Her second, to faint.
Her third—the strongest of all—was to strangle Roger Thornton Bannister III the first chance she got. The little brat! Here she'd been worrying herself sick, thinking the poor child had been scalped by a band of renegade Indians, and what did Roger do? He brought one back with him! Even as the thought shot through her mind, another, stronger one overrode it. The man was not entirely Indian. Oh, his cheeks and nose, both high and well defined, suggested a strong native heritage. So did the rich copper tone of his skin, and the sweep of black hair that fell in a sleek line to well past his shoulder blades. His height was the only thing average about him; she judged him to be about five-foot ten or eleven, only a few inches taller than herself. He had solid shoulders and narrow hips. His form was panther-lean and powerful.
His jaw was hard and square, suggesting a trace of good English breeding somewhere back in his not-too-distant ancestry. As for his eyes...
Ah, his eyes. Now they definitely didn't belong to any Indian tribe Amanda had ever heard of! She almost—almost—felt relieved. Then their gazes meshed. And he spoke. And the relief scattered.
"Well, well well," the man drawled as he thumbed the wide-brimmed, black felt hat back on the crown of his equally black head. A large black-and-white eagle feather had been tucked into the braided leather hatband. Amanda noticed it, just before her gaze dipped.
He'd hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of indecently snug denim pants. As she watched, he rolled his weight back on his heels. His steel-grey gaze never left her, though it was clear his next words were aimed at Roger. "Looks like you weren't lying after all. Is she really stuck?"
The boy shrugged, his gaze volleying between Amanda's pale cheeks and the acute interest he saw darkening the stranger's eyes. "She says she is," Roger answered warily.
"Then it must be true. The lady don't look to be the lying type."
A shiver of heat splashed through Amanda when the stranger's gaze raked the partially dried hair scattered around her face and shoulders. His attention dipped, lazily taking in the water-darkened bodice of her cream-colored shirtwaist and the dark rose skirt that clung to her hips like a clammy second skin.
She'd heard rumors of men who could strip a woman bare with one smoldering glance, but she'd never met one who would dare. Until now. As the man's attention poured over her, Amanda had the unpleasant feeling he could see right through the saturated barrier of cloth. A warm, tight sensation curled in the pit of her stomach: unfamiliar, alarming.
She tipped her chin up defensively. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cut his lewd investigation short.
His gaze took its sweet time lifting to hers. His grey eyes shimmered in the mid-morning sunlight, telling her it was far too late for modesty. His appreciative expression said something else again; that he'd already decided what "type" of lady she was... and that he could tolerate her sort with little trouble.
"I suppose you'll be wanting my help now, ma'am?" The way his tongue wrapped around the word "ma'am" sent an odd, warm-cold tremor down Amanda's spine. Somehow, he made it sound less like a title and more like a sensual endearment.
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," she replied stiffly, and thought, why not? Her left leg throbbed from supporting her idle weight for so long. She was wet and chilled to the bone. She knew if she didn't allow this man to help her, she might never get out of this frigid water.
He nodded and turned his attention to Roger. "Go find some sticks and get a fire started. Don't skimp; I want it blazing. The lady's going to need all the heat she can get once she's out of there. And get some blankets, too. All you can spare. There's a couple rolled and tied on my horse. Use them."
Roger's golden brows slashed high, disappearing beneath the curls that kissed his forehead. He glanced up at the stranger as though the man had lost all grip on reality. "You want me to do what?"
"Get a fire started," the man gritted impatiently, even as he sank to the ground and began yanking off his knee-high moccasins. "What the hell are you waiting for, kid? I want that fire started, and I want it started now!"
It must have been the ring of authority in the man's voice, Amanda decided. Either that, or the veiled threat glistening in his eyes. Whatever the reason, Roger spun on his heel and sprinted into the woods with unheard-of speed.
"Looks like it's just you and me, princess," the man said as, lithely pushing to his feet, he took a step toward the river. His attention rose from the spot where the water lapped at her hips. His gaze ascended—slowly, hotly—over her breasts, her shoulders, her chin, and lips. Finally, he locked onto her fear-widened eyes.
In that instant, Amanda knew why Roger had run. If her foot wasn't stuck, she would do the same thing. The savage glint in the man's eyes, coupled with his insolent perusal, had a terrifying affect on her.
"You have a name?" His question was instantly followed by a loud splash. He'd just taken his first swaggering stride into the icy river.
"O-of course." Closing her eyes, Amanda stifled a groan in the back of her throat. Her voice deserted her. Not for all the money in the world could she have forced her eyes open at that moment, forced herself to watch as that dangerous-looking man stalked toward her like a hungry wolf hunting down its trapped, defenseless prey.
"You going to tell me what it is?"
His voice was closer. Amanda thought that reason enough not to answer him. That, and the feel of the water being disturbed around her. The icy current lapped at her stomach. She rolled her lips inward and ordered herself not to shiver. It wouldn't do for this man to think her tremors were caused by his nearness and not the water's numbing coldness.
And he was near. She could sense it, feel it.
"Okay, princess, let me put it another way. You want to get out of this river any time soon?"
Amanda's eyes snapped open. A split second too late, she realized it for the mistake it was. The stranger was standing close. Too close. The span of his shoulders
and chest cast a chilly shadow over her, blotting out the warmth of the late morning sun, blotting out everything. The water was cold, but it would have needed to be covered with a thick sheet of ice to counterbalance the intense male heat his lean body radiated.
The earthy, leather-and-spice smell of him surrounded her, seeped through her, seeped into her. The scent warmed her blood, thawing what Amanda had begun to think would be an everlasting chill. She didn't feel chilled right now. Just the opposite; she'd never felt so hot in her life!
The man angled his head to look down at her, and Amanda saw that he'd removed his hat. His straight black hair scattered flatteringly around his face. The breeze tossed the inky strands around his shoulders. Her gaze picked out a thin, tight braid, no thicker than her pinkie, woven into the underside of his hair, just behind his left ear. She trailed the braid down to a small brown feather, anchored by a leather thong tied to the end of it.