Nevada Nights Read Free Page A

doctor had moved to either side of the bed. The stranger closed the door softly and turned toward Cameron.
    In a hushed voice, she asked, "Do you think she’ll be all right?"
    She didn’t breathe as she waited for his reply.
    He stared at her a long moment. Then he touched her arm and said, "You’re bleeding. Did you know? This should be looked after."
    The girl stared down at her arm in astonishment. Blood smeared her shirt and britches. She felt no pain, only warmth where his hand was touching her skin.
    "It’s nothing." She shrugged. "What about Sister Leona?"
    "We’ll know soon enough." He glanced around. "Where is the kitchen?"
    She pointed behind her. "Down the hall."
    He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her in that direction. "Come on."
    Cameron was too exhausted to argue. In the kitchen, he filled a pan with hot water from the kettle and rummaged in drawers until he found a towel.
    "Sit," he ordered.
    She sat on a kitchen chair and watched dumbly as he began washing her bloody arm.
    The man was tall—so tall she had to tip her head back to see his face. His hair was dark and thick and curled slightly around his forehead and neck. As he bent over her, it spilled across his forehead in a shaft of black silk. His eyes were dark, nearly black, with long sooty lashes. His jaw was firm, and he had an air of authority about him, as though he were accustomed to giving orders and having them followed without question.
    Cameron had never been this close to a man before. She had lived all her life in a world of subdued, overly modest women. And this man was still naked to the waist. She stared fascinated at his powerful shoulders, the muscles of his arms flexing and unflexing as he moved. Her senses were assaulted by the strange, raw, masculine scent of him, which oddly stirred her blood.
    What must it be like to be held in those arms? she wondered. Blushing furiously at her thoughts, she tore her gaze away from his arms.
    She stared at his hands, so large that he could easily hold both of hers in one of his. Then she noticed the scar on his left wrist. It was large, knotted almost like a cord, and encircled the wrist like a bracelet. He must have nearly severed his hand to have sustained such a scar. Without realizing it, she reached out her hand to touch it.
    "An old wound," he said, his voice so near her ear that she jumped.
    He paused a moment, then continued washing her wounds. As he leaned across the table to reach a dry towel, his hand brushed her hair, causing a ripple of new sensations along her spine.
    Her hair, he realized, smelled of bayberry soap. Her flawless skin glowed with health. Her cheeks were kissed by the sun.
    She glanced up at him and found, to her dismay, that he was staring boldly down at her face. She lowered her eyes and felt the heat burning her cheeks. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
    Recognizing her confusion, he began to speak softly to calm her.
    "What is your name?"
    "Cammy—short for Cameron," she said haltingly.
    "Are you going to become a nun, Cammy, short for Cameron?" he asked teasingly.
    She grinned at his humor. "No. I just live here."
    "You live here. Why?"
    "My father sent me here when I was born. For my safety, Reverend Mother says. And I’ve been here ever since."
    He cocked his head to one side and regarded her. Was it her imagination, or had he stiffened slightly when she mentioned safety? There was a moment of awkward silence.
    Then she asked, "And what is your name?"
    "Michael. Michael Gray."
    She licked her dry lips and wondered how much longer she could endure being so close to this overpowering man.
    His deep voice forced her thoughts back to mundane things, and soon his simple questions had her caught up in an animated conversation.
    "How did your island get its name?" The question was intended to soothe her tension.
    She smiled, recalling the history lessons of her youth. "It’s named for the reeds growing in the area, which are used for matches.