Page 33 of Seven Brides for Beau McBride (The McBrides of Montana #3)

Ten

Fate was trying to kill her. It was because of her disloyal thoughts about Beau McBride.

Ellie watched as a ferocious multi-pronged fork of lightning sparked overhead, sure it was going to spike her right through the head.

The rain lashed at them like whips and the wind had reached gale force proportions.

She clung to Beau as he half carried, half dragged her down the hill.

Poisonous mushrooms, bears, storms—it was all because of those dreams she had about him, the ones where he was greeting her at the train station and there was no Diana, no Junebug, no anything but the two of them.

Just last night she’d had one where they’d been on the train, sprawled on one of those sprung benches.

She’d been kissing his neck, which smelled of that summery soap and him, and she’d let her hands wander all over him, just like they itched to do.

She’d all but climbed in to his lap, just like she’d done back there in the mud.

Oh, the hardness of him between her legs, pressing into her…

Her cheeks burned like coals. When she woke from dreams of Beau her whole body was one long ache.

Just as it was now. It was a twisty writhing feeling that drove her mad.

Desire. She’d read about it before, but she’d never felt it. At least not like this.

An indecent train dream didn’t warrant death by lightning.

It was the dreams she had when he got her home from the train station, dreams that involved all kinds of kissing and touching and whispering and sliding and oh my God when she woke up from those dreams, tangled in her blankets, she was as high strung as a cat in a room full of dogs…

Those dreams warranted divine punishment. They were sinful.

But even worse—much, much worse—was sitting astride Beau McBride in her underwear in real life. And enjoying it.

She was a horrible person. Beau McBride didn’t belong to her, yet she was having fantasies about him that were indecent at best and downright carnal at worst. And now here she was in her underwear, which was so wet it was transparent.

And was she covering her modesty? No, she had her arms wrapped around him !

Crack. Another tree went up like a roman candle.

Beau veered off the sloppy hill towards a cabin in a clearing. “We ain’t going to make it to the hotel in this. We’re liable to get fried. Abner’s saloon will have to do.” He threw open the cabin door without even knocking. “Abner!” he shouted.

But the cabin was dark, cold and completely empty.

“Where the hell is Abner?” Beau dropped her and scrabbled around in the dark.

Ellie stood there dripping.

“Goddamn it. He’s probably cozying up with all the women at the hotel, playing the fool.”

A sheet of lightning lit the cabin through the open door, just long enough for him to find a candle.

He looked at it, as though wondering what to do with it.

Then it went dark again. They couldn’t die here, Ellie thought wildly.

If they got struck by lightning, Diana would be all alone in the world.

Widowed before she was even wed and deprived of her dearest friend.

But at least she’d never know that dearest friend had carnal thoughts about her fiancé…

As Ellie listened to Beau scrabbling around in the dark, swearing under his breath as he looked for something to light the candle with, Ellie gave herself over to a sorrowful image of Diana, clad in mournful black, standing by their graves.

They’d be buried in the picnic clearing, of course, and every year Diana would return, a heartbroken pilgrim, to lay flowers by their wooden crosses.

She’d remain unwed until her dying day, her heart buried in the clearing with the love of her life, and her dearest friend.

Ellie’s imagination ran so wild that she almost brought herself to tears, but she was so cold, and shivering took precedence over weeping.

It was a very affecting image, in any case.

The next crash of lightning gave Beau enough clarity to light the candle.

“You’re half frozen,” he told her impatiently. “We’ve got to warm you up.”

Ellie could barely feel her hands, they were so cold. Oh lord. She was closed up in the cabin with him. Alone. In the dark. Worse than the dark, in intimate, barely-there candlelight. And she was practically naked.

But at least it wasn’t a train?

Beau put the candle on the rickety-looking bar.

Now that the cabin was lit by the soft glow of the single candle, his gaze snagged on Ellie.

The air in the cabin seemed to get thick and hard to breathe as his eyes swept over her.

She was covered in gooseflesh and her nipples were hard from the cold.

Aware that her linens were sticking to her like a second skin, Ellie covered herself with her hands.

Beau ripped open his oilskin coat, sending droplets of water flying, and shook out a blanket. “Here.” He held it out. He didn’t seem to want to get closer. He tossed it to her. “I brought it for you.”

Gratefully, Ellie wrapped it around herself.

“We need a fire.” He made himself busy. “Go look behind the bar and get us a couple of shots of whiskey—that should help warm you up.”

Ellie shuffled behind the bar. His oilskin coat had done an admirable job of keeping him dry, she thought. His shirt didn’t cling to him at all. Which was a shame.

See? She was doomed. She had the thoughts of a harlot.

The little cabin was redolent of tobacco, wet pine and stale booze.

It was poorly built and the wind hissed and whistled through the uncaulked board walls.

It was so cold Ellie could see her breath in the air.

Now that she was out of the rain, she could feel how cold she really was.

It was like she’d swallowed an iceberg; her core felt completely frozen.

Her fingers were clumsy and knocked the stack of little shot glasses over.

“You okay?” Beau asked, looking up from the fireplace.

She nodded, too cold to actually speak. Her teeth were chattering beyond her control.

“Jesus, you look blue.” He hurried to build the fire and get it lit. “Get that whiskey into you, fast.”

Ellie grabbed the first bottle she found and poured two shots. She spilled half of the glass she slid onto the bar for him. She had to use both hands to lift her own glass to her mouth, so she didn’t send it cascading down the front of her dry blanket.

“Down the whole thing,” he ordered. “Don’t be taking any prissy lady sips.”

She’d never had whiskey before. It was foul. She gasped and sputtered and bent double. Oh, that was disgusting. But it was warm. It lit a trail of fire right through her.

“Rough, huh? Abner ain’t known for the quality of his liquor.” The fire leapt to life under Beau’s hands, aided by the hissing wind. Without rising from his crouch, he reached out and dragged a stool closer. “Git yourself in front of the fire.” He pointed at the stool. “Now.”

Ellie didn’t need to be told twice. She came and sat down and leaned towards the snapping flames. She held her poor frozen hands out to defrost them.

“Your fingertips look pretty blue,” Beau noted. He reached out and took her hands in his, rubbing them vigorously. It didn’t warm her exactly, so much as knock the sense out of her. Between his hands, the fire and the whiskey, she wasn’t sure she could be sensible.

She was only aware that she was staring at him when he cleared his throat and dropped his hands from hers.

“I’m going to find the good whiskey and get you some dry clothes. Hopefully Abner has something clean. Or at least clean ish. ”

Beau disappeared into a little room out the back and Ellie drew a shaky breath. Okay. She was just in shock from her ordeals, and now a little drunk on whiskey. For once, she had to keep her imagination at bay. He was Diana’s. And she wasn’t Diana.

“Well, it ain’t much, but it’ll keep you warm.

” Beau emerged holding a pair of long underwear and a red and black flannel shirt.

“I’ll stay back there while you change by the fire.

” He dropped the clothes on a stool nearby.

It seemed odd to be so reticent, given he’d been rubbing her hands a minute ago.

He backed away and then she heard the exaggerated sound of him moving around the back room of the cabin, out of sight.

He was trying to reassure her that she had privacy, she supposed, but it only heightened her awareness of him.

Slowly, Ellie stood and unwrapped the blanket.

She’d lived most of her life around other girls, changing in full view of other people, but she’d never felt as naked as she did now, peeling off her underwear all alone in this little room.

She put her wet boots and stockings in front of the fire and unbuttoned her chemise, her fingers clumsy.

She slid it off, enjoying the warmth of the fire on her bare skin.

Her nipples were still hard, but now with more than just cold.

It was delicious to be naked like this, with him in the other room.

She’d never known she had such wanton capabilities, she thought, as she divested herself of her bloomers.

She took a moment to let the fire warm her and then she reached for the long underwear.

It wasn’t a full body suit, just a pair of oft-laundered red flannel leggings that hung soft and loose on her.

She pulled the shirt on, glad to find it was clean and smelled of lye soap and river water.

Luckily it was big, covering her hips and buttocks easily.

She hung her wet underwear over a couple of stools, but she didn’t have much hope of wearing any of it again, even if it dried.

It was torn and covered in streaks of black mud.

By the time she’d wrapped herself back in the blanket, she was no longer shivering.