Read Wildfire in His Arms Online
Authors: Johanna Lindsey
“It's not a good idea to sleep in wet clothes,” Degan said behind her.
So he had been watching her after all.
She replied without looking back at him, “I'm going to put your shirt back on as soon as I'm done. I'm not trying to annoy you, you know. I usually bathe in more clothes than this.”
“There's one more clean shirt in my valise that you can use to sleep in.”
“I will, thanks.”
When she finished washing herself, she left the water and grabbed his valise, taking it with her behind the horses to change. When she opened the valise, she saw the Colt. She picked up the kid's gun and opened the chamber to take out the bullets and put them in her Colt so she could swap the two weapons. But there were no bullets in the kid's gun. She almost laughed. Degan must have removed them at the lake when she was in the water and not watching him. So much for thinking he was starting to trust her.
She had to dig deep into the valise to find his last clean shirt. Her fingers touched more metal, and she was curious enough to pull the object out to see what it was. She definitely wasn't expecting to see two iron rings connected to a short, rusty chain.
She lifted the shackles and stepped around her horse to demand, “What the
hell
is this?”
M
AX WAS FURIOUS THAT
Degan would consider shackling her now, after she'd helped him this morning in Butte. But obviously he could. Obviously, he had to protect his interests. She was like money in the bank to him that he didn't want to get robbed of by her trotting off without him while he slept.
She threw the shackles at him when he didn't answer her immediately. And missed hitting him, damnit. She stepped back between the horses to change. It took her a moment to unclench her fists.
Then she heard, “I'm not going to use themâif I don't have to.”
“But you thought you would?” she snarled over the back of her horse.
“I thought I would.”
The day
had
been eventful enough to make him change his mind about shackling her. She still wasn't mollified, not even close.
Wearing just her boots, with her socks pulled up several inches above them, Degan's large, white shirt that fell to her knees, her gun belt strapped low over it, and her vest, she knew she looked ridiculous. But no one was there to see her except Degan, and he didn't count. So why did she suddenly wish that she'd left home with at least one pretty nightgown? She'd never thought of that before, and for good reason. Alone on the trail, she had to be prepared to leave at a moment's notice, not bed down as if she were safe at home.
She was still bristling when she came back to the fire. She spread out her horse blanket to sit on and draped her coat over her legs so she could sit cross-legged as she finished preparing the meal without being accused of tempting Degan again. She'd even buttoned his shirt up to her neck. She'd had to roll up the sleeves. Even with the cuffs buttoned, they hung down over her hands. She could feel his eyes on her, though, as if he were waiting for her to continue railing at him. Instead, she pretended he wasn't there.
She moved the rabbit away from the fire so it would cool, then rummaged in Degan's food sack and took out a few things, including a couple of peaches. She sliced the bread in her hands, accustomed to working without a cutting board. She could tote only so much around with her, and a cutting board was just too bulky. She laid a few pieces in the pan to warm and crumbled a little cheese on top of them.
She used to have a tin plate to eat from, but these days she usually ate right out of the pan. Like her fishing net, her plate got left behind one night when the sound of a twig's breaking had made her pack up and leave fast. Not used to being alone and camping outdoors, she had been jittery for the longest time. She'd had to force herself to overcome those fears by taking reasonable precautions and adopting a come-what-may attitude, but she hadn't counted on someone like Degan coming her way, thwarting her at every turn, too perceptive to fall for her tricks. Yet the snap of a twig wouldn't bother her in the least with him around. She felt protected, completely protected, when she was with him.
Now
that
was an odd thought, considering that he'd kissed her and she'd liked it. She wasn't going to let that happen again. Like hell she would. Kissing a man who had tied her up, who would have
chained
her up? He was lucky she didn't throw her knife straight at his heart.
“Stop pouting.”
She tossed the knife toward him. “You better take that back before I find another use for it.”
He raised a brow. “Shall I take back the gun you're wearing, too?”
She snorted. “When you already removed the bullets? You might as well.”
He shrugged. “I believe you said that you wanted the weight of the gun for balance. And I'm well aware that a gun, with or without bullets, can be a deterrent that you might need on this tripâjust not against me.”
She did recall telling him that she missed the weight of the gun. And he'd glanced behind them enough times today for her to know he was expecting trouble. He even made it sound as if she'd be doing
him
a favor by continuing to wear the gun, as long as it contained no bullets. Because he didn't trust her. Because she was, after all, his prisoner.
He didn't reach for the knife she'd tossed to him. But he did pick up the leg shackles on the ground behind him and throw them in the river. “You had just eluded me for two days in Helena. Don't question my motives again.”
For an explanation, that sure was brief. Then again, since he didn't usually provide one, she realized that was a lot. But something had definitely changed between them. Apparently, he wasn't going to define what had changed. Maybe he didn't know.
But she pointed out, “I don't see you tossing your ropes away.”
“Ropes have other uses.”
Was that his way of saying he wouldn't tie her up anymore either? It was time to back down, yet she pushed her luck. “Will you still shoot me if I take off?”
“Walk away and we'll find out.”
No absolute yes this time? She supposed that was an improvement. She was mollified, quite a bit actually.
She ripped the rabbit apart and handed him the bigger piece. For the second time that day, he wasn't initiating a conversation while he ate. For once, she was.
“You never did say how many men you've killed.”
“No, I didn't.”
He just wasn't going to admit what his death count was up to. Maybe he didn't know. That was possible. He'd said he'd wounded a lot of men, that he'd lost count of how many. So maybe he didn't stick around to see if the wounds he'd caused healed.
“You never said how long you've been solving other people's problems, either.”
“You never asked.”
She almost rolled her eyes. He was damn good at not answering questions about himself, either with his annoying silence or just simple evasion. “I'm asking now.”
He shrugged. “For around five years.”
“You weren't born in the West, were you?”
“I grew up in Chicago, attended the finest schools, was groomed to take over my father's business.”
Her eyes flared at that much personal information, even though it came out in such a cold tone. “Then what the hell are you doing out here?”
He didn't answer. She waited a few minutes in case he was figuring out how much to say, but he still didn't get around to answering. He was probably annoyed with himself for saying as much as he did.
She tried a different approach. “So you were just a drifter to begin with?”
“I set out to see the country. You could say I'm half-done.”
“Been to Texas yet?”
“No, I was saving that for last.”
She almost laughed because she could figure that one out. Texas was huge. It could take years to see all of Texas.
Impulsively she asked, “So maybe I can hire you to clear up that mess for me in Texas?”
“You're rich?”
She chuckled. “Told you I'm broke, but I've got other assets,” she teased.
He started to get up.
She gasped and scrambled to her feet, quickly saying, “I was just messing with you, fancy man. I'm
not
trading favors for freedom or anything else.”
He ignored her. He had only moved closer to the fire so he could reach one of the slices of bread. If she could have kicked herself right then, she would have. She should
not
have reminded him about trading favors. But at least he wasn't going to rip apart what she'd just said. But then he did.
“I recall you intended to do just that.”
She managed not to blush, even said cheekily, “That was before you started liking me enough not to turn me over to a sheriff.”
He didn't agree with that assessment, merely said, “I told you why.”
Yeah, he did, that he hadn't decided yet, and he obviously
still
hadn't decided, or he would have said so right then. She sat back down near the fire to finish the meal in silence. She was already feeling the drop in temperature. It never failed, no clouds during the day, cold at night. But she had her coat and the horse blanket, and her hair was dry already, so she wasn't worried about being uncomfortable tonight.
She was still eating one of the peaches when Degan went to wash his hands in the river. When he came back, he held out his own handkerchief to her. It was pristine white and looked soft as silk, the edges delicately embroidered. Someone had made that with loving care for him. A wife? She was surprised the thought that he might have one somewhere hadn't occurred to her before. He'd been a man when he came West, not a kid, so he could have gotten married first. But that was one question she wasn't about to ask him when he might misconstrue it and think she cared either way. But she had to admit she did.
She wiped her hand on her blanket before she took the handkerchief from him and gave him a questioning look. He was looking at her cheeks when he said, “Your face, even your hair, is glittering with gold dust. While I don't mind, it will draw attention to you when we get to the next town, so you might want to get rid of it.”
She laughed. She'd had no idea the soft soap would soak up whatever dust was still inside the leather pouch. She briskly fluffed her hair with her hands to shake the sparkles loose. But she had to shake out his handkerchief several times to make sure she got all the dust off her face.
She didn't ask him to inspect her face to make sure she got all the dust off, she just handed the handkerchief back to him when she was done. He didn't take it, said, “Keep it.”
So the handkerchief had no sentimental value? Max figured it hadn't been made by a wife then.
Did
he have one? Damnit, that question was going to bother her now. Maybe she'd already met his wife. He'd certainly seemed familiar with that woman he'd called Allison.
She
had behaved in a wifely manner toward Degan. Who else would yell at him like that? An abandoned wife would certainly harbor that much anger.
Max tried to put Degan's marital status out of her mind by continuing with her evening chores. She picked up any food scraps that would lure in wild animals, added more branches to the fire so it would last most of the night, and found a thick bush behind which she could relieve herself. When she returned to the fire, she saw that Degan had moved his horse blanket next to hers and was taking a swig from a bottle of whiskey. Both of those things made her nervous.
But he offered her the bottle as she approached. “For the chill.”
She relaxed on one count. If Degan got drunk, he could turn dangerous. She started to decline, but she could feel how cool the air was on her bare calves, so she took a swig and managed not to cough. Pure rotgut whiskey. She'd had it before, but she sure didn't like it.
She handed the bottle back to him and mentioned the second count. “You've moved too close to my blanket.”
“It's up to you. You can sleep next to me, or elsewhere. But if you choose âelsewhere,' I'll have to tie your hands.”
She gasped, outraged. “You have
got
to be kidding me! After I saved your life!”
“And here I thought you did that because you're growing fond of me. Are you?”
“No,” she snarled. “I only helped you because I hate to see an unfair fight.”
She got up and moved her blanket away from his, then sat down and stiffly held out her wrists because she definitely didn't want to be near such an exasperating man. He came over and tied her wrists. As soon as he was done, she turned her back on him and curled up next to the fire, her coat keeping her legs warm. If anyone was going to get cold tonight it would be Degan since, apparently, he didn't travel with an extra blanket. She didn't either, but her coat usually served that purpose, at least until winter set in. And she hoped he spent a miserable night shivering!