Deep In The Heart Of Texas

CHAPTER TWO

THE HERMIT STOOD on the porch, watching, waiting. He held the rifle in one hand, the barrel toward the Texas sky, the butt resting on his hip, his finger on the trigger.

The two men rode up to a gap that led to a primitive road, the only way out, the route he used when he went for supplies. They talked for several minutes, obviously still debating whether to ride in and face him. Everyone in the county had heard the rumors about him. He’d heard them himself. He was reputed to be mean, vicious and trigger-happy.

He hoped the men remembered those wild tales. To his disappointment they opened the gap and rode through. The woman inside must be very important to them. They wouldn’t risk their lives by riding onto his property otherwise.

As they rode nearer, he focused on the first man. Del Spikes, Clyde Maddox’s ranch foreman. A thin man with a long face and a sour expression, Spikes was a man he had encountered many times over the years. Mainly Spikes harassed him or warned him to stay off Maddox land.

He didn’t recognize the other man, but felt sure he had to be one of Maddox’s employees. A portly man with a round face and dirty blond hair, he held back, letting Spikes take the lead.

About fifty yards from the cabin, the hermit slowly lowered the rifle and fired at the ground in front of the horses. The horses nervously jumped away, and the men had a hard time handling them.

“Get off my land,” he yelled.

Bandit stood by him, growling.

“Quiet, boy,” he whispered.

Spikes reined in his horse. “I want to talk to you, Hermit.”

“Got nothing to say to you, Spikes.”

“This is important. Five minutes is all I’m asking.”

He wanted them off his property as fast as possible, but to get rid of them he was going to have to give a little. Besides, what did Spikes and his pal have to do with the woman? That curiosity bothered him. He shouldn’t be curious.

“Five minutes, Spikes. That’s all you have.”

Spikes rode closer. “Clyde Maddox’s daughter has been kidnapped, and he’s offering a big reward for her safe return.”

Clyde Maddox’s daughter? Was that the woman inside his cabin? No, it couldn’t be. Not Clyde Maddox’s daughter. For a split second he wondered why that possibility disturbed him.

He had never met Clyde Maddox but disliked him intensely. Maddox had tried to get him off his two hundred acres by barring the road, tampering with his water supply and sending Spikes and his henchmen to threaten him, but nothing had worked. He’d fought back and outsmarted Maddox at every turn. Now he was sheltering Maddox’s daughter from men who worked for him. What was going on?

“What’s that got to do with me?” he asked, and kept his eyes on Spikes and on the other man’s hands.

“Just wanna know if you’ve seen anything.”

“Out here in the middle of nowhere?” Obviously Spikes wanted to find out if he’d discovered the room and set the woman free. There was no one else who could’ve done it, but Spikes wasn’t about to accuse him because Spikes didn’t want to incriminate himself.

“We’re looking everywhere,” Spikes said.

“Well, you’re looking in the wrong place,” the hermit told him. “I haven’t seen a woman in so long I couldn’t even draw you a picture.”

The other man laughed crudely.

Spikes spit chewing tobacco on the ground. “Yeah, what would you do with a woman, huh, Hermit?”

“Your five minutes are up,” he said, getting tired of the nonsense.

The grin left Spikes’s face and his hand went to the rifle resting across his saddle.

The fake pleasantries were over. Time to deal with the real reason they were here.

“I wouldn’t,” he called, his rifle leveled on Spikes. “Unless you feel this is your lucky day.”

Spikes’s eyes rolled with a warning. “I figure you know something and before I let you ruin this, I’ll see you in hell.”

“Thanks for the invitation, Spikes, but I’ve already been there, and I don’t intend to go back. Now get off my land.”

Spikes wheeled his horse around with an angry movement. “I should’ve killed you years ago, Hermit.”

He didn’t answer but waited until they rode into the woods again.

Bandit lay on the porch, his face on his paws. “Watch ’em, boy,” he said, and backed into the cabin.

HE STOPPED SHORT as he entered the room. The woman held the gun with both hands, pointing it directly at him. She trembled so severely the gun wavered in every direction.

“They’ve left,” he said, propping his rifle against the wall. “Put the gun down.”

“I…I can’t,” Her voice cracked.

He moved closer and pried the weapon out of her fingers. She buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

Ignoring her tears, he walked to the window to check that Spikes and his companion were indeed gone. They weren’t. He could see them through the trees. Dammit, they weren’t leaving.

“I…I heard him say my father was offering a reward for my safe return,” she said with a sniffle.

“Just bait to get me to admit you were inside the cabin,” he told her.

“They’re the men who kidnapped me, aren’t they?” she asked in a weak voice.

“That’d be my guess.”

“But why?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “They work for my father, but I hardly know them.”

In fact, Spikes had worked for her father for years. He ran the ranch with an iron hand, exactly as her father wanted. The only time she saw the man was when she went riding. He saddled her horse and was invariably pleasant, but she’d never liked the way he looked at her. She couldn’t explain it, but his eyes always seemed to settle on her breasts or her legs, never on her face.

“For money, and lots of it.”

Miranda jumped as the hermit’s words penetrated her troubled thoughts.

A tense pause followed. Then he looked at her. “You’re Clyde Maddox’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she answered warily, not missing the venom in his voice. “You don’t like my father,” she ventured.

“No,” he answered as he yanked off his hat and coat and hung them on a peg on the wall.

The shoulder holster caught Miranda’s eye. It was something like a policeman or a detective would wear. For the first time she wondered who this man was and where he’d come from. Things her father had said about the hermit drifted through her mind. Clyde called him a nuisance and a few other choice words that had burned her ears. He tripped the wolf and coyote traps set by the ranch hands, freed some of her father’s prize horses to roam free in the hills and, worst of all, hunted on Maddox land.

The hermit had a way of getting on her father’s bad side, but Miranda felt there was more between them than the little she knew.

“Why do you dislike my father?” she found herself asking.

He spared her a dark glance. “Because he’s powerful and ruthless, and he’s used every underhanded trick he knows to force me off my land.”

Miranda’s eyes grew wide. “I can’t believe that!”

“I don’t care what you believe,” he said angrily. “Right now my goal is to get you out of my cabin and out of my life.”

“But…but…” she sputtered, suddenly fearful that he intended to kick her out and let Spikes have her. She swallowed hard, not sure what she should say—or ask.

Before she could find the right words, the hermit spoke. “I’m just wondering if this is a ploy of your father’s to run me off this land for good. Getting me arrested for kidnapping could be the ace up his sleeve.”

Miranda folded her arms around her waist to still the trembling. “My father wouldn’t do that to me,” she said defiantly. “He wouldn’t have his men put me in that room. He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t, not to get back at you or anyone.”

He gazed out the window. Spikes was still there. Was he waiting for someone? Or was he waiting for the Maddox woman? The hermit had to weigh his odds and he had to decide if this was a real kidnapping or a trap for him. He remembered the way the woman had been when he’d found her—drugged, fatigued and frightened. Even Clyde Maddox wouldn’t do that to his own daughter.

“Are they still out there?” she asked in a hesitant voice.

“Yeah, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

“What do you think they’ll do?”

He paused for a second, then answered, “They’ll wait until dark, then come in and try to kill me and take you.”

Miranda closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was having a terrible dream, but she couldn’t pretend anymore. She had to face the horror that had become her life. How could she manage that? Since her earliest childhood, there had been people to do things for her. Now there was no one but herself. And the hermit.

“Once it gets dark, you can slip out the back door and start your trek home,” he said.

Dark? Trek? Was he out of his mind? She could barely find her way to the back door, and he wanted her to tromp over miles of thick woods with Spikes on her heels. Somehow she had to persuade him to help her, because Spikes had a healthy respect for the hermit—a respect better known as fear. She’d heard it in his voice.

Biting her lip, she stared at the hermit. His dark hair had a slight natural curl as it rested on his shoulders, which were broad and strong. His cheekbones were high and defined. He wasn’t as old as she’d thought. When her father had cursed him, she’d assumed he was a man in his sixties, but studying him now, she could see he probably wasn’t even forty. Why was a man of that age living the life of a hermit?

Quickly pushing the question aside, she sought a way to reach him. “You said you’d hide me,” she reminded him in her sweetest voice, hoping for a positive reaction.

There wasn’t one.

A low grumble left his throat. “I have, and that’s all I intend to do. In a little while you’ll be on your own.”

She leapt to her feet. “If you send me out into those woods alone, you might as well take your gun and shoot me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he warned, his eyes like dark thunder-clouds.

Miranda shivered at the viciousness in his voice. She dropped back into the chair and began to weep, a defense mechanism she had learned as a child. It was guaranteed to work on the various men in her life, but it wasn’t having any effect on the hermit.

“Dry up those tears. I’ve had about enough of you, your father and his men.”

As he said the words, an idea formed in Miranda’s head. There might be a way to convince him. She wiped her eyes, then rubbed her hands on her jeans. “If you get me home, I promise you won’t be bothered by my father or his men anymore.”

He blinked, unable to believe his ears. Did she actually think he needed her help? He could take care of Maddox and Spikes without her interference.

“I can make it happen.” Her voice drummed on, full of confidence. “My father has never denied me anything, and if you bring me back safely, he’ll grant my request. You’ll have your solitude. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He walked over to the table, laid his hands flat on the surface and stared into her liquid brown eyes. “Solitude is my fervent prayer. And I don’t need your help.”

At the harshness of his words, all her hopes vanished. The man was hard as nails, just as her father had said. Now what? She bit her lip and tried to think of something, anything.

As the hope in her eyes died, he felt a pang of conscience. He moved away from the table. Dammit! He wasn’t going to help her. It was too risky.

But could he really push her out the back door and let her fend for herself? She was a city girl, right down to those long manicured nails. Within minutes she’d be lost and victim to every wild animal out there, including Spikes. He wouldn’t treat any living creature that way. So he wouldn’t do it to Miranda Maddox, either.

He released a long breath, admitting that he had no choice. She now knew Spikes was her kidnapper. Which meant she’d become a liability to Spikes, so he couldn’t afford to let her live.

Damn the woman.

He couldn’t have another death on his conscience.

Damn the woman.

“All right,” he said without expression. “I’ll take you back to your father.”

“You will?” Her eyes grew bright with renewed hope.

“On several conditions,” he added.

She frowned. “Like what?”

“You will do exactly what I tell you to do. You will not whine or complain. And most of all, there will be no tears and no questions.”

She gritted her teeth at his arrogance, but answered, “Yes, fine. I can do that.”

He wasn’t through. “It’s going to be cold out there without much shelter. Wild animals, from coyotes to bobcats, will be a constant danger. Not to mention Spikes, who will be on our trail as soon as he realizes we’ve gone. I need to know if you can handle the rough terrain and the conditions and follow orders.”

She stared at him with wide troubled eyes. Her first instinct was to lie, anything to get back to her father, but she had a feeling the hermit would see through it.

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly, trying to think of some evidence or argument. She could tell him about shopping nonstop for twelve hours in Paris. No, that sounded frivolous. Or she could tell him about skiing in Colorado, but then, most of her time was spent at the lodge. Or she could tell him about the time she and Jane hired a personal trainer to get in shape. No, that only lasted two days. God, her life sounded meaningless. She’d never thought so before, but now she was looking at herself differently, and she didn’t like what she was seeing. There had to be more to her than being a rich man’s daughter. There had to be.

Her eyes touched his. “I’m not used to the wild outdoors, but I’ll try,” was all she could promise.

“Try?” he boomed at her, his fist hitting the table with a loud thump. “You’ll do more than try. You’ll do it—because I’m not taking a whimpering whiny female out into those woods with Spikes and his high-powered rifle on my heels.”

She swallowed hard and tried to quell the anger growing inside her, but it didn’t work. “What do you want me to say?” she snapped. “That I’m Annie Oakley or something? Well, I’m not. I promise to try my very best. That’s all I can do.”

The minute the words were out, she regretted them. But no one had ever talked to her the way he had and she resented it. She might be at his mercy, but she didn’t have to endure his insults. Now she wondered if her reaction had ruined any chance of his helping her.

He straightened, a thoughtful expression on his face. The woman had fire in her. Good. He was beginning to wonder if Clyde Maddox’s daughter was a meek little daddy’s girl with no will of her own. She was going to need all that fire, plus guts and strength to handle the hours ahead. “Well, that’s all I ask,” he murmured. “Just be prepared for the worst.”

Miranda frowned, uncertain whether it was wise to put her life in his hands. But what choice did she have? It was either the hermit or Spikes.

“One more thing,” he said. “I will only take you to within a mile of the ranch. From there, you’ll go in alone. I will see no one and talk to no one. And I definitely do not want anything from your father. Understood?”

She nodded, but had to ask, “Why are you helping me?”

His dark eyes grew pensive. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Maybe it’s the easiest way to get rid of you, or maybe I just don’t want your death on my conscience.”

“I didn’t know you had a conscience.” The remark slipped out before she could stop it.

His eyes held hers for an agonizing second. “You’d better thank God I still do.”

She had no idea what he meant by those words, and she wasn’t going to ask. They were partners now, together against Spikes. Without understanding how she knew it, she sensed she could trust the hermit. He wouldn’t let her down.

THE NEXT FEW MINUTES were hectic. The hermit packed a backpack and dropped some clothes on the table. “Put these on,” he ordered. “They belonged to my great-uncle. I inherited this place from him.” His eyes swept the length of her body. “He was a small man, so they should just about fit you.”

There was no interest or curiosity in his eyes. Not that she wanted him to be attracted to her, but she’d never had a man look at her in such a detached manner. Why was she thinking such crazy thoughts? She had one goal—to get home safely. His disinterest in her as a woman was going to make the next two days much easier.

She picked up the clothes. Her nose wrinkled in revulsion as she examined the woolly long johns, socks, knit cap and big coat. They smelled of mothballs. She opened her mouth to protest when she caught his eye. He was waiting for her to complain. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Where can I change?” she asked with a secret grin.

“Look around you,” he replied sarcastically. “Where do you think you can change?”

Miranda glanced nervously around the small room. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He suppressed a curse. “It’s outside. It’s called an outhouse.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling stupid. Naturally he wouldn’t have a bathroom. What was she thinking?

“I’ll turn my back,” he informed her. “It’s all the privacy you’re going to get.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “I really do have to use the bathroom.”

He grunted. How many times had Sheila said those same words? Whenever they were at a party or some special function she’d always had to fix her hair or her makeup. He immediately stopped those memories. He hadn’t thought of her in years and he wouldn’t think of her now.

“It’s out the back door,” he said hurriedly. “Make a run for it and come right back. I’ll keep an eye on Spikes. He can’t see the outhouse from his position.”

Walking as fast as she could, Miranda followed the narrow path to the small building. Inside was a long wooden seat with two holes cut into it. She pulled down her jeans and sat on one of them. To her surprise there was toilet paper on a roll beside her. Oddly the primitive conditions didn’t bother her, but she kept her eye out for tiny furry animals. She quickly did her business and returned to the cabin.

Back inside, the hermit handed her the extra clothes and turned around. She hesitated for only for a moment before stripping out of her clothes, then pulling on the long johns and socks. Putting her jeans and top back on, she wondered why she trusted this man. She’d only known him an hour or so. Suddenly she realized he hadn’t even told her his name.

Slipping into the big coat, which came down to her knees, she said, “I’m finished.”

He turned to face her.

She smiled. “My name is Miranda. What do I call you?”

“Nothing” came the sharp retort. “The less you know about me the better.”

The words held an ominous ring, and despite the extra clothing, a chill ran up her spine. Who was this man? Nobody knew his name and he wasn’t willing to give any information about himself. Was he hiding from the law? A wanted criminal? She could feel goose bumps rising on her skin and prayed for enough strength to survive the next couple of days, whatever they held.

SPIKES REACHED into his saddlebags and pulled out a cell phone. “Damn hermit,” he muttered, and poked out a number.

“Whadja say?” Peavy asked, chewing on a wad of tobacco.

“Nothing,” he muttered again, eyes narrowing as he heard the phone start to ring.

Static filled his ear. The connection wasn’t clear. “Hello, hello?” a voice said.

“It’s Del. We got problems.”

“What?”

“She’s escaped.”

There was a long pause on the other end. “How the hell did that happen? I told you to lock her up good.”

“I did, but that damn hermit found her and turned her loose.”

Another long pause. “Where’s she now?”

“I’m not sure,” Spikes replied. “She’s either loose in these hills or she’s with him.”

“Well, you’d better find out, because everything rides on her not getting back to the ranch until we have our money.”

“Okay, but…” Static became so loud Spikes couldn’t hear, so he clicked off.

“Whata we ’pose to do?” Peavy asked.

“We have to find her,” Spikes said. “My guess is she’s with the hermit. So when it gets dark, we’re going in and take her. It’s gonna to be a pleasure putting a bullet in that bastard.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE HERMIT FILLED a canteen with water from a primitive pump attached to the sink, then went to the bed and pulled a box from beneath the cot. Inside were smaller boxes. Ammunition. Extra ammunition. He removed one and shoved it into the backpack. Miranda’s blood ran cold as she absorbed the full impact of her situation.

Life or death.

Her life or her death.

With the hermit she stood a chance. She had to do what he wanted. For the first time in her life, she’d find out what type of person she was: weak or strong, courageous or cowardly, pampered or self-reliant. It was a daunting prospect. She had to shake the spoiled rich-girl persona, because it was the way the hermit seemed to see her. But then, he hadn’t really seen her at all. So far he’d treated her like a pesky bug he wanted to swat.

As the shadows outside grew longer, the hermit lit a coal-oil lamp and set it in the middle of the table. He whistled for the dog, who quickly came through the dog flap in the door. Then he slipped on his coat and hat.

“That should burn for about thirty minutes,” he told her, pushing his arms through the straps of the backpack. “Button your coat and put on the cap,” he said, and grabbed his rifle.

Miranda immediately did as she was told. There were slots for her eyes, nose and mouth. She wiggled her nose in distaste at the musty woolly smell.

He noticed the gesture. “Remember, no questions, tears or complaints,” was all he said as he opened the back door and they stepped out into the night.

A blast of cold wind hit her, reminding her of the low nightly temperatures. The extra clothing prevented her from being miserable with cold yet, but she knew it would get much worse.

The moon beamed just brightly enough for her to see shapes in the darkness. Sounds she’d never heard before filled the night, soft, cooing, rustling sounds. Fear, her new companion, became distinct and vivid and tightened her nerves into knots.

“Stay close behind me,” he said over his shoulder.

She didn’t intend on staying anywhere else. As long as she could see him, she felt safe.

They walked and walked, trudging up hills through thickets and bushes, then down into valleys of tall dried weeds. Miranda tried hard to keep up. She had to.

It amazed her that he knew exactly where he was going. Each tree, bush and trail seemed familiar to him. Several times he held a branch so she could walk through without being slapped in the face. At least he was considerate, she decided.