Just A Little Bit Dangerous
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She wondered if life would ever be that simple again.
A few feet away, looking miserable and cold in those wet jeans, Cowboy Cop shrugged into his duster. Scooping his hat off the ground, he brushed at the dried grass and set it on his head. “Come here.”
Warily, she stepped over to him and stuck out her chin. “If you’re thinking of brutalizing me because I tossed your stupid radio, I should warn you I have a really good lawyer. Jackson Scott Sargent specializes in police brutality and he’s won every case—”
“Shut up and turn around.” Frowning, he extracted the handcuff key from a small compartment in his belt.
Realizing with some surprise that he was going to remove the cuffs, she turned her back to him and offered her wrists. “Oh, well…thank you.”
He removed the cuff from one wrist. “Don’t thank me because I’m just letting you wear them in front because you’re going to get up on that mule—”
“Wait just a—”
“And you’re going to need to hold on to the horn with both hands because she’s got a gait like a truck with four flat tires.”
“I don’t know how to ride.”
“I don’t care.”
“If I fall off—”
“I’ll leave you where you fall.”
“If I get injured in any way, my lawyer, Jackson Scott Sar—”
“Shut up about the lawyer, lady, will you?”
“I’m merely forewarning you what could happen if I don’t get back to Buena Vista in the same healthy condition in which I left.”
“I’ll remember that next time you do something stupid like fall out of a tree or trash our only means of communication.”
She started to back away, but he tugged on the cuff. “Give me your other hand.”
“Please—”
“Not after the stunt you pulled. Give me your hand. Now.”
Resigning herself to being cuffed and forced to ride that obstinate-looking mule, she stuck out her hand. Far too efficiently, he snapped the cuffs into place. “Feel better?” she asked nastily.
“Sure do.” He walked over to the mule. When she didn’t follow, he raised his hand and beckoned her with his index finger. “We’ve got snow moving in, Blondie. Let’s move.”
Abby wasn’t sure how she was going to get out of this. Evidently, Cowboy Cop was a by-the-book guy and took his job way too seriously. Well, she’d just have to keep her eyes open and hope for an opportunity. If one didn’t arise, she’d just have to make her own. She didn’t relish the idea of spending a cold, wet night out in the snow, but knew the weather might turn out to be an advantage.
She followed him over to the mule.
“On the count of three, I want you to put your left foot in the stirrup, your hands on the horn and hoist yourself into the saddle.”
“I know how to get on.” She lifted her hands and set them on the leather-covered horn. She’d only ridden a couple of times in her life. Back on Grams’s farm, Mr. Smith had owned several Shetland ponies. Abby had liked them just fine with their long manes and pink noses, but she’d never gotten the hang of how to stay on their backs. She’d spent a lot of time that summer dusting off her behind.
“One-two-three.”
Abby hoisted herself up, lifting her right leg over the mule’s back.
“You’re a natural,” Cowboy Cop said.
“Careful, my head’s going to swell.” She stuck her tongue out at him when he turned his back.
Taking the lead attached to the mule’s halter, he lashed it to his saddle. “You’d be wise to stay alert and pay attention to me and your mount.”
“Like that’s going to make any difference to me as you lead me to my death.”
He shot her a frown over his shoulder.
“And we’re going to get wet,” she said.
“Welcome to Colorado in November.” Gathering the reins, he vaulted onto the big, spotted horse with the ease of a man who rode often and well. “We would have been on board a nice warm chopper by now if you hadn’t chucked the radio.”
“I’ll take my chances with the weather.”
His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“Not by choice.”
“You’ve got a twang.”
“I do not have a twang.”
“You’ve definitely got a twang. I’d say you’re from Tennessee.”
“It’s not a twang, and I’m not from Tennessee.” When he only continued to stare at her, she added, “I’m from Kentucky.”
Twisting in his saddle, Cowboy Cop reached into a large leather bag slung across the back of the saddle and retrieved a rolled-up bundle. He removed the tie and shook it. Abby was surprised to see a long, all-weather duster materialize. She wasn’t sure why, but the fact that he was thoughtful enough to think of her physical comfort—especially when she’d given him the mother of all shiners and trashed his beloved radio—touched her.
Turning his horse, he pulled up beside her mule, so close their legs brushed. “It’ll keep you from getting wet, and keep the wind off you.” He reached around her and fastened the button at her throat.
It had been a long time since Abby had been close to a man—especially a man who looked as good as this one. Her heart did a weird little dip, then tapped against her ribs like a brass knocker. He smelled of leather, the out-of-doors, and healthy man. He was so close she could see the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, smell the tang of mint on his breath.
Her mule chose that moment to shift. Cowboy’s knee bumped against hers. The touch jolted her. She hadn’t intended to make eye contact with him. But one moment she was trying to avoid looking at him, the next she was staring into steel-gray eyes that were a tad too cool and a million times too discerning. His face was less than a foot away from hers and for a moment, they were eye-to-eye. His gaze never faltered as he secured the duster at her throat. She thought she saw a flash of heat in the cold depths of his gaze, but it happened too quickly for her to be sure.
And at that moment Abby clearly saw this man’s only vulnerability—and suddenly realized what she was going to have to do to escape him.
If Jake hadn’t experienced it firsthand, he never would have believed what had just happened had really happened. Not to by-the-book Jake Madigan. The level-headed lawman who always looked twice and never took anything at face value. Jake simply didn’t go goo-goo eyed over women no matter how good they were to look at. And he never, ever, trusted them.
So what the hell was he thinking letting those big violet eyes of hers get to him like that?
The woman was a menace. Not only to society, but to his own rock-solid discipline. She was serving a life sentence for murder, for God’s sake. If that little side note wasn’t enough to persuade his libido to take an extended vacation, the corrections official’s briefing that morning should have been, especially the part about Abigail Nichols’s history of mental instability. Jake had seen firsthand that she was self-destructive; he’d watched her toss his radio into the stream, putting them out of communication with RMSAR headquarters and the Chaffee County Sheriff’s Office dispatch. Such an act was not only foolhardy, but dangerous.
Now, on top of those man-killing eyes of hers and feminine charms he had no right to be thinking about, he also had the blasted weather to contend with.
Damn crazy woman.
The snow was coming down sideways now. Not only was Jake wet and freezing from the waist down, but he was starting to get worried. The weather had deteriorated at an alarming rate. Visibility had dwindled to less than a quarter mile. They wouldn’t be able to travel much longer. The snow was already a foot deep and getting deeper by the minute. The wind had kicked up to a brutal speed and howled through the trees like a keening ghost. The drifts forming now would be large enough to swallow a man in a few hours. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, they were going to have to find shelter and camp for the night.
Jake definitely wasn’t going to be home in time to watch the hockey game.
Cursing the weather—and his crafty prisoner—he huddled deeper into his duster and brooded.
“Hey, Cowboy, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet, but it’s snowing like the dickens.”
Turning in his saddle, he looked at her, felt a quiver of an emotion he refused to name kick through him at the sight of her. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. That wild mass of blond curls was damp and blowing in her face and glittered with a frosting of snow.
“Put your hood up,” he said.
Raising her cuffed hands, she tugged the hood over her head. “My hands are cold.”
“I was wondering when you were going to get around to complaining,” he rumbled, hoping to keep her mind off the cold. Even from four feet away he could see that she was shivering. Her hands were bright red. Serves her right, he thought. But deep down inside, he didn’t like seeing her shake with cold. Damn it, he didn’t like the way things were shaping up at all.
“I’m not complaining,” she said. “Just pointing out a fact.”
“You wouldn’t know a fact if you stepped on one and it stuck to the bottom of your shoe.” He stopped his horse. Rebel Yell took a couple more steps, then pulled up next to Brandywine. Jake frowned at the woman. “And if you hadn’t done away with the radio, we would be warm and dry by now.”
“Correction. You would be warm and dry. I’d be sitting in a cold jail cell, contemplating spending the rest of my life behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit. That’s not my idea of a good time.”
Jake wanted to believe it was that body of hers that had his hormones chomping at the bit for the chance to sell him out. But the truth of the matter was he’d seen something honest and true in the depths of her gaze. Something that belied her cavalier attitude and smart mouth and let him see the uneasy vulnerability beneath.
He knew better than to expect honesty from a woman like Abby Nichols; Jake hadn’t been born yesterday. This woman was about as innocent as Lucifer. He knew firsthand how easily lies and deceit came to some people. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to look into her eyes and wonder how she’d made such a mess of her life.
Taking off his gloves, he pulled his horse up next to her mule. “Give me your hands,” he said.
She looked at him warily, but held out her hands.
Without looking at her, Jake worked her hands into his gloves. “This will keep you from getting frostbite.”
“What about you?” Her gaze met his.
Jake stared back a moment too long before clucking to his horse and moving ahead of her.
“Where are we going anyway?” she asked after a moment.
“There’s a hunting cabin a couple of miles from here. If it’s still standing, we’ll stop for the night.”
“That sounds promising.”
“It’ll keep us dry, keep the wind off us. If we’re lucky the weather will clear by morning.”
“Yeah, I was looking forward to getting back to my nice, cozy cell. Tomorrow’s my lucky day, huh?”
He shot her a sour look over his shoulder.
“The warden and I are tight, you know.” She crossed her index and middle finger. “Like this.”
Jake didn’t want to get in to the dynamics of her plight. He wasn’t buying her claim of innocence. Not even close. He’d heard too many lies over the years not to recognize a con when he heard one. He’d heard so many lies—from inmates and criminals and suspects—he could spot one in a dark room with his eyes closed. He’d heard lies from people he’d thought were decent. People he’d trusted. Worse, he’d been lied to by a woman he’d trusted with his heart.
That had cost him something he hadn’t been able to get back. Something that made him a little less human. Elaine’s lies had sucked the trust from his soul. The worst part about it was that Jake wasn’t even sure he wanted it back.
Chapter 3
Jake couldn’t help but worry that he’d overlooked the cabin. That he’d passed right by it and hadn’t seen it because of the poor visibility. Or because he was cold to his bones and shivering uncontrollably. He couldn’t help but think he was leading this woman directly to nowhere—or to a slow and excruciating death.
He couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head as they rode into the driving snow. They’d been traveling at an agonizingly slow speed for two hours. He was wet and tired and growing increasingly uneasy about the situation. He could only imagine how his prisoner must be feeling. She wasn’t dressed for heavy weather. She hadn’t eaten or rested. Her hands were cuffed, to boot. Yet she hadn’t complained. Either she was one tough cookie—or more stubborn than anyone he’d ever met.
If his memory served him, they should have passed the old hunting cabin an hour ago. His compass told him they were headed in the right direction. If so, then where the hell was it? Alarm quivered in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t one to panic—he’d been in worse predicaments in these mountains and survived. Only this time he wasn’t alone. His unwilling traveling companion might be an escaped convict, but her safety was his responsibility. Jake took that responsibility to heart. With weather conditions worsening by the minute—and nightfall closing in fast—he knew it had become imperative for them to find shelter very soon or else find themselves facing a life-or-death situation.
Wind stung his eyes as Brandywine took him through snow deep enough to scrape the underside of her belly, deeper where the wind had whipped it into drifts. His face was wet and ached with cold. His hands were beyond numb.
“You okay?” he shouted over the roar of wind.
“You mean aside from the fact that I’m wet and cold and hungry beyond belief and my life is wrecked? Hey, Cowboy, I’m just peachy over here. Don’t worry about me. I mean, who needs their fingers and toes when they’re going to be spending the rest of their life in prison?”
Even though she was less than three feet away, he could barely make out her silhouette through the driving snow. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Hang tight, okay?”
“I’ve been hanging on for a year, now. A few more minutes aren’t going to make much difference.”
An instant later Brandywine stumbled. Jake looked down, squinting through the snow, realized she’d stumbled over the lowest rail of a broken-down fence. Pulling up on the reins, he looked ahead. Relief trickled through him when the weathered exterior of the cabin loomed into view.
Sliding off the horse, he led her to the east side of the cabin where a shallow lean-to blocked the wind and snow. Jake walked over to Rebel Yell and looked up at his charge. She gazed back at him, shivering, her cheeks bright pink within the pale oval of her face. Wisps of wet hair curled wildly around the hood of the duster.
“Nice p-place,” she said. “C-come here often?”
He would have bought the tough-guy act if her teeth hadn’t been chattering. An Emergency Medical Technician, Jake knew it wouldn’t take long for hypothermia to set in under these kinds of conditions. He probably wasn’t too far from that point himself. “Sit tight,” he said. Taking Rebel Yell’s lead, he tied the mule to the manger, then turned to the woman. “Lift your right leg over her neck and slide down,” he said.
Holding her cuffed hands in front of her, she did as she was told. It would have worked if her legs hadn’t given out the instant they touched the ground. If Jake hadn’t been there to catch her, she would have fallen. But he was there, holding her close—way too close—and far too aware of how good she felt in his arms.
Startled violet eyes met his, a kaleidoscope of emotions scrolling in their depths. Jake saw awareness and caution coupled with something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He breathed in, got a lungful of her scent, felt it knock him upside the head like a fence post. She smelled earthy and elemental, a heady mix of sweet mountain rain and woman that stirred him despite the cold. He felt the hard thump of a pulse, but he wasn’t sure if it was his or hers. Just that it was racing like the wind, and he was far too wise to ask himself why.
“Careful, I’ve got you,” he said.
“I’m c-cold.” She winced. “M-my feet are numb.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I figured it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it’s seriously cold out here.” Grimacing, she shoved a handful of hair from her eyes. “Like you care, anyway.”
“It’s my responsibility to get you back to Buena Vista safe and sound.”
Her humorless laugh shouldn’t have irked him, but it did. “More like dead or alive.”
“Don’t overdramatize. It’s annoying.”
“I’m not overdramatizing. I’m simply being realistic.”
Jake knew he should step away. He should have stepped away the instant he’d felt the brush of her body against his. But she was curvy and soft against him, and her scent was doing a number on his judgment. Not to mention another part of his anatomy that seemed determined to betray him.
“Don’t sweat it, Cowboy Cop. I know you’re just doing your job. I’m not taking any of this personally.”
When he looked into her eyes, he could tell she really meant what she was saying. “I don’t want to see you hurt,” he said.
“Yeah, you just want to get me back to Buena Vista in one piece so I can spend the rest of my life in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. That’s real compassionate. But I guess a girl in my position has got to appreciate compassion when she can, you know?”
Jake sighed. “I’m not going to get into this with you now.” Releasing her, he stepped back. “I’ve got to get these animals fed and bedded down for the night.”
He turned toward Brandywine, opened the saddlebag and pulled out a halter, lead and a bag of grain. Slipping the bridle off the horse’s head, he replaced it with the halter and tied her to the manger. Scooping snow from the manger, he divided the bag of grain between the two animals. As they fed, he turned to his charge. “Give me your hands.”
“Don’t tell me you trust me enough to take off these cuffs.”
“Trust doesn’t enter into the picture here, Blondie. This is a dangerous storm, and I could use your help.”
“Imagine that. A lawman needing my help.”
Frowning, Jake fished the key from his belt, unlocked the cuffs, then stuffed them into the compartment. Without speaking, he turned back to the animals, unfastened the two bedrolls from the saddles and offered them to his prisoner. “Would you hold these for a minute while I untack?”
She nodded. “Maybe you should deputize me or something.”
“I don’t think so.” He set the bedrolls in her arms, then went about untacking the animals. A few minutes later, a saddle horn in each hand, he turned toward the cabin. “Let’s see if this place has a roof,” he said.
“Cowboy, I’m going to be really disappointed if it doesn’t.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“I guess it would be unreasonable for me to hope for hot water.”
“Best case scenario is a fire—if there’s dry wood.”
“Room service?”
“I’ve got some instant meals, jerky and a few cookies.”
“Chocolate chip?”
“Peanut butter.”
“Jeez, you really know how to crush a girl’s dreams.”
Jake moved past her and reached for the knob. The door squeaked when he pushed it open. The pungent odors of old wood and dust greeted him. “No snow on the floor,” he said. “That’s a good sign.”
He stepped into the dimly lit interior, his boots thudding dully against the plank floor. It had been a year since he’d been inside the one-room cabin, and it was every bit as dilapidated as he remembered. He’d gone camping with Tony Colorosa and Pete Scully, and they’d run into rain. Jake had remembered the cabin from a search and rescue operation years before, and they’d ended up spending the night.
“It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’ll do,” he said.
“We’ll have to call housekeeping. There’s a pane missing from the window and it’s snowing in the kitchen.”
Jake looked up to see his charge stroll into the kitchen area. She’d lowered the hood of the duster he’d given her and handfuls of brown-and-blond-streaked hair curled around her shoulders. He tried not to notice that her teeth were chattering, or the occasional shiver that racked her body. Most of all he tried not to notice that she looked more like somebody’s camping partner than she did a convict on the run.
Tearing his gaze from her—and thoughts that were anything but appropriate at a time like this—he looked toward the window where snow blasted in through a broken pane. Two inches of the stuff covered the rough-hewn countertop. “I’ll patch that.”
“Is there a bathroom?”
Jake stared at her, suspicion flaring hot in his gut. “There’s an outhouse just off the back porch.”
When she started toward the back door, he reached out and took her arm. “I’ll go with you.”
“What? You think I’m going to run out into a blizzard?”
“After the stunt with the radio, I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“I may be desperate, but I’m not stupid.”
“They’re one and the same up here, Blondie. You do something desperate in this weather and it might just kill you.”
“That would just set the world on its ear, wouldn’t it?”
Jake cut her a look. He didn’t like the sound of that. She didn’t appear unbalanced or unduly agitated, but he remembered clearly the D.O.C. officer mentioning that she had a history of mental illness. If she decided to get crazy on him and take off, they could both freeze to death and not be found until spring. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Suit yourself.” Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she stalked over to the rear door and yanked it open. A blast of frigid air sent her back a step.
The outhouse was a doorless, open-air facility that left her gaping for a full thirty seconds before Jake leaned down and told her he would turn his back while she took care of business. She wouldn’t even look at him as she stepped through the door and brushed the snow off the seat. Then at her nod, he turned away and tried not to think about how long this storm might last. While she used the facility, Jake spotted the remains of what had once been a woodpile. The wood underneath was dry, but there wasn’t much. Maybe enough for two days. Leaving his post, he walked over to the pile and gathered up an armload of wood.
When he straightened, he found her a few feet away, gathering kindling. Surprise and a grudging admiration rippled through him. Okay, so Miss Convict was a trooper. That shouldn’t have appealed to him, but it did. He knew what people were like when they were scared. He’d seen his share of panic, even more of tears. This woman could have been the poster girl for calm.
As much as he wanted to deny it, Jake realized he was going to have to be very, very careful in the coming hours. She was getting to him despite his resolve to keep her at a safe distance. And for the first time since Elaine had walked out on him more than two years earlier, he wasn’t sure he trusted his own good judgment to keep him on the straight and narrow.
Rather than shout over the wind, he made eye contact with her and pointed toward the door. She nodded, and he followed her. Once inside, he set the wood in front of the fireplace. “I’ll build a fire, then I’ve got to get out of these wet pants. Why don’t you see if you can find something suitable to cover that broken pane with?”
“I was just going to suggest that.” She started toward the kitchen area where a few pieces of weathered plywood leaned against the sink.
Jake watched her out of the corner of his eye as he stacked the wood and kindling in the hearth. She was still shivering, but he knew a blazing fire would take the damp chill out of the room. It wouldn’t be warm by any means, but at least they wouldn’t die of hypothermia. For tonight, he figured that was the best they could hope for.
She searched the counter, tossing aside a couple of scrap pieces of wood that were either too large or too small to fit over the broken pane. Next, she looked under the sink.
He jumped a foot in the air when she screamed and scrambled back.
“What the hell?” Certain she’d uncovered a nest of rattlesnakes, he sprinted over to her, grabbed her arm and tugged her away from the threat. Her laugh stopped him cold. He glanced past her in time to see a chipmunk scurry into a fist-size hole leading to the crawl space beneath the cabin.