Well, one thing at a time. The woman clung to him so tight he thought she might break a rib or strangle him so he couldn’t breathe. And he’d like to rip out those loops in her skirt every time they bounced down over his head and up again. Good thing Gabe could see where they were going.
Urging the bay gently back into the river yet again, he said, “You can loosen up there, ma’am. We’re not running anymore.”
Making a funny little sound down in her throat, she eased up her grip. Before he could get a handle on the situation, she bounced, her arms lost their grip and she slid sideways. With a whoop and a holler she fell into the water. From a distant hill, a coyote answered her call of distress.
On her hands and knees, trying to get up with that soaked wad of a dress dragging her back down, she froze and looked up at him, eyes wide and reflecting the bright moonlight. “What was that?”
“I think you just called you up a mate.” He hoped she didn’t take offense that he laughed at the sight of her and her fancy outfit all soaking wet.
Dismounting, he couldn’t decide what to grab to help her, settled on taking her hands. But she and that damned dress weighed so much he couldn’t get her up. One boot slid forward on the slick clay bottom, the other went sideways, and before he knew it he was sprawled on top of her, covered in heaps of soggy fabric. Screeching like a drowning hen she flapped her arms around and gave him a thorough cussing. At least he figured she did, he couldn’t understand most of it.
“Well, ma’am, that sure took the lady right out of you.” He struggled not to laugh, but it was no good. There wasn’t much else to do while he wrestled around in the water with a furious woman turned wildcat.
“Please get your knee out of my stomach,” she gasped between water filled coughs.
“I would if I could.” He wiggled around some more until he knelt astraddle of her and that monstrosity of a dress. Propped on both elbows, wet hair covered half her face, which was probably a good thing, because she was one pissed lady. The quicker he could get out of her reach, the better. But it wasn’t easy in this slick mud.
Scooting backward, he rescued his hat before it floated away, crammed it on his head and hauled himself to his feet. Gazed down at his boots, correction Jim Johnson’s boots, filled with muddy water that oozed out the tops.
Dammit
. All of a sudden not feeling disposed to laugh, he glared at her like it might be her fault, which he decided real quick it was.
She had the gall to swipe her undone hair off her face, take a look at him and go half hysterical. Now she was laughing at him.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Your hat…it’s wet. I mean…” Gesturing helplessly, she gave up and sputtered some more, this time in merriment.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. You ain’t mentioned it, and I hate to say anything, but you look like a drowned rat yourself. No, that’s not right. A rat wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that outfit.” He reached down, grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward shore, her butt sliding right along in the slick mud, her yelling, “Wait, stop. Help.”
It wasn’t easy, either, lifting the water-filled boots and slogging along, her kicking and struggling, his feet squishing around and making sucking sounds. Borrowed boots.
Dammit
.
She might be kicking and struggling, but she kept laughing, so he ignored her objections until he had plopped her out onto the bank like a landed fish. Slithering about, he found his footing, took her under the arms and pulled her up onto the grass, sank down beside her to decide what he’d best do about getting the water out of the boots. On his back, he poked one leg at a time up in the air in the hopes he could drain them without taking them off.
Water ran from a boot, up his pant leg and into the bend of his knee. To show her how displeased he was, he shot her a sour look. “There, now. I’ve saved your life. But don’t you worry none, it’s okay if you don’t thank me.”
One eye glared at him from under the cascade of dripping hair, and she sputtered. “Thank you? Thank you when you almost drowned me? Not likely.” Once again, she broke into spasms of laughter.
He reckoned he did look sort of silly himself, laying there with his legs stuck up in the air while water ran down them, or was it up them?
“What are you doing?” she managed to ask.
“Draining my boots. What’s so danged funny about that?”
“Why not take them off and dump out the water?”
“I thought of that,” he said impatiently. Didn’t she know anything? “I’d never get ’em back on. I ain’t riding in to the hideout sock footed. Bad enough I’m half-drowned. And they ain’t even my boots. I borrowed ’em.”
He locked his fingers over the sole of one boot, still up in the air, and tried to squeeze the water out. “I reckon they’re ruint.”
“Ru-ant? What is that?”
Without waiting for him to reply, which he wasn’t about to do too quick, dumbfounded as he was over her question, she slithered about trying to stand. The dress was too heavy.
He allowed her to struggle while he made one final effort to drain the boots, then staggered to his feet and gave her a hand. It was no mean feat, getting her upright, and it didn’t stop her giggling either.
“It ain’t funny.”
“Oh, no? It was funny when you laughed at me.”
“Well, you ought to see yourself.”
Dripping water, the beautiful skirts mud streaked and limp, hoops bent and broken, hair soaked and stringy, she dared laugh at him. He didn’t tell her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. But dammit, he wanted to. He ached to laugh with her, or take her in his arms and give her a big kiss. Probably best if he didn’t do any of those things, though. Considering.
She gestured once more, managed to speak. “Your hat, you need…need to…I think it might be ruined. It’s all lumpy and the brim is hanging down.” Her beautiful eyes widened and she covered her mouth. “Oh, ru-ant. Ruined.”
Something close to admiration swelled in his chest and he nodded an affirmation. “At least you’re learning to speak our language. Anyway, I can still wear my clothes. Look at you. We gotta do something about that, and fast.”
Good God, what had he let himself in for? With a bank robbery in the near future, he’d had to go and get himself mixed up with some foreign woman who could very well get him hung before this was over with. Worse, they hardly spoke the same language, and all he wanted to do was throw her down in the grass, strip her free of her clothes and do all sorts of manly things to her. Even in her less than tidy condition.
To distract himself, he looked around for Gabe. The bay stood in the shallow water, a quizzical expression on his freckled face. Probably thought this a great joke. It might be, but it was time to get serious, so he turned to the woman.
“You know, I don’t think poor old Gabe is gonna want to carry the both of us. I’ll bet that garb you’re wearing weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet. How come you wear so blamed many clothes anyway? A few months on the run and you’ll be getting rid of some of that outfit.”
She stared forlornly down at the bedraggled dress. “I don’t think it will take that long.”
“Well, then, let’s get it off now. What you got on under it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Okay, fine. You’re pardoned.” He gestured toward the skirts. “Couldn’t you just maybe take off one or two layers? Ole Gabe may throw hisself a fit if you try to get back on his back wearing all that wet stuff. Look at him, he don’t even want to come out of the water.”
“That disgusting animal threw me in the river. On purpose. And now you want me to get back on him?”
“He wouldn’t do that. You just turned loose and fell off, which I can see has hurt his feelings. He don’t take well to folks doing that. It puts him in a bad light.”
“Going without clothes was not a part of this bargain,” she insisted. “I will walk. How far is it?”
“Farther than you can walk…like that.” It was his turn to gesture and chuckle. That earned him a dirty look.
He whistled and Gabe came forward slowly, head bobbing, eyes on the ground, like he didn’t want any part of this crazy situation. Before the bay could get any ideas, like lighting out and leaving them stranded, Calder grabbed the reins.
“We need to get shut of this place, ma’am.”
“Is it possible that means we need to leave?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s about what it means.”
Her gaze darted from him to Gabe, then back to him again. Blue eyes squeezed half shut, she worked those full lips into an attractive pout. “You are not going to allow me back on him unless I disrobe, are you?”
Poking the toe of his ruint boot into the stirrup, he swung onto Gabe’s back, gave her his orneriest scowl. “No, ma’am, I’m not.”
“Then I will walk.” She clambered up the slope away from the river, stumbled and nearly went to her knees as she struggled to drag along the yards of wet material.
Calmly he rode along beside her. “Just the top two or three layers. I ain’t asking you to get naked.”
“And I am not taking off my dress so you can see m-my—”
“Underdrawers,” he supplied.
“Sir.” She stumbled again, righted herself and stuck her pretty nose in the air so she could glare up at him. “They are called unmentionables for a reason, and I would kindly ask you to remember that.”
He grinned, hoped it was disarming. “Unmentionables. Hmmm. I won’t look. Neither will Gabe, will you old fellow?” He gazed across the empty prairie cupped by the blackness of sky aglow with glittering stars and that chunk of silver moon. “I think they’re coming. You’d better make up your mind quick or you’ll be back with that old fart and married quicker than you can say bobcat scat.”
She followed his gaze. “I don’t see anyone. Do you always speak that way, or are you doing it to shock me?”
“What way, ma’am?” he asked and grinned. Damned if he wasn’t having a high old time at her expense. In fact, he couldn’t remember having so much fun since he and that pretty little black haired Osage squaw…but, this was no time for reminiscing. It
was
time they got on their way before riders actually appeared. Someone was bound to come looking for her, and he could only hope he’d outfoxed them riding in and out of the river.
With a firm conviction he didn’t feel, he dismounted and took her by both arms. “You are the kidnapped, I am the kidnapper. You’ll do what I say, and I say that wet dress goes. Now. You understand? Take it off or I rip it off.”
He regretted the fear that crossed her features, but it couldn’t be helped. This little game had gone far enough and they needed to skeedaddle. Now.
“It fastens in the back. You’ll have to undo me.” Though she sounded meek, he remained on guard.
Undoing her was something he’d be pleased to do. Be his pleasure to undo her seven ways from Sunday. Instead he went to work on the dainty buttons with fingers that felt like tree stumps. Tight together, all in a row, the blamed little things went from the neckline plumb past her waist. This could take all night. “Does someone have to help you dress? Why do they make these so danged small and put them down the back?”
Without answering, she went all trembly under his touch. For a minute he thought she might be crying, but realized she was laughing again.
Good, he never had known what to do with a bawling woman, especially when he was the cause of it. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure what to do with one hysterical with laughter, either.
He thought things couldn’t get any worse, until her pale and delicate hand peeled the cumbersome dress off one creamy shoulder, then the other, and down both arms. She still had plenty on underneath, but he was getting this feeling she might as well be naked. The white blousy thing tied up under her chin was wet and clung to her luscious breasts exploding from the top of the corset. A lady’s corset was one thing he’d become acquainted with during his prowling days. He leaned forward to get a better look at the outline of her nipples. His whacker crawled around in his groin like a great snake. If he wanted to keep from going stark raving mad, he ought to avert his eyes. He tried, he really did. No luck. Might as well enjoy the sight and learn to deal with the madness.
Without turning to face him she caught at the dress to hold it at her waist. It was might near impossible to forget about those delicious mounds of flesh hiding under her crossed arms long enough to help her.
Hands shaking, he fisted up handfuls of the skirt.
“Do not touch me.” Laughter had changed to fear.
“Not you, just the dress. I promise.”
Oh, God, he’d promised. He swallowed, his throat clicked, and he slowly pulled the dress down until it lay in a muddy puddle around her feet.
Eyes downcast, arms hugging her bosom, Wilda stared at the ruins of her once beautiful toilette spread around her feet. Having made such a fool of herself, she wondered if she would ever be able to face Calder Raines again. When he spoke in an amused voice, she cringed.
“Well, that didn’t do a whole lot of good. You’ve still got on more clothes than three women ought to wear. What is all this folderol?” He lifted a layer.
She skittered out of reach. “My uh...” She cleared her throat, tried again. “That is my crinoline and petticoats, and I will not discuss my unmentionables with you.”
“Why is that?”
“It is not something a well bred lady does.”
“All the same, you’re going to have to take off that hoop gadget. All them straps and buckles, looks like something a team of mules might wear. We’re not much better off than we were before. And you’d better get moving. Night’s burning fast.”
Warily, she peeked over her shoulder. “Mister Raines, you certainly do not expect me to completely disrobe.”
Brows raised, eyes sparkling wickedly, he repeated, “Mr. Raines?” He fingered a strap holding the boned and paneled fabric of the crinoline together. “After all we’ve been through together? Maybe if we put out the moon so I couldn’t see you. Would that work?”
She slapped at his hand. “We are only together in the loosest term of the word, unless it means something else in your unusual language. And there’s no way to put out the moon, as you so colorfully suggest.” Once more attempting to stumble out of reach, she caught a toe in her discarded clothing.