Samantha James (8 page)

Horse and rider never slowed their pace.

The next shot took the hat right off his head.

The pair stopped. Kane flung his leg over the pommel and leaped to the ground. His long legs breached the distance between them. Hands on his hips, he ground to a halt with the gun mere inches away from his chest. A fierce scowl blackened his expression. “Do you really think that’s going to make me change my mind?” he demanded.

Abby stared up into those dark, hard features, quaking from head to toe. In that instant, she cast pride and dignity to the wind. Later there might be regrets—for now, there were none.

She swallowed painfully, her throat clogged tight with fear and desperation. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a thread of sound. “I—I need you, Kane. You’re the only one who can help me find Dillon, the only one.” The barrel of the gun wavered. “I’ll give you anything, Kane, anything you want. Please help me,” she whispered. “
Please
.”

That one word was his undoing. Kane went utterly still, his gaze locked on the glitter of tears she tried to hide but couldn’t. Her eyes were huge, her soft mouth tremulous. The hopelessness of that look clamped tight around his heart and doggedly refused to let go.

He swore silently, disgusted with both himself and her. He’d thought himself immune to all that was decent and caring—that he was so hardened and embittered that not even tears could sway him.

He was wrong.

A bitter ache scored his gut. All at once he couldn’t forget the words she had flung at him earlier.
You’ll be saving a man’s life. Maybe it’ll ease your conscience a little
.

Kane had long ago convinced himself his conscience had died along with Lorelei—yet wasn’t his damnable conscience why he’d come here in the first place? Why he’d decided to leave his life of lawlessness behind and start over?

Hell, he thought disgustedly. He was a fool, even contemplating something as foolish as this … If he had any brains, he’d turn around, ride out of town and forget he’d ever set eyes on this stubborn little beauty.

He couldn’t. Damn her blasted angelic face and helpless feminine ploys to hell and back, but he couldn’t.

In one fluid motion he knocked the gun from her grasp and hauled her up against him. “You’re pretty damned determined to shoot me,” he said tightly. “But tell me this,
Abigail
. Who the hell’s gonna take you to Stringer Sam if you do?”

At first Abby didn’t comprehend, but then she realized … she’d won. She didn’t know how she knew, but somehow she did.

She stared up into that rough, lean face. His mouth was a grim slash, his jaw prickly and dark with a day’s growth of beard. At that moment, no one had ever looked dearer. “You—you’ll help me?”

His gaze scoured her from head to toe. “It’s no trip for a woman,” he stated. “You’d be better off staying here and letting me go find your precious Dillon.”

And take the chance he’d ride off and never come back? “No!” Her objection was immediate and strenuous.

His tone was as harsh as his expression. “I don’t have time to coddle a spoiled brat who can’t stand the thought of not having her way. You’re better off staying here.”

His insult slipped right by her. Panic leaped riotously within her; he looked and sounded utterly unyielding.

Her protest was as vehement as his. “You’ve never even seen Dillon! How could you possibly find him?”

“I can handle it, don’t worry. If you tell me what he looks like—I’ll find him. Besides, you said Sam’s almost a day ahead of us. Having you along will just slow me down.”

Abby bristled at his high-handed arrogance. It was just like a man to think that simply by virtue of his sex, he was both mentally and physically superior. She had grown up with a brother who treated her like she was a fragile porcelain doll, and she certainly didn’t need it from this man. Just like Dillon, he was overbearing and overconfident.

“I’ll have you know,” she began stiffly, her spine poker-iron straight, “I’ve been riding since I was three years old. I can rope and brand and track a lost calf as well as any ranch hand—and I shoot better than most, something that might come in handy. I don’t think you’ll find me a liability.”

A liability? Kane snorted. What he found her was a pain in the …

Her chin lifted. She faced him with a bravado that was more than a little feigned. “I have no intention of letting you go after Dillon without me. Like it or not, we’re stuck with each other.”

He glared at her. “I don’t like it,” he told her, his tone downright nasty. “I don’t like it one damn bit, so let’s get things straight right now—I won’t play nursemaid. The sooner we find your precious husband, the sooner I can be rid of you. And believe me, sweetheart, that can’t happen too soon.”

He stalked to where his hat lay on the dusty earth. He grabbed it and jammed it on his head, then retraced his steps back to his horse—but not before he’d bent to retrieve his gun where it lay near a clump of dry grass.

The stinging retort she’d been about to deliver died on her lips. Sunlight glinted off the eight-inch barrel of the Colt as he turned to face her. Her ire forgotten, she watched as he slid it into the holster tied to his thigh. Rampant challenge glowed in the burning gray gaze that met hers, as if he expected her protest.

But Abby wasn’t about to protest, either vocally or otherwise. Oh, no, she hadn’t mistaken the glittering challenge in his eyes …

She’d managed to sneak his gun out from beneath his nose once.

She wouldn’t be so lucky again.

Without a word she turned and headed into the stable. She knew Kane watched as she saddled Sonny. She tried hard not to think about the fact that she was about to ride off with a man who might be every bit as unsavory and dangerous as Stringer Sam …

He’d said he would help her. She had no choice but to trust him—trust him and pray he wouldn’t shoot her in the back the instant her back was turned …

The thought was scarcely comforting.

“Where are we headed?”

It was several hours later. The question earned her nothing but a dark, impatient look. “Well?” she demanded when he said nothing. “Since I’m paying you, don’t you think I have a right to know?”

His lips thinned in impatience, which made Abby feel like a fly in his soup and spurred her indignation. “North,” came his barely discernible grunt.

She felt like gnashing her teeth. “I’m quite aware of that,” she said with false pleasantness. “Would you mind telling me how far north?”

Obviously he did mind, but he obliged nonetheless. “A couple of hundred miles,” he said brusquely.

Abby gasped. “That’s clear across the Territory! Why, that’ll take us a—a good week to get there!”

“If we’re lucky,” he said curtly. “And that’s all I’m going to say. Believe me, sister, the less you know about Sam’s hideout, the better. I don’t think I need to remind you Rowdy Roy was killed for knowing.”

Those words chilled her to the bone. It was little wonder Abby was disinclined to engage in further conversation.

They continued westward, traveling along the flank of the Laramie Mountains. To the east, rugged peaks timbered with alpine fir and pine stretched skyward. She and Kane did their best to ignore each other, keeping their eyes trained anywhere but on the other.

Although Abby was used to spending long hours in the saddle, the hours without sleep last night had taken their toll. By late afternoon she was convinced the day would never end.

Not long after, her eyelids began to droop. She must have dozed, for she jerked awake with a start. Her gaze swung almost guiltily to Kane, only to find knowing eyes already fixed upon her. His mouth was slanted in a sardonic smile, if the twisting of his lips could be called that.

Kane reined in his horse and glanced around. The terrain sloped into a gentle valley a hundred yards distant. Late-afternoon sunlight mirrored the waters of a small lake surrounded by tall cotton-woods. Beyond, sun-baked plains rolled and dipped endlessly. He inclined his head and gave a terse nod. “We’ll stop there for the night.”

She immediately straightened. “But it’s still light out,” she protested. “We can go on for another hour—”

“You won’t last another hour and we both damn well know it.”

Abby gritted her teeth. She’d thought Dillon’s language was bad, but she had the feeling Kane could teach him a lesson or two. It was on the tip of her tongue to retort that, unlike him, there had been no alcohol-induced sleep last night, but something held her back. “I’m just a little tired,” she said stiffly.

“So am I, sweetheart. So like I said, we’ll camp there for the night.” He gave a tug on the reins and nudged his horse into a trot. Not once did he look back to see that Abby followed; Abby wasn’t sure if she should be indignant or relieved.

He led the way to a small clearing near the lake. Grass and shrubs grew thick and green near the water. Tall, stately trees crowded the shoreline. Abby reined in when Kane dropped to the ground. He began to stride back toward her but Abby quickly dismounted on her own, declining his help even before he could offer it. Kane stopped short; she didn’t glimpse the tightening of his mouth.

He lifted his chin toward her saddlebags. “Got anything to eat in there?”

Abby nodded. Before she left the ranch last night, she had Dorothy pack some provisions. “I’ve got biscuits and beans and enough dried meat for three days or so,” she told him. “After that, we’ll either have to hunt or stop somewhere to buy more provisions.”

He took charge of unsaddling the horses and settling them in for the night. Abby busied herself with gathering branches for a fire, but her gaze strayed to Kane again and again. She watched him heave the saddle from Sonny’s back.

An undeniable air of danger surrounded him, she thought with a shiver.
What did you expect?
chided a voice in her head.
He’s an outlaw, a renegade
. It was strange, though—she wasn’t precisely frightened, yet she was distinctly uneasy.

She began digging in her saddlebags for the food, acutely aware of his presence behind her. She knew the exact instant he finished with the horses; a tremor slid down her spine. She sensed his eyes on her back like the prick of a needle. Clenching her fingers, she sensed rather than saw him move soundlessly past her. With an effort, she raised her head. Kane had settled himself across from the fire, his back propped against a stately pine tree. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back.

Her gaze roved slowly over his face, as if she were searching for … what? A flaw, perhaps? Some hint of ugliness or imperfection? Despite the heavy stubble that darkened his cheek and jaw, his features were not at all displeasing. Clean-shaven, he might even have been quite handsome … His nose was straight and thin, if a bit arrogant, his jaw square and hard. But his mouth was no longer set in harsh, implacable lines … It struck her then—he looked tired. At the thought, she felt the tight knot of uneasiness slip away.

It wasn’t long before the beans were bubbling in the one and only pot she’d brought. She dropped a handful of dried ham into it and stirred, ignoring the man behind her.

It was the aroma of coffee brewing that eventually roused Kane. Abby dished up a tinful of beans and glanced over her shoulder at Kane; his eyes were open and fixed on her. Wordlessly she handed him the plate, then turned to fill another for herself. She sat down a short distance away from him, using a small boulder as a stool.

The sky turned half a dozen shades of purple and gold while they ate. Behind them rose the jutting ridges of the mountains, sharp as a saw blade. To the east the lake sparkled with the waning sunlight. Evening’s silence crept across the earth; the only sound was that of the fire hungrily licking at the dry tree branches.

Abby was the first to finish; Kane had helped himself to another plateful of beans. She rose to fill two tin cups with coffee from the pot, handing one to him on her way back to the tree. He grimaced.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger?”

Abby straightened. A slender hand came to her hip and she glared down at him. She didn’t have to say a word—her disapproval came through loud and clear.

“You haven’t had a blacksmith hammering away inside your head the whole damned day,” he grumbled. “And riding like the devil himself hasn’t helped any.”

A well-shaped brow rose. “And whose fault is that?” she retorted sweetly. “As I recall, it wasn’t me who poured that whiskey down your throat.” She turned and, with a swish of her riding skirt, resumed her place on the boulder—and her glare along with it.

Kane rolled his eyes. Christ, he thought disgustedly. She was undoubtedly a do-gooder, about to deliver a fire-and-brimstone speech on the sins of imbibing too freely. He found himself possessed of a dark, sudden urge to take her down a peg.

“Oh, well,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t need a good healthy shot of whiskey,” he added conversationally. “In fact, right about now I think a good, experienced woman just might be able to take my mind off my aches and pains.” He propped his elbows on his knees and nodded toward the now-empty pot of beans. “I have to admit, sweetheart, those were mighty tasty. Do you have any other hidden talents?”

A purely suggestive smile curved his lips. Abby gasped. Surely he wasn’t suggesting that she … that they … The heat of a blush crept up her neck, clear to her hairline. Closer scrutiny revealed his lips now twisted in a smirk.

Abby wasn’t sure if she was more angry or embarrassed. Nor did it help that she suspected he deliberately wanted to shock her.

“Oh, yeah,” he said softly. “Why don’t you show me what those lips and hands can do, sweetheart? I admit, after the taste you gave me last night, I’m mighty curious.”

Abby didn’t stop to think. She simply reacted, leaping to her feet, wishing she dared overturn his hot coffee on his head. She heard him laughing softly when she skirted him and marched toward her saddlebags.

A moment later she stepped up behind him.

“Kane?” Her tone was dulcet as a softly strummed melody. “I have just the remedy for your headache.”

“What?” He twisted around to stare up at her.