Wildfire in His Arms (22 page)

“That's what can happen on a hot day” was all he said before he walked away.

Max was dazed for a moment.
Why
did he stop kissing her? Some damn gentleman's code of honor because she was still his prisoner? If so, then he shouldn't have kissed her at all! Her disappointment was still stronger than her embarrassment. And she hadn't even won the argument about what she was going to wear.

But her disappointment had her yell at his back, “This has to be the hottest day this territory has
ever
had!”

“That's because there's no breeze today.”

“I don't care what's causing it. We should stay right here where there's shade and water to cool off in until the worst is over.”

“No.” He pulled one of his own shirts out of his valise and tossed it at her. “Put that on.”

She threw it right back at him. “I'd rather wear my wet one. It might keep me cool for about ten damn minutes, before it starts steaming!”

She almost added
too.
But he probably figured that out because he asked, “Why are you angry?”

Oh, God, she didn't know! It couldn't be because he'd abruptly ended a kiss that shouldn't have happened. It had to be the heat—and his stubbornness. Why did he have to be so dead set in his ways? She was only talking about a brief delay in his journey. But she knew why. The sooner he completed his favor for Marshal Hayes, the sooner he'd be rid of her.

She took a deep, steadying breath before she said, “I'm not. And you don't need to apologize for what just happened.”

His lips actually curved a tiny bit as he came back over to her. “I wasn't going to.” He held out his shirt. When she still didn't take it, he warned, “You'll get sunburned if you just wear that camisole. Do you want me to rub lotion on you again?”

“No, I—well, that was very—never mind.” She was sure that he was teasing her now.

“Then put this on, or I will assist you in putting it on.” He added softly, “I really don't mind assisting you.”

She took the shirt before he proved it, but as soon as she got her arms into it, he proved it anyway, reaching for the buttons. She didn't stop him. He was confusing her more and more. Suddenly she felt shy with him this close to her. Was he going to kiss her again? Maybe he'd only stopped because he was worried about her skin getting burned.

This attraction she was feeling to him was getting a little too strong. She should be thinking about escaping, not kissing him! Yet she stood there hopeful, letting him button her shirt, feeling all soft inside that he would even want to. She actually liked having him this close and doing something sweet for her. She couldn't deny it, even if this caring side of him puzzled her.

It was taking him three times longer than it would take her to fasten those buttons, but she didn't make a move to take over and do it herself. Was he staring at her breasts or at the buttons he was slowly fastening near them? She lost her breath when she felt the back of his knuckles brush against her skin. A slip of his hand? But it felt so nice! But then his eyes moved up to hers and stayed there. To judge her reaction? She did blush. She couldn't help it.

He left the last two buttons by her neck unfastened, but he turned the collar up, his fingers brushing against her skin again, and said, “That's so your neck doesn't get burned.”

Then he walked away, leaving her wondering about the tingling sensations running down her back. But he started doing what she'd done earlier, walking toward the lake, except he was stripping off his clothes. He only kept his gun with him, holding it above the water while he soaked the rest of himself. Fascinated, Max couldn't take her eyes off him this time until he left the water and she saw how well built he really was. Then she turned away, blushing again.

F
OR A CHANGE, THERE
was no conversation with their quick midday meal. Max didn't try to change that because she was too busy with her own thoughts and castigating herself for falling under a complacent spell. She tried to blame it on the lake. It was so pleasant here and she wished they could stay longer. But it was all Degan. The man fascinated her. He made her feel too many things she shouldn't be feeling. He made her get all girlie and bashful and—hot. But she had to stop thinking about how handsome he was and how much she'd enjoyed kissing him. And he'd been so nice, giving her one of his fancy shirts so she wouldn't get sunburned.

That was another problem. She had to stop thinking that he was
nice
and remind herself more often that he was her captor, that he might still turn her over to the authorities. As much as she was coming to like him, she couldn't completely trust him.

A breeze finally showed up when they got back on the road. It wasn't a cool one though. It floated in as if an oven door had just been opened. It made the mugginess worse for a short while, but finally it seemed to break the heat wave, blowing off the worst of it.

When it stopped feeling as if she were sucking in heat with every breath, Max got around to mentioning, “You've been glancing behind us an awful lot today. Do you hear something I don't?”

“No.”

“But you took care of Reed, or are there more men like him actively looking for you?”

“Probably every fast gun in the country.”

She had a feeling that was his way of making a joke even though no smile came with it. “I don't mean ones that want to outdraw you so they can crow about it. I meant actual enemies that want to kill you any way they can.”

“You can't do what I do and not make enemies. That's one reason I keep moving forward, never back.”

“Aren't you backtracking right now?”

“How would you know that?”

She laughed. “Told you, fancy man, you're big news. Even I heard you were in the territory east of here—before you decided to be a thorn in my ass. And you know about the rivers up ahead, so you've crossed them at least once.”

“I did a job in Nashart.”

Her eyes widened. Had he really just volunteered something about himself when he wasn't eating? “Will we be stopping there?”

“No, the train won't be there long. Maybe on the way back.”

Back? Back to what? Had he already decided what to do with her? Back to a jail for her, or back this way so he could capture another outlaw, which would make three? That was if he captured Willie Nolan in Dakota, who would be number two.

Thoughts like that really put a damper on her good mood, so she said no more for the rest of the afternoon. She'd already spotted several rabbits, a possum, and just barely made out the antlers of a buck sleeping in the brush, animals she wouldn't normally have hesitated to kill for her dinner. She was pretty sure they wouldn't be reaching the next town today, so they'd need to make camp.

Before it got dark, she suggested, “If you'll hand me my rifle—loaded—I can get us some fresh meat for dinner before it gets too dark.”

He was back to not answering her. He must have more food in that sack of his. Why couldn't he just say so? But ten minutes later without warning he drew his weapon and fired it. Max had her hands full trying to calm Noble, who danced around in a full circle before she could settle him down.

Degan had already dismounted and left the road to fetch the rabbit he'd just shot. He came back and tied it to the back of his saddle, then mounted again, all without a word.

Max laughed. “Bet you've never skinned one.”

“You'd win that bet. I'll leave the skinning to the experienced hunter.”

He probably didn't realize he was giving her a compliment, but she took it as one. She was back to grinning to herself; her good mood returned. But he continued to glance over his shoulder every so often, and he still hadn't explained to her satisfaction why he was being unusually wary today.

She finally asked again, “Who are you expecting to ride up on us?”

“Someone took a potshot at me in Helena. If it had been Reed, there would have been a lot more bullets. It was more like a warning shot.”

“And you think whoever did it just wanted to run you out of town so they could kill you without witnesses?”

“That's one possibility.”

“Or it could have just been a stray bullet.”

“That's another possibility.”

But he obviously leaned toward caution and being prepared for the worst, which would limit surprises. But she wondered if he'd even be worried about it if he were alone or if her presence made him extracautious. Then he stopped his horse and turned it around. Max pulled up and glanced at him.

“Now what?”

“I thought you might want to take a moment to watch the sunset. Women seem to like doing things like that.”

Oh my God, he was being nice again! She hadn't even realized the sky behind them was filling with orange and pink already. It was pretty, but she wondered how he knew women might appreciate such a lovely view—and why he would stop so she could enjoy it.

They didn't pause long, but she still felt warmed by the gesture. The man continued to amaze her with facets one wouldn't expect to find in a hardened gunfighter. It had to be a throwback to the way he was raised, before he took up a gun. She wished she could have met him then. A debonair gentleman? Maybe carefree? Maybe even charming? No, not Degan. She simply couldn't imagine it.

It was dusk before they crossed the first of the three forked rivers, and full dark when they crossed the second one, where they made camp close to the riverbank. A few trees were in this area and a lot of scrub grass, some of it butting up to the water, but they found a patch of bare ground. Max got a fire going while Degan unsaddled and rubbed down the horses.

She paused to watch Degan as he worked. The muscles in his back and shoulders rippled through the damp, thin fabric of his white shirt as he brushed the horses. When he bent down to check one of the palomino's hooves, her gaze moved down to his tight butt and muscular thighs. When it dawned on her that she was watching him instead of getting anything done, she berated herself. She had to stop thinking about how attractive he was. She had to stop liking him! Nothing had changed. She was still his prisoner and she had to keep that firmly in her mind and stop getting so easily distracted by him.

She got what she needed out of her saddlebags: her pan, the iron griddle with short legs, her small pouches of herbs, which she'd been replenishing anytime she found them growing wild. She found a long stick for roasting the rabbit over the fire and a couple of large rocks on which she could brace it. Then she skinned and gutted the rabbit and rubbed it with herbs before setting it over the fire. She watched it for a few minutes to make sure the flames flaring up from the dripping juices wouldn't burn it.

She washed her hands in the river before starting the next chore, washing her clothes. Degan had sat down by the fire, leaning back against his saddle.

“What else is in your sack?” she asked.

“Bread, cheese, condiments, sandwiches, fruit. There might even be something for dessert.”

She stared at him. “So we didn't need fresh meat?”

He shrugged. “Not really—but your rabbit smells good.”

She looked inside his sack, then shook her head. “If you're going to raid kitchens before leaving towns, you should get yourself a picnic basket to keep the food separated, so it doesn't get all mashed together.” Picturing this notorious gunfighter riding through a town with a picnic basket made her laugh. “Never mind. That would
so
tarnish your reputation.”

He didn't see the humor in that. “And I prefer to eat at a table.”

Yes, of course he did, just as he preferred to sleep in a bed. But they were probably a good thirty miles from the next town, so he was flat out of luck in that regard tonight.

The air had cooled after the sun had set, and she knew from experience that the temperature would dip further during the night, but it was still warm enough to wash in her usual fashion. She could sleep in the shirt Degan had loaned her.

She draped the first set of clothes she washed over a few bushes to dry before she glanced back at Degan and offered, “I can wash yours while I'm at it.”

“We'll reach Bozeman tomorrow. I can wait.”

He wasn't watching what she was doing, was just staring at the fire. She glanced back at the slow-moving water, which looked so inviting. She'd feel so much better if she could wash her hair and get the dust and sweat off her body. She went behind the horses to remove most of her clothes, leaving on just her chemise and bloomers, then shook Degan's shirt and left it to air out on the nearest bush. Stuffing the bar of soap down the front of her chemise, she went into the water with the pouch of creamy stuff and dunked her head in before she lathered her face and head, then tossed the little pouch back on the shore to scrub down with the bar of soap.