Read Online The Ruination of Essie Sparks (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 2) by Barbara Ankrum - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Ankrum
Ads: Link
only make him more intriguing, when on a woman, the same scar would be her utter downfall."
"Intriguing," he repeated incredulously. The woman was shamelessly naïve.
"Yes."
Now he turned to look at her. "And what would you know of scars? You, with your simple life, Essie Sparks?"
She jerked a look back up at him and her fingers darted to the locket that dangled at her throat. "I assure you, my life is nothing close to simple. And as for scars? Everyone has them. Some just carry them under their skin where they're not so easily perceived. To me, scars are a sign of survival. Perseverance. History, even."
He studied her from beneath his lashes. He couldn't see any scars on her. And, for all her talk, he doubted a woman like her would look twice at a man like him if they weren't the only two people on this mountaintop. But her life not simple? He would not lay money on that. She looked like all the other white women he'd met at school who'd had their lives handed to them without strings. Confident in their place. Self-contained.
Yes, everything about her seemed contained except for that hair.
That mop of red that had been tickling his nose for the past few hours as she rode in front of him was something rare. That scent of lavender that lingered on her hair and—as he'd discovered when he'd thrown her over his shoulder—on the rest of her, too, had caused a tightening lower down that even the pain in his leg couldn't mask.
"A scar by any other name would still be a scar," he said at last, biting back the feeling that he was about to heave.
Her pink lips parted in shock. "Do not tell me you know Shakespeare!"
He tipped his head back against the rock. "Who?"
"You do! Don't deny it." She wound her hand in circles, trying to remember the words. "'A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title.'" She got to her feet. "'Romeo doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee, take all my — '"
Her foot slipped on the wet face of the rock and she lost her balance. She barely had time to cry out before she cartwheeled sideways into the river.
Chapter 5
He couldn't move fast enough to grab her. Into the frigid, fast-moving current she went, and almost as quickly she disappeared under the surface of the water and flew away.
Before he'd even lost sight of her he was ripping his rifle and shirt off over his head and limping along the bank of the river after her. Pain shot through his left leg like a hot arrow, but the fear pumping through him numbed it almost as fast.
She was flailing with her bound hands and gasping for air as she broke the surface ten feet downstream only to disappear again. He saw her surface two more times—clutching for a handhold on the slippery rocks—before he got ahead of her and threw himself across a flat rock, his arm extended.
"Take my hand!" he shouted over the tumbling water. Her green eyes stared up at him, wide with panic, as she reached for him, but her fingers merely brushed past his as the current swept her by.
Below them, maybe five hundred yards from the sound of it, was a waterfall. A big one. He shoved to his feet and ran downstream again. A cataract like that would kill her if he didn't get her out fast. He couldn't think about anything but finding a spot to save her. The sound of her gasping for air and panicked cries made his pulse rock against his insides.
His strides ate the soggy riverbank as he pushed to stay ahead of her, shoving aside branches and tangled shrubs. Finally, a deadfall appeared, lying half in the river. His best and possibly last chance.
He stumbled over a hedge of low bushes and sank down to crawl to the edge of the rotting log. Half lying in the water, clinging to the log, he reached out again for her as she spun toward him. "Essie! Take my hand!"
Her head bobbing half underwater, she looked up at him in real panic and reached her
"Intriguing," he repeated incredulously. The woman was shamelessly naïve.
"Yes."
Now he turned to look at her. "And what would you know of scars? You, with your simple life, Essie Sparks?"
She jerked a look back up at him and her fingers darted to the locket that dangled at her throat. "I assure you, my life is nothing close to simple. And as for scars? Everyone has them. Some just carry them under their skin where they're not so easily perceived. To me, scars are a sign of survival. Perseverance. History, even."
He studied her from beneath his lashes. He couldn't see any scars on her. And, for all her talk, he doubted a woman like her would look twice at a man like him if they weren't the only two people on this mountaintop. But her life not simple? He would not lay money on that. She looked like all the other white women he'd met at school who'd had their lives handed to them without strings. Confident in their place. Self-contained.
Yes, everything about her seemed contained except for that hair.
That mop of red that had been tickling his nose for the past few hours as she rode in front of him was something rare. That scent of lavender that lingered on her hair and—as he'd discovered when he'd thrown her over his shoulder—on the rest of her, too, had caused a tightening lower down that even the pain in his leg couldn't mask.
"A scar by any other name would still be a scar," he said at last, biting back the feeling that he was about to heave.
Her pink lips parted in shock. "Do not tell me you know Shakespeare!"
He tipped his head back against the rock. "Who?"
"You do! Don't deny it." She wound her hand in circles, trying to remember the words. "'A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title.'" She got to her feet. "'Romeo doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee, take all my — '"
Her foot slipped on the wet face of the rock and she lost her balance. She barely had time to cry out before she cartwheeled sideways into the river.
Chapter 5
He couldn't move fast enough to grab her. Into the frigid, fast-moving current she went, and almost as quickly she disappeared under the surface of the water and flew away.
Before he'd even lost sight of her he was ripping his rifle and shirt off over his head and limping along the bank of the river after her. Pain shot through his left leg like a hot arrow, but the fear pumping through him numbed it almost as fast.
She was flailing with her bound hands and gasping for air as she broke the surface ten feet downstream only to disappear again. He saw her surface two more times—clutching for a handhold on the slippery rocks—before he got ahead of her and threw himself across a flat rock, his arm extended.
"Take my hand!" he shouted over the tumbling water. Her green eyes stared up at him, wide with panic, as she reached for him, but her fingers merely brushed past his as the current swept her by.
Below them, maybe five hundred yards from the sound of it, was a waterfall. A big one. He shoved to his feet and ran downstream again. A cataract like that would kill her if he didn't get her out fast. He couldn't think about anything but finding a spot to save her. The sound of her gasping for air and panicked cries made his pulse rock against his insides.
His strides ate the soggy riverbank as he pushed to stay ahead of her, shoving aside branches and tangled shrubs. Finally, a deadfall appeared, lying half in the river. His best and possibly last chance.
He stumbled over a hedge of low bushes and sank down to crawl to the edge of the rotting log. Half lying in the water, clinging to the log, he reached out again for her as she spun toward him. "Essie! Take my hand!"
Her head bobbing half underwater, she looked up at him in real panic and reached her
Similar Books
