Montana Wildfire (38 page)

It stunned Jake that Amanda Lennox would do that. No white person had ever offered him such a gift, and he wasn't sure how to turn the gesture away. He only knew that he must. He couldn't accept her sympathy, couldn't open himself up to her compassion. She'd weakened him too much already. If he let himself feel any more for this woman than he already did, he'd never get her out of his blood, never be whole again.

Jake had a sinking feeling it was already too late for that. Everything about Amanda had burrowed deeply inside of him. Even when he was angry with her, there was something about her soft words, her soft body, that touched a chord in him. She wasn't going to be easy to forget. She'd drifted into his life like a petal-soft breeze, and in so doing she'd changed a part of him. He didn't know what part, or how she'd managed to change it when no one before her had, he only knew that she'd done it, that...

Damn, but it was frightening to think a woman—a
white
woman—
this
white woman—could hold that much power over him! He shuddered to think of what would happen if she ever guessed how much control she had over his life. Over his heart.

It was something he swore to God she would never know.

"I'm sorry, Jake," Amanda said softly, soothingly. "I know you—"

"No, dammit, you don't," he snapped, cutting her short. He angled his head, bringing their faces so closely together the steam of their breath mingled. His face was tight with anger, but Amanda didn't know if the anger was directed at her or at himself. Maybe a little of both? "Don't kid yourself, Miss Lennox. You don't know me. If you did, you'd know how much I hate a liar."

She shifted guiltily. "I haven't lied to you."

One inky brow slanted menacingly high. "Haven't you?"

"No. Well, only..." She sucked in a quick breath, and wished he wasn't staring at her as though he wanted to strangle her on the spot. "Only when it was absolutely necessary."

"White lies, in other words," he growled irritably.

The meaning was double-edged. They both knew it, though neither acknowledged it.

"Jake," Amanda began. Fingers came out of nowhere, coiled threateningly around her throat, and stifled the words on her tongue. His flesh felt ice-cold against her own fear-warmed skin, but that wasn't the reason she shivered so violently.

His grip wasn't tight enough to cut off her air supply, but it was firm enough to threaten it. Her heart raced as their gazes met and warred. Had she ever seen as much anger and hatred as she saw in the steely glare that met hers? God, she didn't think so. And she hoped never to see it in a man's eyes—in
Jake Chandler's
eyes—again.

"Don't say it, Miss Lennox. Do
not
say it. I'm on the edge right now as it is. You open that hot little mouth of yours to lie to me one more time, and I won't be held responsible for what I do to you. Is that understood?"

He didn't wait for her answer, but instead wrenched his hand from her throat as though he couldn't stand the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips a second longer than was necessary.

Jake sent her one searing glare, then spun on his heel. With his normal catlike silence he stalked to the far end of the cabin and disappeared around the corner, leaving it up to her whether or not to follow. Amanda had no doubt that if she didn't follow him to the barn he would go without her. If it weren't for Roger, she would have considered letting him do exactly that.

She hesitated, glancing one last time at the window where Gail Chandler had been standing. The light had been extinguished. The square wooden frame was now as dark and empty as her insides. Amanda sighed, then hoisted her skirt and cloak and hurried after Jake.

In three days of hard riding they passed through only two towns. By the time they reached the second, Amanda's nerves were raw.

Jake wasn't speaking to her. While he provided dinner—and shelter, when the weather turned harsh—he performed the services in stone-faced silence. He hadn't said a word since they'd left Gail and Little Bear's cabin. The chores he wanted her to execute—like lighting the fire, or gathering wood—were conveyed with his eyes, never his tongue.

He hadn't touched her.

More than once, as they sat at night with a crackling fire blazing like a battlefield between them, Amanda had caught Jake's gaze on her; his eyes were slitted, hooding the emotions playing in their silvery depths.

Nothing hid his expression. With the orange glow of flames on his face it was easy to see and read his contempt. Not so easily seen was who that disgust was aimed at. At times, Amanda thought it was directed at her. At other times, it seemed to be aimed more at himself. Either way, his silent animosity erected an impenetrable wall between them, one Amanda had no idea how to breech.

It had become a habit for them to sleep on opposite sides of the camp, their bedrolls as far away from each other as they could get. Jake seemed to enjoy the distance. Amanda hated it.

Long into the pitch-black nights she lay awake, replaying the times when his strong arms had held her close. The images were so real she could hear his heart drumming in her ear, feel the black silk of his hair sifting through her fingers. As the coldness of the ground seeped through the blankets and into her bones, chilling her to the core, she remembered the heat of Jake's body, of his mouth and hands gliding over her skin.

Humiliating though it was to admit, at those times she broke down and cried. She couldn't help it. Jake was tearing her apart with his silence, his brooding glares, his anger that hadn't faded a bit. Since he refused to tell her what had caused the tension between them, Amanda couldn't hope to repair it.

That didn't mean she could stop dwelling on it. Her mind worked overtime; speculation was driving her crazy. Jake had spoken of lies, but she didn't know
which
lies he'd been referring to. Confessing to one, only to find out he was talking about another, would only make the situation worse—if that was possible.

Amanda had decided early on that it would be better if she kept her mouth shut for once, no matter how much the silence was tearing her up inside. It was one of the most difficult things she had ever done, but she did it.

They reached the outskirts of a town at noon on the third day out. Amanda sat back in the saddle and surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. By Eastern standards, this wasn't much of a town. Shacks of buildings lined the narrow streets. Dusty planked boardwalks, unconnected, stretched out in front of hastily constructed false-fronted shops. The chilly air was thick with the odor of dirt and manure.

The majority of inhabitants of this nameless mining town appeared to be male—and of the none too savory variety. Judging from their grimy, tattered clothes, most mined the diggin's on the outskirts of town. The men looked ragged, slightly gaunt, and tired. The image was enhanced by the months-long growth of coarse, untrimmed beard they sported.

There were few women, though an occasional "fancy lady" could be glimpsed lounging in the doorway of one of the many saloons or dancehalls. Amanda's cheeks colored when her gaze fixed on one woman in particular. The woman was unlike any Amanda had ever seen. She had flaming orange hair that couldn't be a God-given shade, and was wearing a gaudy crimson, indecently low-cut dress. The full skirt swished provocatively from hip to ankle as the woman sauntered down the shaded boardwalk.

Catcalls and lewd suggestions could be heard long after the "lady" had disappeared inside one of the dilapidated buildings.

Amanda sent Jake a sideways glance. She wondered if he'd noticed the woman. And if he had, was he as shocked by the redhead's appearance as Amanda had been?

The answer to both questions was no. If Jake had seen the woman, he gave no sign as, with a flick of his wrist, he pulled his mount to a stop dead center of the narrow dirt street.

Amanda fidgeted uncomfortably when a few curious stares turned their way. Thankfully, a brooding glare from a certain pair of hard silver eyes was quick to divert attention from them.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked, and she guided the mare alongside his white. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the commotion of a couple of miners who'd broken into a violent fistfight not too far away.

Jake shrugged. Leaning back, he reached beneath his vest and fumbled with something he'd shoved into the inside pocket. When his hand reemerged, he was holding the antique gun he'd wrestled away from Amanda what felt like a lifetime ago.

Her eyes widened. The pistol wasn't really that small, yet in Jake's hand, it looked like a child's toy. Sunlight glinted off the barrel as, wordlessly, he held it out to her.

Caution mixed liberally with dread flickered in Amanda's eyes as she took it. The coldness of the butt seeped into her palms, chilling the blood that pumped through her veins. Her gaze lifted, locking with his. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Use it to defend yourself," he said, and looked away. "What else?"

"Defend myself? But..." She licked her suddenly dry lips. "I thought that was what I hired you for."

She'd said something wrong. Amanda knew it the second she saw his eyes darken and his expression cloud over. But what? She thought about asking him, but knew it would be a waste of time. He wouldn't tell her. She decided to save her breath. While they weren't exactly getting along, at least Jake was talking to her now. That was a good start. In the last three days she'd come to hunger for the sound of his voice. Now that she had it she was reluctant to give it up.

"Well?" Amanda asked when she realized he hadn't answered her. "Isn't it what I hired you for?"

"No." His gaze was trained on the street, assessing the people who milled on the boardwalks. "You hired me to find your cousin. Protecting you wasn't part of the bargain."

"Maybe not, but it's something you've been doing up until now," she pointed out cautiously.

"You can't always count on me being around to keep an eye on you, Miss Lennox." Though he nodded to the gun, he didn't look at her. "I'll feel better leaving you alone if I know you've got something to defend yourself with. You keep that thing with you, and you keep it loaded, y'hear?"

Loaded?
she thought. That was a tall order; she didn't have any bullets to load it
with.
Worse, she couldn't tell Jake that. He obviously hadn't checked, or he would know the gun was empty. Since he was already angry at her for one lie, she was reluctant to confess to this one, her lie about the gun.

Amanda swallowed back a surge of panic. "Where are you going that you'll be leaving me alone?"

He shrugged, and angled the hat back on his head. With the sunlight glinting off his chiseled copper face and the faded red bandanna tied like a headband around his brow, he looked every bit the wild, untamed savage. His expression was harsh, brooding and dark. "Nowhere. Yet. At least not until we've found a hotel and gotten you a room. After that..."

"What?"

"I'm going to go out and buy us some supplies. In case you haven't noticed, we're running low."

Amanda had noticed. Actually, they'd run out of everything but coffee two days ago. That hadn't seemed to bother Jake. He'd simply leave their camp shortly after they made it and, an hour or two later, return with fresh game. How he'd managed to do that using only his knives she never knew. And never asked. She was just grateful he never brought back a snake!

"And after that?" she asked tightly.

His jaw hardened, his gaze narrowed. "You're just full of questions all of a sudden, aren't you, Miss Lennox?"

It was on the tip of Amanda's tongue to deny it, but she couldn't. It wasn't that she wanted answers so much as she wanted—needed,
craved—
the sound of his voice.

She craved the feel of his touch, too, though that was one depravation Amanda thought she'd better get used to. Jake had made it clear he wouldn't be touching her in the near future. Pity. She had a very unladylike urge to feel his hands on her again. And an even more unladylike urge to put her hands on him.

"I want to know, Jake," she said finally.

"Do you?" His gaze slid back to her, stabbing into hers. "Do you
really?
You'd better be damn sure, lady. Because I might not give the answer you want to hear."

Amanda hesitated, then nodded. "I'll take my chances. Where are you going after you buy our supplies?"

"To the first saloon I stumble into."

Well, that wasn't
so
bad, Amanda thought. In fact, it was a perfectly normal thing to do... for a man.

"To get a drink?" she asked, wondering why she hadn't thought of it before. Her father had often drank when he was angry. Brandy, if she recalled correctly. She almost laughed at the image that popped into her mind. Somehow, she couldn't see Jake sipping brandy from a cut-glass snifter. Whiskey was more his style. And she doubted he'd sip it so much as chug large, numbing quantities straight from the bottle.

"Yeah, a drink," Jake murmured, and nodded. His tone was low, edgy. "Among other things."