Bounty Hunter (8 page)

Kane let out a surprised bark of laughter which distracted her. “Look out,” he cautioned
as they headed for a sloping curve, “all the sweet kisses in the world won’t put me
back together if you drive this thing over the edge.”

He watched the flush climb into her cheeks as she quickly turned her attention to
the road. He was
half tempted to ask her to pull over so he could find out how easily the rest of her
body blushed. He shifted in his seat.

“You should do that more often, you know?” she said after a lengthy silence.

It took him a moment to realize she meant his short burst of laughter. She was probably
right. But he usually didn’t have much to laugh about. He ignored the twinge in the
center of his chest and turned back to her. “Maybe you should take your own advice,”
he suggested quietly. He was glad for the pain in his left hand. It was the only thing
that kept him from reaching out and running his fingers down the side of her face.
“I bet you used to laugh all the time.”

The tightened jawline and sudden working of the muscles in her throat gave him his
answer.

“Why are you really here, Annie? What made you run?”

Her whole body stiffened. Her knuckles on the steering wheel were pure white. “What
makes you think I’m running?”

“A woman like you doesn’t send herself into self-imposed exile in one of the harshest
landscapes in the country because she needs a little break.”

“A woman like me?” Elizabeth queried softly, almost more to herself than to Kane.
“What do you know of women like me?”

Elizabeth sensed the complete stillness inside the truck. It belatedly occurred to
her that he had taken her comment the wrong way. She’d reached a
flat stretch of road with a wider than usual shoulder. She immediately slowed the
truck and pulled over, then shoved the gear shift into neutral and turned her attention
to him.

She froze. The words she’d been about to say lodged hard in her throat. She had his
complete attention. And with a man as intense as Kane Hawthorne, it was a palpable
thing. His eyes glittered, black and shiny. His lips, which she’d found herself staring
at more than once, were compressed into a flat, emotionless line.

She wanted to reach out for him. To him. Something in the fierce pride that literally
shouted from every rigidly held muscle in his body made her want to pull him into
her arms and hold on tight.

“Kane, that comment was self-directed. If you think for one minute that your heritage …”
She let her words drift as the irony of what she was doing hit her. She’d spent the
last three months in hiding from a man whose beliefs were so opposite hers, she’d
put her very life in jeopardy to try and change his mind. And now she was having to
convince Kane she wasn’t prejudiced. If he only knew.

The sudden urge to tell him everything was so overwhelming, she gripped the door handle,
intending to jump out for a quick dose of fresh air and common sense.

“Annie, stop.” He didn’t reach for her, but the power of his voice held her still
just as effectively. “I know you didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry.”

“I take it you’ve encountered the attitude once or twice.”

“You could say that.”

Without thinking, she shifted a bit closer. “Well, you can bet the ranch that I don’t
have a bigoted bone in my body,” she said fervently. On a roll, she added, “As a matter
of fact, your Shoshone heritage intrigues me quite a bit.”

She’d been looking him square in the face, wanting to leave no doubt as to her sincerity.
So it was impossible to miss the sudden change in his dark eyes. The glitter was still
there, but it wasn’t heated now. Well, yes it was. But with an entirely different
flame as its source.

“
Da’bEntcotc
,” he intoned softly, “don’t look too deep inside me. My
mu’gua
is too black for the likes of you.”

The odd rhythm of his words wafted through her mind like the soft musical sound of
water rushing over rocks. “What did that mean?”

“
Mu’gua
means soul.”

“And the other?”

He turned abruptly to face the windshield. “Shouldn’t we be getting into town? You
don’t want to drive these roads in the dark.”

Elizabeth wanted to press him for an answer, but she let it go. For now. For good,
if she was smart. She knew it was dangerous to get any further involved with Kane
than she already was. He was an employee of sorts, nothing more. But she couldn’t
deny the attraction she felt. With a look or a quiet
word, he managed to touch her on levels she hadn’t been aware she’d possessed.

She shifted into first and steered onto the road, studiously avoiding looking at Kane
even in her peripheral vision. But she kept hearing the words he’d spoken.

She pulled into the gravel parking lot that fronted Dobs’s country store and the Boundary
Gap post office. Still a bit unsettled, she hopped down without glancing at Kane.

She was forced to when they both reached for the tailgate at the same time. “Thanks,”
she said quietly when he popped the bent handle to lower the gate down, glad she sounded
calm and casual. Remembering his hand, she said, “Maybe you’d better let me get these.”

In answer, Kane pulled two of the boxes to the edge, stacked one on the other, and
hefted them to his right hip. “These go to Dobs, right?”

She didn’t bother to argue with him. “I’ll get the other two and meet you inside.”
He dipped his chin in a brief nod and moved toward the wooden steps leading up to
the screen door, which was propped open with an old cola crate. “Stubborn as a mule,”
she muttered, ignoring the fact that she’d have been disappointed if he’d reacted
any differently.

She struggled to stack the boxes, the cardboard not being too sturdy. She had to use
both arms to carry them, but she managed to get up the stairs in
time to catch the tail end of a conversation between Dobs and Kane.

“Glad to hear she had enough smarts to take on some help,” Dobs was saying. “Didn’t
much care for the idea of a little thing like her on that deserted patch of land all
by herself.”

“You have much trouble around here?” Kane asked.

Elizabeth paused on the second-to-last step, telling herself it was to catch her breath.
Kane’s question had been casual. Too casual? She waited for Dobs’s reply.

“Naw, no more than the occasional unlicensed hunter or rowdy farmhand with too much
payday and too little sense.”

“I understand the Lazy F has been abandoned for a long time. Guess it’s natural you’d
be concerned.”

Elizabeth shifted the boxes in her arms, trying to keep the glass jars from chinking
together. Kane wasn’t the type to make useless small talk. Even after knowing him
for only a few days, she realized there had to be a reason for his comments. She thought
about the reference list he’d given her, which she’d stuck in her pocket before leaving
the house earlier. Only now it was a bit harder to deny that her reasons for wanting
to contact the names on the list were strictly business related.

She hefted her load up the last step and walked into the store. “Hi, Dobs, hope you
got enough
room to store these for a few days till Ms. Wentland stops back over.”

She smiled at the grizzled old man, the warmth in her voice sincere. He was barely
a hair over five feet, almost as round as he was tall, with a ring of shocking white
hair crowning his otherwise bald head. She’d wondered when she’d first seen him if
he’d compensated for the lack of hair on top by growing his beard to St. Nicholas
proportions. But she knew now it had nothing to do with vanity. He was a sharp businessman
who’d sustained his tiny store for almost fifty years and owed his success—to hear
him tell it, as she had more than once—to plain speaking, faith in the good Lord above,
and a healthy respect for homemade whiskey.

Kane stepped forward and relieved her of her burden, carefully placing the boxes on
the scarred linoleum counter next to the others he’d carried in.

“No problem, Miz Fielding. I got plenty of room. Looks like you outdone yourself.
Miz Wentland will be pleased.” He tipped up on his toes and rummaged through one of
the boxes. “Wouldn’t happen to have any raspberry jam this time around?”

Elizabeth’s smile broadened. “Hold on.” She dashed out to the truck and lifted the
canvas tote she’d stashed by the wheel hub. She hopped up the stairs and back into
the cool store. “Here you go,” she said, pulling two mason jars from the tan bag.
“Special for you.”

Kane hid his surprise as the old man blushed at
Annie’s offering.
So, she even gets to old busybodies
, he thought wryly. He was glad for Dobs’s penchant for sticking his nose in everyone’s
business, it made him a perfect source for information. Looking at him now, though,
his cheeks even ruddier than usual as he accepted the jars and turned to go stash
them in the back room, Kane imagined that not too many people stuck their nose in
Dobs’s business.

He turned his attention back to Annie, who was pulling a list out of her jeans’ pocket.

“I need to get some feed for Sky Dancer.”

“There’s a feed store at the bottom of the mountain—”

“No, I’ll make do with what he has here. I want to supplement her diet so she doesn’t
graze down your grass too badly. I’d like to get a bale or two of hay as well, if
you have enough room in the back of the truck.”

“No problem. I have a package at the post office, but it should be small.”

He forced his tone to remain light. “Mail day, huh? More jars?”

She smiled, and Kane silently damned himself for having to probe each facet of her
life under the guise of friendship. It would be so nice if he could just … 
what, Hawthorne?
Let his guard down and relax? Spend his time wondering how to make her smile more
often instead of digging up information that will likely insure she’ll never smile
at him again?

“Jars? No, just some labels with a fruit border. I
ordered them from a catalog Dobs has. I figured they’d look nicer than masking tape
and … What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Sounds great. Just surprised you’d take on the added expense. But I guess
if you’re already paying for a post office box …” He purposely let his words trail
off.

“I don’t have a box. I told Letty to look for a package for Ann Fielding and hold
it for me. It’s pretty informal around here. And the labels only cost a few dollars.
Or should I say jars.”

It was exactly the information he’d been fishing for. So why did he want to tell her
to shut up and not reveal anything more? Why did he want to tell her to be careful
before she told him too much and discovered she’d have to run again—only this time
she’d have to hide from him too?

At least he knew she hadn’t laid a paper trail for anyone to pin down her exact location.
Yeah, one person stalking her is enough
, his inner voice jeered.

“Here,” he reached for the list, “I’ll get this and the feed while you’re getting
your mail.”

She looked up and smiled uncertainly, but handed him the wrinkled piece of paper.
“Okay, put it on the counter. I’ll help with what’s left when I get back.”

Kane watched her leave, then turned to look for the feed. He let his shoulders slump
a little. This was turning into a headache he didn’t need. He’d tackled far more dangerous,
complex jobs than this one, but one freckle-faced, redheaded secretary
turns a friendly smile his way, and he’s tied into a million knots wondering what
he should do.

“What you should do is build her a few shelves, hightail it back to Boise, and tell
Sam Perkins to stick his money and hire some other idiot to track down his wife,”
he muttered under his breath as he heaved a fifty-pound sack of sweet feed over his
shoulder. He winced at the pain in his palm, knowing he’d opened the cut again but
not caring. The mere thought of some other man stalking her and dragging her back
to that hair-sprayed, cap-toothed shark of a bank president …

Who happened to be her husband. “Dammit.”

“Problem, son?” Dobs asked.

Kane heaved the feed onto the floor in front of the counter. “No. Mind if I leave
this here while I pick up a few things?”

“Suit yourself.”

Kane didn’t miss the look Dobs sent out the open doorway toward the post office. He
knew the man was dying for the least provocation to discuss Annie again. So why wasn’t
he rushing to give him one? Kane put the question and the store owner out of his mind
and moved over to a shelf loaded with a variety of canned goods.

“Didn’t want to say nuthin’ with the girl standing right outside the door,” Dobs began,
as if they’d been talking for some time.

Kane let out a small sigh. So Dobs had known she was there too. He grabbed a couple
of cans of
soup and moved over to the boxed goods. “About what?” he asked.

Dobs skirted the counter and stopped where he could carry on a quiet conversation,
but still keep his eye on the door.

“Now don’t take this the wrong way or nuthin’,” he said, his gruff voice lowered.
“But I’m wantin’ to know what your business is with Ann … er, Miz Fielding.”

Kane paused slightly in his shopping, but was careful to keep a placid expression
on his face. “I believe you were the one who pointed out she needed help.”

“So that’s all there is to it?”

Kane wanted to ask the little tyrant who the hell he thought he was, Annie’s guardian?
But he knew better. He also knew Dobs was leading up to something, and it wasn’t Kane’s
work qualifications.

“Yeah, I’m building shelves and repairing the barn in exchange for using the bunkhouse
for a while.”

Dobs shifted closer. “Don’t con an old con man, son. I seen the way you look at her.”

Kane tensed, his grip on the box of cereal, threatening to send bran flakes flying
all over the store.

“Now don’t get riled. I’m thinking a man like you might be what she needs. Her being
on the run and all.”

Kane gave up all pretense of disinterest. In the
blink of an eye, he shelved the groceries he’d been carrying and pulled the little
shop owner halfway down the aisle. Pushing his face even with Dobs, he said, “What
makes you think she’s running from something?”