The Texan's Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

retrieve the prickly female, but he didn’t relish climbing an oak either. After all, there was his questionable history with tree branches to consider. That’s what had earned him his nickname to begin with.
    “Aw, hell,” he finally muttered. Shucking out of his jacket, he walked to the tree and, grasping a lower limb, began to haul himself up. While he worked his way to the branch above Katie, he wondered how she could have become so entangled just from falling. He inched his way out along the arm of the tree, gripping the coarse, corky bark with his hands and his thighs. “Since I’m up here risking life on limb, don’t you think you should show a bit of gratitude? The least you could do is tell me how you managed to get up to your—”
    “All right, all right,” Katie interrupted. “My quilt got hung in the tree and I slipped. I’m afraid I lost my temper a bit when I tried to rise and couldn’t.”
    “Pitched a bloomer-bustin’ fit, huh?”
    “Just get me out of here, please,” Katie implored.
    Branch grinned. That “please” must have cost her a full measure of pride. He lay balanced on the limb, his long, powerful legs wrapped around its width, and reached below to pluck the vines from the Irish-Texian bundle of trouble.
    He started with her hair. As gently as possible, he unwrapped the mahogany strands from the cane. She had beautiful hair—he hated to see any of it torn from her head. Fine and silken to his touch, its soft texture soothed the prick of the thorns his fingers encountered.
    He talked as he worked. “I’ll have you know, I was on the verge of landing a huge bass when I heard your scream. You ought to appreciate me more. I’ll bet there’s not a dozen men in Texas who’d have dropped a catch like that at a woman’s holler.” He looked down at her. Each breath she took lifted her breasts toward him. He almost fell out of the tree.
    “Of course,” he clicked his tongue, “my daddy always taught me the best fishing’s found in a brush patch.” He grinned at her. “You ever tried a worm, Katie Starr?”
    She glared at him, then puckered her mouth into fish lips. “Your bait wouldn’t land a minnow, Branch Kincaid,” she retorted.
    “Well, we’ll just have to see about that now, won’t we?” He’d loosened most of her hair, and he went to work on her clothing. This could take all day. He sat up to stretch his cramping muscles and came to a decision. He eased his way back to the trunk of the tree and hopped down.
    “Mr. Kincaid. Hey, Mr. Kincaid, where are you going? Don’t leave me here. Branch!”
    “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he called over his shoulder. Quickly, he made his way back to the river and his gear. “Shame about that fish,” he said to himself as he pulled his bowie knife from the trunk of a cottonwood tree. Earlier he’d used the weapon to cut his fishing pole, and he’d grabbed only his Colt when he heard the scream. He headed back to Katie with a merry whistle on his lips.
    She was reciting the Hail Mary when he returned. “I’m back,” he called. She switched to the Lord’s Prayer. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was scared.
    Katie grimaced as she turned her head to watch him climb the tree. He winced at the thought of her pain. Even scratched and tattered, wrapped in thorns and remnants of spider webs, she attracted him like a drink of cold water on a hot afternoon. He stretched above her on the limb. Katie peeked through her eyelashes, then her eyes flew open wide. “He’s got a knife,” she cried aloud.
    “And he’s going to use it,” Branch replied. “You know I won’t hurt you, Sprite. What’s the matter?”
    Katie’s gaze was glued to the wicked curve near the point of the forged steel blade. She swallowed hard. “What… what are you going to do?” she asked.
    Branch gave an exasperated grunt. “What do you think I’m gonna to do? I’m gonna cut you out of the blasted cane.”
    “I knew that,”