “Gotta loosen up, Doc, if you want this to look good... Come on now,” he coaxed, forcing her weight against him.

His husky voice set Elizabeth’s pulse to pounding, and her body into sudden paralysis. Powerless to fight him, she let him adjust her at will. Her legs felt wobbly, her body no more than mush in his hands.

“That’s it, bright eyes; now turn real slow,” he whispered, his lips scalding against her face, “act like you’re damned glad to see me.”

Elizabeth suppressed a helpless shudder as she worked up the courage to turn, fully intending to slap the britches off the fool who’d dared to be so intimate with her. But the man who faced her left her momentarily dazed, her throat too thick to speak.

Good night, but he was tall! Her eyes refused to lower, but neither would they move up to his face. She forced them, and found dark hair flowing from beneath a dun-colored hat.

He cocked a brow at her, amusement flickering in his black eyes. He winked and she felt her knees go instantly weak... yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away even as they buckled.

He reached out to steady her, but Elizabeth continued to gape, helpless to do anything else. The longer she looked, the more she swore he didn’t have pupils, his eyes were so blessed dark... his face too tawny... his cheekbones too high. But it was those lips of his that unnerved her so: insolent, smug, kicked up only slightly at the corners, as though he couldn’t quite stifle his humor at her expense. His gaze roved, lazily assessing her, sliding down over her body slowly, seductively, then returning to her face to bore into her with silent expectation.

He anticipated some reaction from her, Elizabeth thought dimly, but couldn’t think what—couldn’t think, period. Staring as though transfixed, she tried to decipher his stony features but found her brain as useless as her limbs. But it occurred to her in that muddled moment that maybe he had appraised her with more than a mild interest, and her pulse quickened at that prospect. No one had ever looked at her in quite that way.

Not anyone.

Those dark eyes still piercing her, he raised two fingers to his brim, tipping his hat in greeting as the remnants of a smile turned the corners of his mouth. “Howdy, Liz,” he said huskily. “It’s been a mighty long time, gal.”

Long time?

Elizabeth shook her head, denying it, for if she’d ever set eyes on the man before now, she would have remembered. He wasn’t the type to be forgotten. Unconsciously she lifted a finger to her cheek, to the spot where he’d kissed her. Her throat constricted, seeming suddenly parched, and she licked her lips desperately as they parted to speak.

To her mortification, no words came.

For the first time in her life, Elizabeth Bowcock found herself dumbstruck. In spite of the man’s amused expression, he wore an air of menace about him like a second skin, and a tremor shook her as she averted her gaze to his boots. Dangerous, she thought abruptly.

The man was dangerous.

She hadn’t missed the fact that he had the most vicious-looking revolver she’d ever spied jammed into his gun belt, but she’d only just spotted the ink black knife hilt peeking over his faded leather boots.

And those boots of his told a tale in themselves, for they were unmistakably U.S. Cavalry, and ominously inconsistent with his buckskin dress. There was little comfort in that he didn’t wear his weapons as Dick Brady did, like cheap jewelry. The fact that he kept his blade concealed and wore his gun casually, as though it were not there at all, told her all she needed to know. He was no gun-strutting cowpuncher. He was the real thing. As for the boots, she could think of a dozen reasons he should be outfitted so, not one of them reassuring.

A quick, wide-eyed glance to Jo told her that she was in no immediate danger, however. Jo’s lips lifted at the corners, and she, too, was on the verge of a smile, her kindly cinnamon eyes warm with humor.

Not really understanding why she felt compelled to, Elizabeth decided to play along. “Uh... um... ”

Mercy’s sake, she didn’t even know his name! How was she going to pretend to know him if she didn’t know his blessed name? In panic, her gaze skidded to Jo.

“Cutter!” Jo supplied with a laugh, seeming to read Elizabeth’s thoughts. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “I believe you have her tongue-tied, brother dear. Reckon she thought she’d never see you again.” Seeing Elizabeth’s confused expression, she laughed softly. “Isn’t that right, Liz?”

“Right?” Elizabeth nodded woodenly. Jo’s brother? “Oh—yes! I did think I’d never see you again!” She nodded dutifully for the benefit of their audience.

All eyes reverted suspiciously to Cutter, leaving her somewhat doubtful of her performance. Her brow furrowed.

Warmth invaded his eyes as he gently chucked her under the chin, much as a brother would a cherished younger sister.

Elizabeth felt suddenly too warm, almost as though she were being roasted over a slow fire. And the heat of his fingers... lingered upon her chin long after he’d withdrawn his hand. Mortified that he could affect her so, she averted her gaze to Brady. He was watching her with unflinching eyes.

His eyes narrowing to shadowy slits, Cutter turned to Brady and his men, sending them each an unspoken challenge. Brady fidgeted, flinging Elizabeth a doubtful look before turning away. The rest of his outfit followed immediately, slapping one another consolingly on the shoulder.

Elizabeth’s brows rose as she watched the exchange, astounded at the ease with which Cutter had handled Brady and his men. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her throat like a spoonful of dry sugar. The man was just too smug for his own good. He’d had no right to be so familiar with her, but she did owe him her gratitude, no matter how reluctant it came. “I suppose I should thank you,” she said.

Cutter grinned. “Anytime, Doc.”

Elizabeth smiled through clenched teeth, nodding. His assurance sounded so self-satisfied. And the way he spoke the word Doc—as though he doubted her claim to the title—struck a chord of dissent. As did everything else about him.

Jo jerked Elizabeth by the hand suddenly, leading her into the back room. Without being asked, Cutter followed, his footsteps amazingly lithe behind them.

Like a thief on the prowl, Elizabeth thought grudgingly. She supposed it was his Indian heritage that gave him such stealth. She peered anxiously over her shoulder. He really didn’t look much like an Indian, except for his dark coloring. But neither did Jo, for that matter, yet she knew they were. Jo had told her so.

“Now,” Jo asked, once she’d closed the door to her office, “what in thunder do you need a man for, Liz?”

Elizabeth’s gaze never left the other occupant of the sparsely furnished room. He sauntered over and sprawled backward into a large leather chair, dwarfing it beneath him. Hooking the curved toe of his boot about the leg of a nearby stool, he drew it closer, propping his scuffed leather boots upon it. The longer she watched him, the more his arrogant presence provoked her.

With a slow gesture, Cutter adjusted his hat so that it shaded his eyes—more out of habit than necessity, because the light in the room was too dim to be glaring. “Don’t mind me,” he said presently. Lifting a dark brow and one corner of his mouth, he returned Elizabeth’s regard, his infuriating smile locked insolently in place.

Caught in the act of staring, Elizabeth felt her breath snag. What was it about him that she found so discomfiting? Musing over that, she fanned herself, not realizing what that gesture revealed. Her eyes narrowed as she faced Jo. “He’s not really your brother?” she asked skeptically.

Jo nodded. Pursing her lips to keep from grinning, she said, “My baby brother, actually.”

“Why haven’t I met him before now?” Elizabeth persisted.

Jo’s eyes twinkled with mirth, and Elizabeth could suddenly see a clear and maddening resemblance between the two.

“Why do you think you should have? I didn’t happen into Sioux Falls until about two years ago. Cutter was only here long enough to help me open the Oasis. Since then... well... there’s been a war goin’ on, you know.’’ Jo tilted a sly look toward her brother, conceding with a sigh, “Though he has managed to steal in a time or two... to check up on me. Isn’t that so, brother dear?”

Cutter lifted his hat brim just enough so that Elizabeth glimpsed the lack of compunction in his jet black gaze. He obviously didn’t give a fig that anyone knew of his solicitousness, and didn’t bother even to deny as much to his sister—who seemed to take offense over it, if Elizabeth read her tone right.

“Now, mind you, he won’t admit it,” Jo continued, frowning benevolently. “Claims he’s only checking on the Oasis. You see, it’s his place, really, not mine, but he swears he hasn’t the patience to run it and kindly leaves that burden to me.” She gave her brother a conspiratorial wink. “Fact is, he’s just too generous, even if he is overprotective.” She sighed with resignation. “I keep tellin’ him I can take care of myself just fine without him, but he doesn’t seem to want to believe it’s so.”

Cutter said nothing to his sister’s allegations, but his smile turned crooked. Wry amusement played upon his sensuous lips, and somehow that arrogant grin made Elizabeth feel as awkward as a kettle-bellied mule, especially since it was still directed at her. More than anything, she wanted to strike it from his face. Though she was supposed to be grateful, she reminded herself. And yet despite his cocksure expression, she found she couldn’t quite tear her gaze away.

“Enough about that,” Jo said. “What I’d like to know, Liz girl, is what you think you need a man for?”

Elizabeth nodded in Cutter’s direction. It was just too difficult to remain coherent with the man staring at her so intently. “He doesn’t need to hear this, does he?”

Jo regarded Elizabeth impishly. “Well, sugar, I’ll put it to you this way. He could go... if you could persuade him to leave his own office. But even if he did, there aren’t any secrets between us. He’d more’n likely find out anyhow. So you might as well tell us both before I die of curiosity—why on earth do you need a man?”

The last two words were emphasized, as though it were a ridiculous notion. Elizabeth tried not to take exception.

“And what could be so bloomin’ important,” Jo continued, “that you would risk life and limb coming into the Oasis at this time o’ the night? You know better’n that!” she chided.

Warmth crept higher into Elizabeth’s cheeks as she glanced again at Cutter. He was still watching her, his expression unreadable but for the mocking smile upon his lips. She felt suddenly so conspicuous that she longed for the floor to open up and suck her down into it—anything to escape his bold scrutiny.

To Elizabeth’s dismay, that scoundrel’s smile spread clear to his fathomless eyes. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and averted her face, feeling his gaze rake her like a hot southern gust over a thirsting man in the middle of the desert; it was nearly her undoing. God grant her strength, she just knew that any moment she would burst into tears, and she refused to weep in front of the cad.

She decided it was best to ignore him.

If he wouldn’t go... then she would just make believe he wasn’t in the room with her—sitting little more than six feet away... give or take a few inches.

She forced her attention to remain on Jo.

“Well, I received a letter today,” Elizabeth began, her voice catching. She swallowed convulsively. “From my sister’s father-in-law. Katherine... K-Katherine,” she tried again, but her voice failed her. The words were just too difficult to speak. “She and her husband were... well, they were killed. He didn’t say how.” She tried to keep the emotion from her tone and merely recite the facts, but her lips trembled traitorously. “It seems they left their four-year-old daughter to my care.”

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth tried to steady herself, feeling suddenly as though she would swoon. But she’d never fainted before, and now wasn’t the time to begin.

Not in front of him.

But then, he wasn’t really there, she reminded herself sternly.

Ignore him.

Jo placed a reassuring arm about Elizabeth’s waist. “You poor thing! I’m so sorry!” she declared. “Here now, sit yourself down in my chair.”

Elizabeth sank numbly into the buttery-soft leather chair behind the tiny desk, grateful for the barrier it provided between herself and Jo’s brother. Except that now she was forced to face him. Her limbs felt weak at the realization.

“You gonna be all right?” Jo asked.

Elizabeth nodded, and her gaze was again drawn to Cutter’s. Like a hapless moth to a killing flame, she thought petulantly.

His smile was gone now, replaced with what seemed a disapproving scowl. He probably thought her a blubbering idiot, she thought grimly—and what was worse, she felt like one, too.

“So skip to the man part,” Jo prompted, waving her hand impatiently.