Nevada Nights Read online

  He stood and glanced down at the wild tangle of red-gold hair. When he had first spotted the slim figure on the horse, he had thought it was a young boy. Close up, despite the ill-fitting clothes, he realized she was an extraordinarily beautiful girl.

  "We’ll need a wagon," he said abruptly. "Where’s the nearest place?"

  Without looking up, she replied, "The convent." She motioned with her head. "Over the hill back there, and then head west for about five miles."

  He left without another word. Cameron worked a long time cleaning the wounds. Tearing Sister Leona’s heavy muslin petticoat into strips, she applied a tourniquet to stem the flow of blood.

  Sister Leona’s eyes fluttered open, and she moaned.

  "You’re going to be all right, Sister Leona," Cameron whispered. "A man has gone to the convent for the wagon. He should be here soon."

  She offered a silent prayer that he would hurry. She couldn’t bear to see Sister so deathly pale.

  When at last she heard the creak of the wagon’s wheels, relief flooded through her. As the stranger walked up, Cameron discreetly placed the remnants of torn petticoat across Sister’s exposed skin. He bent and lifted her large frame as easily as though she were a feather. Running ahead of them, Cameron discovered layers of soft quilts and down pillows strewn in the back of the wagon. He set her down gently in the mounds of quilts and settled the pillows closely around her. As Cameron made a move to climb in with Sister, he clamped his hand tightly around her wrist, sending a spasm of shock through her.

  "Do you know how to drive this thing, girl?" He watched her through narrowed eyes.

  "Yes, but—"

  Gruffly, he interrupted. "I know you don’t want me tending her. But she may be bleeding inside. She can’t be jarred. Now, if you drive slowly, I’ll hold these pillows carefully about her so she isn’t caused any more pain than is necessary."

  He stared at the girl, who paused, undecided.

  "Do you understand?"

  "Yes," she said resolutely. She turned and climbed to the driver’s seat. Picking up the reins, she called over her shoulder, "Tell me when you’re ready."

  "Just let me tie up these horses to the back of the wagon," he muttered.

  In a few minutes he climbed in beside Sister Leona, wrapped her gently in the pillows, then said, "All right. Slow and easy."

  Those few miles back to the convent were the longest Cameron had ever known.

  Dear God, she prayed. Please don’t let her die. She is the dearest, sweetest sister. And all of this happened because I selfishly wanted to ride today. Please keep her safe.

  Several times Cameron turned and stared at the stranger. His naked torso glistened with sweat. His brows were drawn together in a frown, his mouth a thin, taut line of concentration. Though the heavy form of the nun wrapped in all those pillows must have sorely strained his muscles, he never relaxed his grip or flexed his arms for even a moment.

  When at last the wagon entered the gates of the convent walls, the late evening sun had cast long fingers of gold across the slate roofs and gleaming cross of the chapel.

  A dozen sisters, with Mother Superior and the doctor from town in the lead, hurried toward the wagon. When the horse halted, the stranger eased his hold on the still form of Sister Leona, and stiffly, he climbed down. Cameron hurried to stand beside the wagon as the doctor knelt down next to Sister and began a brisk examination. He nodded in satisfaction and signaled for the stranger to carry her inside. The rest of the subdued crowd trailed behind.

  The sisters, knowing they could do nothing for Sister Leona at the moment, moved off to find chores to occupy their minds until they could hear the doctor’s verdict. Many of the sisters hurried to the chapel, where they would keep their silent, prayerful vigil.

  Cameron couldn’t tear herself away from the room. She stood just outside the door, watching as the stranger eased Sister gently onto her bed. By the time he had walked to the door, Reverend Mother and the 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. Allumette means match in French."

  His lips quirked in a half-smile, as if he may have already known this.

  "And did you know that Champlain actually traveled as far as Allumette Island in 1613?"

  He nodded. "Interesting." All the while, his gaze roamed appreciatively over her animated features.

  At ease now, she prattled on. "Did you know we’re in the path of the ice age? Reverend Mother said that upstream from Pembroke and below Des Joachims is one of the few remaining valleys resulting from the stresses of that era. She saw a plateau of granite which juts hundreds of feet above the valley floor. She said it’s—spectacular." She hesitated, realizing how silly she must sound to this stranger.

  "Yes. I’ve seen it. And it is spectacular." His lazy smile caused her heart to tumble wildly in her chest. "Haven’t you seen it?"

  Cameron shook her head, causing her silken hair to drift softly about her neck and shoulders. "I’ve never left this island," she admitted softly.

  "Never? This little strip of land is all you’ve seen?" He studied her intently, loving the color which flooded her cheeks at his scrutiny. "There’s a big world out there to explore someday."

  "Someday," she echoed wistfully.

  Reverend Mother scurried into the kitchen and skidded to a stop at the sight of the two of them. Then she held up a rough, homespun shirt, which she had obviously borrowed from one of the stable hands.

  "This will have to do for now, Mr. Gray. If you will accept our hospitality for the night, we will have your own clothes in order by tomorrow."

  "Thank you," he said. "This is fine."

  Cameron watched in fascination as he slipped on the shirt and stretched it over the taut muscles of his shoulders and chest, quickly tucking it into the waistband of his pants. When Cameron saw Reverend Mother’s narrowed eyes boring into hers, she forced herself to look away.

  "The doctor is finished with Sister Leona," Reverend Mother said. "She would like to see both of you before the sedative he gave her takes effect."

  Reverend Mother walked to the doorway, and Cameron and Michael quickly followed. Walking behind Reverend Mother into Sister Leona’s room, Cameron stopped abruptly. Sister Leona had always been the strongest woman in the convent. Her erect carriage and solid, sturdy build gave the impression of a person completely in control. This stranger lying in the bed frightened Cameron. The removal of her headdress, revealing short, gray hair curling slightly about a pale face, made her appear older and more vulnerable, more human. Her breathing was even, as though she were asleep. Her arm was swathed in thick dressings.

  "Sister Leona, Cameron and the young man are here," whispered Reverend Mother.

  Turning to Cameron, Reverend Mother admonished, "You have only a few minutes with her. She needs her rest." Turning, she softly closed the door as she left.

  Sister Leona’s eyelids fluttered open, and she turned a weak smile on Cameron.

  Relief and guilt flooded through Cameron. She flung herself on her knees at the bedside.

  "Oh, Sister Leona! I’m so sorry. Please forgive me," she sobbed.

  "Here, here, child. Whatever are you sorry for?"

  "For coaxing you to ride with me. I knew you weren’t up to it. It was so selfish of me." A tear coursed down her cheek as she pressed her hand over Sister Leona’s.

  "Cameron, stop that. Do you hear? It wasn’t your fault my horse bolted. It was a snake, I believe. And you did just fine, child. Why, you and this man saved my life."

  As Cameron wiped her eyes, Sister Leona stared up at him. "Reverend Mother tells me your name is Michael Gray," she said slowly.

  "Yes, Sister."

  "Michael, do you believe that the hand of God directs all our lives?" Sister’s voice was thick and muffled from the sedative.

  "It’s not something I’ve given a lot of thought to, Sister. But I’d say yes, I believe that," he replied seriously.

  "Good. Good." She seemed to be speaking to herself. Then louder, to both of them, she added, "I don’t know how you happened to be on Allumette Island today, Michael, but I do know that God required both you and Cameron to work together to save my life. Neither of you alone could have done what you did together." Her words were slurred, as though talking had become a great effort. "God bless you, Michael Gray. You will be in my prayers always."

  Cameron leaned down and kissed her cheek and followed Michael Gray from the room.

  Before they had left the room Sister Leona was asleep.

  As they descended the stairs, the wonderful aroma of cooking reached them from the kitchen.

  Little Sister Adele smiled shyly at Michael and said, "Reverend Mother wants both of you to come and eat." Putting her arm around Cameron’s shoulders, she murmured, "Dear Cameron. You must be exhausted."

  Cameron smiled at her and allowed herself to be led once more to the kitchen. There were only two places set at the table, and Cameron realized with some apprehension that she would have to sit and face Michael Gray over dinner. He held out a chair for her, and she averted her eyes as she sat down. Several of the sisters were busy washing up pots and pans, making tea, and hunting up any other chores that would keep them in the kitchen to hear what Mother Superior would have to say to the stranger.

  Reverend Mother entered the kitchen, and Michael rose to his feet. He held her chair, then moved back to his place at the table.

  "Will you be staying long on our island, Mr. Gray?" she asked.

  "No. I was leaving today, when"—and he turned a smile on them both—"I found myself detained. I’ll be leaving tomorrow."

  Cameron’s heart sank.

  "We are most grateful, Mr. Gray. Sister Leona believed that you and Cameron behaved most heroically today."

  Michael glanced at Cameron with a bemused expression. Her cheeks burning, she lowered her eyes and moved the food around her plate. It was very warm in the kitchen. Warm and safe. If only she could rest her head for a moment. As the voice of Reverend Mother and the deeper timbre of Michael’s voice washed over her, she set down her fork and propped her head on her hand. The steamy warmth of the room comforted her. The familiar kitchen sounds were lulling her. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. The next thing she was aware of was a sensation of being lifted in strong arms. She was floating. There were distant voices, and she thought she heard Reverend Mother say, "Her room is up here."

  Cameron brought her arms up around a rough shirt and buried her face in warm flesh. She could feel a pulse beat against her lips. She sighed contentedly and heard a deep, throaty chuckle.

  Under her warm quilt, she slept soundly.

  Chapter Two

  Cameron awoke at first light and moved stiffly. Her arm and shoulder ached. She tried to remember coming up to bed the night before. Then memories began to flood her mind, and she groaned and covered her face with her hands.

  She had fallen asleep at the table, right in front of Michael Gray. She had probably buried her nose in her food. And Michael had seen her.

  Michael. He was here somewhere, sleeping under the same roof. She jumped from her bed, oblivious to the pain and stiffness. Stealing a glance in the small oval mirror over her wash basin, a moan escaped her lips. She looked horrible. Her hair was all tangled, her face smudged.

  It took Cameron more than an hour to repair the damage of the day before. By the time she came downstairs to chapel for morning Mass, she was scrubbed fresh, her hair washed and arranged in a neat knot at the back of her neck. She wore a fresh green cotton dress which Sister Adele had once said gave her green eyes a warm glow that put emeralds to shame.

  Her arm throbbed painfully, and she found that it was less painful if she kept it bent slightly in front of her. Carrying her prayerbook in her other hand, she entered the chapel.

  Cameron knew the exact moment when Michael entered the chapel. Mass was nearly over when he walked in. She forced herself to stare at the words in her prayerbook. He entered the pew across fro
m her. She knew without looking that his gaze was on her. She would not look at him. She could not. But with a will of their own, her eyes betrayed her. They moved up, over, and then she was meeting his steady gaze. He smiled, and she allowed herself a demure smile, feeling a swift rush of heat stain her cheeks, before forcing herself to stare once more at the book in her hand.

  When Mass ended, she remained in her pew until Michael stood and began to leave. Walking out behind him, she gazed in fascination at the width of his shoulders. His clothes had been carefully cleaned and pressed. She realized that his jacket was beautifully tailored, and the collar of the shirt, which yesterday had been soaked in a stream and used to bathe Sister Leona’s wounds, was of the finest linen and intricately embroidered with his initials.

  Breakfast was a festive affair, held in the huge refectory. Except for the bishop, who visited the convent once every five years, they rarely had a visitor. Reverend Mother sat at the head of the long table, with Michael Gray at the other end. The sisters and Cameron sat along the sides.

  Cameron listened as the sisters asked Michael endless questions about where his travels had taken him and discovered that he had seen most of the United States and Canada. She said nothing, hoping no one would call attention to her. Every time she thought about last night, falling asleep at the table, probably with her face in her plate, she wanted to hide. How foolish she must have looked to a man like Michael. How childish.

  Sister Marie was telling Michael something about her home. Cameron stole a quick glance at his face. His eyes caught and held hers. He winked wickedly, and she felt the flame once more burn her cheeks.

  Too soon breakfast was finished, and the sisters were walking Michael to the door. Cameron followed, wondering what she could possibly say to him in front of all of them.

  His horse was saddled and waiting in the courtyard. Cameron stared at the hand-tooled leather and the exquisite silver gleaming in the sunlight. This was further proof, she knew, that Michael was a man of wealth and breeding.

  The sisters gathered around him to bid him their goodbyes. Reverend Mother made the sign of the cross over him with her right hand, offering her blessing for his safe journey. Each of the sisters shook his hand, thanked him for his help, and promised to pray for him. Cameron was the only one who had not spoken.