Bride of the Shining Mountains (The St. Claire Men) Read Free Page A

was blackened. The
meat within was tender and succulent. Reagan picked her portion clean, threw
the bones into the red coals, and was reaching for the remaining piece when
Luther Garrett’s voice issued from the lengthening darkness. “Well, she can’t
have gone far, so find her, ye simpleminded .... ”
    The rest was lost on Reagan. At the sound of Luther’s voice her
throat had gone tight and that same sinking sense of desperation that had
clawed at her vitals since this nightmare had begun back in Bloodroot came
winging back full force.
    The untouched portion of her pilfered dinner still clutched
tightly in her bloodless fingers, she slowly shrank back into the lean-to.
    There was safety in the shadows, and only the sure knowledge that
more than a thousand miles of rough country lay between her and civilization
kept her from dashing headlong into the night.
    Missouri Territory was a vast wilderness teeming with all manner
of dangers unheard of in Kentucky, and there was not a farm nor a settlement to
be found between here and Saint Louis. A woman alone, unarmed, and without
adequate provisions could not hope to survive the journey back, and Reagan was
terribly aware that if she was going to make good her escape, she must find
another way.
    Pressed tightly against the wall of the lean-to, Reagan peered out
around it. The moonless night had completely overtaken the encampment; the
hundred-odd campfires flickering in various stages of combustion, combined with
the flaming pine knots affixed to the foremost comers of the wooden dais, could
no more dispel the darkness than could the blue-white stars overhead.
    One of the boys trudged past; Reagan edged deeper into the
shadows. At the same time the sound of footfalls and low-voiced conversation
approached from the direction of the river. Trapped, Reagan took cover behind
the hundredweight bales of fur stacked against the rear wall.
    Much to her dismay, the footfalls entered the lean-to and stopped.
Reagan held her breath, expecting at any moment to be caught, yet there was
only the soft rustle of movement precariously close at hand. Drawing a deep and
steadying breath, Reagan gathered her much battered courage around her and
pressed her eye to the crack between the bales.
    Standing in the shadows was a man; she had the impression of great
height, yet her vantage point was poor, and she could see little else. Shifting
her position slightly, she leaned her weight on the hand that still clutched
her now forgotten dinner, and strained this way and that.
    From outside came the stir of movement, followed by the soft thunk of fuel being fed to the fire. The fuel quickly caught, spilling light into the
lean-to... a light that partially dispelled the shadows, flickering molten gold
over the stranger’s face and form, and providing Reagan with her first clear
look at him.
    Bearded scarecrow he was not. Tall, well muscled, and stripped to
the waist, with an impressive shoulder span and an economy of flesh, he cut
such an impressive figure that even Reagan could not help but admire him, and
her opinion of men in general was none too high of late. Hair that was glossy
and black swung loose about his tawny shoulders, framing a face that could best
be described as fiendishly handsome.
    Dark brows arched over eyes that were luxuriously lashed. His
features were finely chiseled, the arrogant nose, high cheekbones, and clefted
chin scraped meticulously clean of whiskers were pure masculine perfection, the
stuff of every woman’s dreams... except for the livid scar that slashed across
his left cheek, a scar that, by its appearance alone, Reagan judged quite
recently attained.
    The imperfection drew the left corner of his sensual mouth ever so
slightly downward in a perpetual half frown, lending his aspect a formidable
air that frightened and intrigued her at once. And she could not help wondering
as she observed him if he’d had a tiff with a grizzly bear.
    “Much as I enjoy your stellar