Cherished (16 page)

Oh. So that’s where he had gone. Relief
poured over her, as well as a reluctant sense of admiration for his
coolheadedness.
She
had forgotten all about the horse and
the supplies—but then, she’d been the one who’d almost died out
there, thanks to Cole Rawdon. She couldn’t be expected to think
clearly after something like that.

She ignored the fact that he had also been
the one to save her life. If not for him, she never would have been
anywhere near the edge of that canyon, Juliana reasoned. Sitting on
the floor of the cave, watching him tend to the pinto with quick
efficiency, she was struck by how smooth and capable each of his
movements were. Dripping wet, no doubt freezing, as she was, he
nevertheless saw to the animal with patience and ease, all the
while totally ignoring her.

Anger pulsed through her. “Now that you’re
back, you can untie these ropes,” she commanded. “I’m certainly not
going to run off while you’re here to guard me.”

He didn’t even glance her way. “Lady, you’re
loco enough to do just about anything.” He began building a fire
with a store of dried twigs and branches Juliana could only surmise
he had gathered together before the storm. So, he’d had this all
planned out, had he? He’d found this shelter, then waited until the
storm had hit, to seize her. And then he’d tried to scare her to
death besides, jumping down like that out of nowhere. The man had a
mean streak. It gave her little satisfaction that he was as wet as
she. He didn’t look one bit uncomfortable, but her teeth were
chattering, and she felt as if her skin were coated with ice.

Rawdon built the fire and soon the cave was
lit by a golden blaze. Amber tongues of flame leapt up and outward,
casting weird shadows on the rough rock walls. Warmth flowed
outward from the fire’s crackling center, tantalizing Juliana in
her sodden garments. She wriggled as close to the glowing flames as
she could. “It would be a great deal easier to get warm without
these ropes,” she remarked in an acid tone, wondering in helpless
fury if he meant to keep her tied up all night.

“I reckon it would” was all he replied. He
sent her one long, nonchalant glance. Then he began to strip off
his own wet clothes, first his boots, then his shirt and pants.

Scandalized, Juliana averted her gaze, but
not before she had had a glimpse of his huge, dark-furred chest.
She had never seen a man’s naked chest before, and she wondered if
they were all as broad and powerfully muscled as this one. Even in
that brief instant, she had seen the muscles rippling.

Her fascination with his chest was
outrageous, she decided—Aunt Katharine would say it was immoral.
Yet she had to fight to keep from stealing another glance at him.
Enemy or no, he had an undeniable virile beauty, as rugged and
dangerous as the mountains themselves. She told herself that by now
he was probably naked from the waist
down
and she
certainly didn’t want to see
that
. So she managed to keep
her gaze fixed firmly on the dancing flames, until suddenly she
became aware that he was hunkering down across the fire from her,
preparing coffee.

He was fully dressed—to an extent. He had
donned the blue trousers and flannel shirt she had seen in the
saddlebag, but he had left the shirt open to the waist. That
rippling, muscled chest was exposed, tapering down to a flat, hard
stomach. Juliana swallowed. He was a compelling, infuriating
sight—pure masculine power and ease, handsome as sin, and coldly
indifferent to her own wretched discomfort.

“I think you’ve proven your point, Mr.
Rawdon.” She met his cool gaze over the flames, and there was green
fire shimmering in her eyes.

“My point? What point would that be?” He
poured steaming coffee into an iron mug and lifted it to his lips.
He sighed in pleasure as he tasted it, then reached for the jerky
and biscuits in the pack.

“You’ve caught me.” Juliana gritted her
teeth. She was utterly miserable, fighting back tears, but she’d be
damned if she’d let him see that. “I’m your prisoner,” she managed
to say in a calm tone. “You are clearly in charge. That doesn’t
mean you have the right to starve me—or let me freeze to death!” It
was difficult to get the words out clearly, she was shivering so
much, yet she refused to let a pleading note enter her voice. She
spoke to him with an air of seething anger, pride preventing her
from giving in to the temptation to beg. “Now are you going to
untie me and behave in a civilized fashion or are you going to
continue to play the role of a barbarian?”

He set down the coffee mug and the food and
came around the campfire with the stealthy, catlike grace of an
Indian. Juliana didn’t like the look on his face.

With one smooth movement, he pushed her
backward onto the rough floor of the cave and held her down with
the weight of his body.

“I’ve seen barbarians, sweetheart. I know
what they do. You don’t know shit about barbarians.” His hands
tangled in her hair, tightening painfully. “If I was a barbarian,
you wouldn’t be sitting here with your pretty little dress buttoned
up to your throat.” His eyes glittered with iron-blue sparks. She’d
never seen such ruthlessness as she saw in his face. He looked
dark, wild, cold. It scared the wits out of her.

“If I was a barbarian, you’d be staked out on
the ground. You’d be naked. And I’d be punishing you for stealing
my horse in a way you’d never forget.”

“Let me go!” No longer was her trembling a
result of the cold. Terror beat through her, filling every pore,
every muscle of her body. “Please, let me go!”

“Barbarians don’t let their prisoners go,” he
snarled. “They don’t show any mercy.”

His face held no emotion except cold
indifference. That terrified her more than if he had been furious
with her. This was something she didn’t know how to deal with, or
to protect herself against. She bit her lip, and tried to blink
back the tears that stung her eyes.

“Stealing a horse is a serious crime in this
country, lady. Men hang for it. Maybe you think that being a woman,
you won’t get the same kind of justice. You’re wrong. I could
string you up right now and no one would say a word against it—a
half-dozen witnesses saw what you did.”

“I had to ... get away.”

“You didn’t get away and you’re not going to
get away. Do you understand that?”

She was suddenly too weary, too miserable to
fight or argue or even worry any longer. She went still, limp as a
rag doll beneath him. Her slender form, weak and tired and aching
from the rigors of this day, couldn’t take any more. As Cole held
her to the ground her pale face looked up at him in bleak despair,
empty of fight, of anger, even of fear.

“What is it you want?” she whispered. “What
do you plan to do with me?”

For a moment he just stared at her, taking in
the dripping golden curls, the fragile, lovely face so weary and
drained, the shivers running through her soft form.

He knew what he’d like to do with her. But it
was unthinkable. She was his prisoner, completely at his mercy. He
couldn’t take advantage of that. Besides, she rightly hated him.
She’d probably like to claw his eyes out right now, and he couldn’t
really blame her. But if she had been willing, he thought, his eyes
darkening as he stared down at her, if circumstances between them
had been different ... For a moment, he imagined that she was just
a girl who had fainted outside a Denver saloon, and not a thief and
a liar and a wanted woman who’d do or say anything to suit her own
ends. Thinking of her like that, he knew damned well what he’d like
to do with her.

But she wasn’t just any girl, he quickly
reminded himself. And he wasn’t a man to let his feelings interfere
with a job. A tremor ran through the muscles of his body. He
regained control of his thoughts with steely effort.

“Do you understand that you can’t get away?”
Deliberately, he kept his tone rough. That you’re going back to
Denver to face those charges against you?”

“Yes. I ... understand.”

Cole rolled off her. “That’s better,’ he
said, lifting her to a sitting position. “You’re learning.”

He began silently working at her bonds.

Juliana was too tired to say anything. She
was also leery of angering him again. When she was free, she rubbed
at her wrists and ankles with shaking fingers, then glanced up when
Rawdon suddenly dropped the saddle blanket in her lap.

“Get out of those wet clothes and put this
on,” he ordered. At her wary look he nodded. “Don’t worry, I won’t
touch you—unless you try to escape again. Otherwise, I’m not much
interested in drowned rats.”

She actually thought she heard him laugh as
he turned away and went to the mouth of the cave, staring out at
the wild night.

Juliana realized that this was his way of
allowing her to remove her clothes in privacy.
Saintly of
him
, she thought bitterly as she faced the rear of the cave
and fumbled at her soaked gown. She was too cold and miserable to
feel any gratitude at all to Cole Rawdon—and that remark of his
about her looking like a drowned rat rankled, despite her shivers.
Of course she looked like a drowned rat. She was nearly frozen to
death, her hair was streaming into her eyes, and her skin must be
blue with cold—and it was all his fault. Moreover, she didn’t give
a damn (there, Aunt Katharine!) about how she looked, only about
the quickest way to get warm. Still, wet as they were, she couldn’t
bring herself to remove her camisole and pantalets, not with a man
like Cole Rawdon at such close proximity. She also kept on the
pouch tied on a thin ribbon around her waist. Ever since she’d been
robbed, she kept her mother’s locket and her other small treasures,
as well as her money, in a little silk pouch hidden beneath her
dress. Though she’d lost her reticule back in Cedar Gulch, she had
her money still. It might come in handy yet, she thought, tossing
her sodden dress down beside the fire. The pouch gave her some
comfort, and a little more confidence. But she didn’t have enough
confidence to try to get those guns of his away from Cole Rawdon—at
least, not yet. She realized that was the only way she would be
safe—and, of course, the only way she would have a chance to
escape. No matter what she had said to him, she was going to get
away. She’d rather die of starvation in the mountains or of thirst
in the desert than be turned over to John Breen.

She wouldn’t actually shoot Rawdon, of
course, once she got his guns, but if she could threaten him
...

She almost smiled, thinking what it would be
like when she was the one in control.

Later, maybe, Juliana thought as she pulled
the blanket tight around her shoulders. Just now, she needed warmth
and rest, and she needed it desperately. She inched to the fire,
huddling once more as close as she could get to the flames. Rawdon
must have heard her movements, for he turned back into the cave and
strode toward her.

“Drink some coffee,” he ordered, stooping to
pour some into a mug.

“No, thank you,” Juliana was surprised to
hear herself say between chattering teeth. “I don’t like coffee. I
prefer tea.”

It wasn’t true, but now that she was dry and
getting warm, her spirit was returning as well. Though she
desperately wanted coffee, she wanted to defy Cole Rawdon even
more. Not enough to get him angry at her again, but enough to annoy
him.

Aunt Katharine had always accused her of
choosing to be difficult. Juliana decided she was right.

“Too bad, your highness, but my provisions
don’t include tea,” Rawdon responded dryly. His eyes were as cold
as the granite walls of the cave, doing nothing to dissipate her
shivers. “You’ll have to make do.”

“Well, then.” Juliana shrugged. “I don’t need
any coff—”

He stepped toward her. “I’m not letting two
thousand dollars’ worth of flesh die of exposure because you’re in
the mood to be stubborn. Do I have to pour it down your throat? I’d
be glad to oblige.”

He would, Juliana realized, staring up at him
in alarm. Her eyes flashed with anger, but she knew it would be
foolish to try to resist him at this point. Besides, the coffee
looked and smelled marvelous. Instead, she responded with all the
cool dignity she could muster under the circumstances. She was
nearly naked, alone on a storm-tossed mountain with a man who had
already killed three people today (that she knew about).

“Fine, Mr. Rawdon, but I require cream and
two lumps of sugar.”

That much was true.

“Can’t help you. It’s black.”

“You don’t have ... either of those
items?”

“No.”

“Well, then, I don’t believe I care for any
...”

“Drink it!”

Juliana drank. Despite the bitter taste, the
searing heat of the coffee penetrated the cold in her blood even
more than the blankets and the fire. Sharp warmth burned through
her, deliciously comforting. She gasped, sighed, and drank the
rest, draining the cup as Cole Rawdon watched impassively, his face
lit by the glowing flames.

When the coffee was gone, he handed her some
jerky and a biscuit.

“I suppose I ought to thank you.” But Juliana
refused to look at him, and instead concentrated on the food. She
didn’t care if she wolfed it down like some kind of savage. She was
starving. “I’m overwhelmed by your kindness,” she couldn’t help
adding between mouthfuls.

“Can’t let my prisoner die. They might
withhold the reward.”

She paused and look at him. “Greed is your
master, then, Mr. Rawdon? Money is more important to you than
truth? Than”—she searched for words—“than justice or the
miscarriage of justice?”

“You’ll have a trial, lady. Find your justice
there.”

“Not in Denver! You don’t understand ...”

He gave a curt laugh.

“How many times must I tell you? I am not a
thief!” His face went flat, still.