Gold Dust Widow: The Story of an Outlaw's Revenge

Chapter 8: Jasper

She was a damn stubborn woman.

The rain had sheeted down for hours. By the time it had stopped, it was nighttime, and a cold wind swooped through the small valley we'd found ourselves in.

Everything was utterly soaked, the torrent that flowed outside our tiny cave had doubled in size and roared with a newfound fury.

Having stripped down to my long johns, I was cold, but I was dry. My clothing already hanging outside the cave, hopefully, dry enough to wear tomorrow.

Clara, however, was still curled up in her soaking clothes, hugging her coat around her tiny shoulders and shuddering so much I was afraid she'd bring the mountains down on top of us.

Even Ares, who she'd been clinging to for warmth, had shifted away from her and her wet clothing.

She was trying to sleep, trembling so much I doubted she'd even got two seconds of peace. That and the way she was grasping her shoulder had me suspecting that the cold was making it hurt even more.

My saddlebags had got thoroughly soaked, but jerky was always good, wet, or dry, so I ate some slowly, staring at the torrent and giving small pieces to Ares.

I had come to terms with the fact that I had no idea which direction I had been walking towards for hours. I hated that she knew exactly where we were. Giving her any form of power seemed dangerous. Though, she hadn't killed me when she could have, easily. So she couldn't be all bad.

She was very good at hiding her secrets.

I glanced back towards her trembling shape. It was very difficult to see her as any except a feeble, stubborn woman. Perhaps that was how she escape the law for so long, no one thought she was dangerous until she shot them between the eyes.

Her teeth chattered. She was really going to get sick.

Hating myself already, I pushed myself backwards, crawling towards her in the confined space. Her dark hair was plastered to her face; dark lashes framing her eyes that were squeezed shut. Her full lips trembled with her shudders.

"Clara," I whispered, shaking her shoulder.

She winced but didn't open her eyes.

"Clara, you need to get out of these wet clothes. You need to warm up," I insisted.

She twisted slightly, her eyes slowly opened, bright blue, meeting mine straight on. I was leaning over her.

For a moment, her gaze darted down, her eyes widening when she saw I was still shirtless. Then she steeled her expression.

"I will, but don't look," she croaked.

I nodded once and shuffled back, turning my back to her. I heard her moving, the sound of wet clothing hitting the cave floor. The sounds of her chattering teeth.

"Good night," she whispered.

I turned immediately.

She still wore her trousers, tied high around her waist, and her white shirt, what was left of it, was sticking to her shape.

I took her in slowly, her ample hips, the soft curve down to her little waist, the rise of her torso.

Her hurt shoulder was bare where the wet shirt had pulled down, I couldn't see any bleeding.

Those trousers were still soaking, and made of thick material. It was somewhat surprising that she was holding onto her modesty. I had no idea what sort of relationship she must have had with the men she rode with. Outlaws weren't known to be any sort of gentle with lady folk.