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Was that laughter in his voice? No, it couldn’t be. This man never laughed.
He squatted down at the entrance, right beside her prone body. “You have to move farther in,” he told her.
The knots in her legs were so tight and painful, she couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it. “I need a minute,” she said in a pained voice.
“Why?” he snapped. “We’re going to get soaking wet if we stay here. The rat’s gone. It can’t hurt you.”
“I…can’t move,” she finally admitted.
“Why not? If—”
“My legs are cramped up, okay?” she shouted. “Now leave me alone and let me deal with my own misery.”
He swore under his breath and stepped over her, bending because the cave was too low for him to stand upright. He reached under her armpits and pulled her farther inside.
He knelt at her feet and took off her sneakers. Shock rippled through Miranda as he touched her, but she was too weak and exhausted to say anything. His big hands began to gently massage the calf of one leg, then the other. She sighed with pure pleasure.
Heavens, his hands felt so good. Each touch, each stroke, eased away the pain. This man would never hurt anyone; she was positive of that. Why was everyone afraid of him? She wasn’t anymore, and somehow she felt she never would be again.
God, he’d forgotten how good it felt to touch a woman. Even through the jeans, her flesh was soft yet supple, and—
He had to stop. He couldn’t keep touching her. Removing his backpack, he leaned against the other wall just as it started to rain outside. “Better?” he asked, and his heart pounded against his chest with emotions he hadn’t experienced in years.
“Yes, much,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“You should have said something. I wouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”
“I think you enjoyed pushing me hard,” she remarked with a touch of humor as she removed the wool cap.
Blond hair tumbled around her shoulders. He found he couldn’t tear his eyes away, and that surprised him. For the first time he really saw her. She was very beautiful with creamy flawless skin, a straight dainty nose and a perfectly shaped mouth. Her silver-blond hair seemed natural but probably wasn’t. There was nothing natural about women like her. He knew her type—rich, spoiled and factitious down to her soul.
As he realized what he was thinking, he brought his troublesome ramblings to a halt. He was comparing her to Sheila again. He’d been doing that for a while now. It was unfair to this woman, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He forced his eyes in another direction, but he had to admit Miranda Maddox showed more strength than Sheila had ever possessed. She must have been in a lot of pain—the knots in her legs were like goose eggs—yet she’d never said a word. Never complained. Never shed a tear. Yeah, she had strength. He had no idea why that pleased him so much, because he knew damn well that the sooner he got her back to her father the better.
The steady tattoo of the rain enclosed them in a comfortable silence. Now that the pain had eased, Miranda let the soothing sound of it calm her nerves. She didn’t want to think about the dangers that lay in wait outside the cave.
Pulling his hat low over his eyes, he tried to relax, but with Miranda Maddox a few feet away, that wasn’t easy. Damn the woman, he thought. He didn’t care about her, or her story, or why she was in this mess. That was what he told himself, over and over, but despite that, he found he was becoming increasingly curious.
Damn the woman.
He was empty inside. He had nothing to give anyone. Yet she was stirring up those basic primal emotions a man feels toward a woman. Maybe it wasn’t possible to destroy all feeling. Maybe some things were natural, God-given, and he had to accept that. Even if he didn’t like it much.
The rhythmic beat of the rain became louder. Miranda glanced toward the entrance. It was sleeting. She could see tiny icicles forming on the bushes. That reminded her of Christmas—how long had it been since Christmas? Barely three weeks. It seemed a lifetime since the whole family had gathered at the ranch to celebrate. Kevin had surprised her with a beautiful engagement ring. She was happy. Or so she’d believed until—
“We’d better eat and then try to get some sleep.” The hermit’s words interrupted her thoughts. He opened the backpack and pulled out a towel. Inside was a big loaf of bread and something Miranda didn’t recognize.
“Deer jerky,” he said, almost as if he could read her mind.
Deer jerky? What in the world was that? She frowned at the dark strips of meat.
“It’s dried venison—deer meat,” he told her. “Quite tasty, especially if you’re hungry.”
Slipping the knife from the sheath around his waist, he sliced the bread into big chunks and handed her a piece.
She nibbled on the bread and watched as he chewed a piece of dried meat. Not wanting him to think she was one of those finicky females, she picked up a strip of meat and began to chew.
It wasn’t bad, especially if you were hungry, like he’d said, but the bread was exceptional. “This is delicious bread. Where do you get it?”
“I bake it,” he replied in a dry tone.
“Oh,” she murmured, licking her fingers and feeling chastised. None of her friends or acquaintances baked anything, so how was she to know? “I should have guessed you were a regular Renaissance man,” she said to take the scowl from his face.
The scowl only deepened as he took a drink from the canteen.
She didn’t want him to think she’d insulted him, so she hastened to add, “A Renaissance man is a person with lots of skills, who can do anything. It comes from—”
“I know that.” Slowly lowering the canteen, his dark eyes impaled her. “I’m not stupid.”
Feeling chastised again, she decided to give up. Clearly she was never going to say anything that pleased him.
As she finished the jerky, he passed her the canteen. Their fingers touched, but he didn’t instantly draw back as he had before. Their eyes met, and there was a tiny, a very tiny, glimmer in his eyes. It was there. She could see it before he looked away. He wasn’t as dead inside as he wanted her to believe.
“Drink up,” he said, and cleared his throat.
As she drank, he pulled a brown blanket from the backpack and tossed it on her lap.
“Try to get some sleep,” he said, taking the canteen from her.
She unfolded the wool blanket and wrapped it around her.
He sat with his legs out in front of him, his back against the wall, his head tilted back.
“Where’s your blanket?” she asked, thinking he must be cold.
“Don’t need one. I’m used to the weather,” he replied, and pulled his hat lower over his eyes.
Didn’t need one? He was lying. He’d given her his only blanket, and he couldn’t make her believe otherwise.
Bandit settled down beside him. The hermit’s hand went out and rested on the dog’s back. Two complete and total friends, she thought, dealing with life in their own unique way.
Curling her feet beneath her, she huddled under the blanket. It was so cold, but she managed to be comfortable. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she heard a rustling sound. She was immediately awake. Another rat? Oh, no! It was probably seeking shelter from the cold and rain.
Why wasn’t Bandit jumping up and catching it? But he just lay there, sleeping. Maybe he was full after eating the first one and saw no point in getting up. Okay. She inhaled deeply. She could handle this.
She heard the sound again—it was closer. So close she could almost feel the rat touching her skin. That was all it took. She scrambled to her feet, jumped across the narrow space and landed beside the hermit and Bandit. Bandit let out a yelp and the hermit growled, “What the hell?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “but I heard another rat, and I’m scared of them. Please, let me sit here.”
She was scared of rats. The woman had walked miles in excruciating pain, but the thought of a rat had her falling to pieces.
“If there was a rat in here, Bandit would catch it,” he told her.
“Maybe he’s not hungry anymore,” she countered logically.
“Bandit is always hungry.”
“I’d feel better sitting over here with you.”
“And I’d feel better if you went back to your own place.”
She ignored the irritated tone of his voice. “We can share the blanket and stay warmer. See,” she said, and quickly spread the blanket over both of them.
“Lady…”
Bandit whined.
“Shut up,” the hermit snapped.
Miranda jerked her head in surprise. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just go to sleep.”
Miranda curled into his side, her soft body against his. He took a shuddering breath. He didn’t need this. Oh, God, he didn’t need this.
Bandit scurried onto the blanket and crawled into her lap.
“Traitor,” he whispered to himself as he watched her hand stroking Bandit’s head.
Miranda sat by his side watching his jaw tighten with each passing second, but she wasn’t moving. She liked it here. She felt safe and warm.
His full beard caught her attention. He had a rugged outdoor persona and she’d bet he was very handsome without all the hair. What did it feel like to kiss someone with a beard? She never had, and suddenly the temptation was oh, so great. What would he do if she reached over and kissed him? Her fantasy came to an abrupt stop. What in the world was she thinking? Had fear warped her brain? Her eyes grew heavy, but she couldn’t prevent the tantalizing thought from dancing in her head.
He knew he wasn’t going to sleep, but it didn’t matter. Sleep was something that eluded him on most nights. He’d heard the rumors about himself; that he roamed these hills chasing his demons. That was probably true. His demons were persistent, never letting him sleep more than two hours at a time. Those demons were the reason he was here in the Hill Country alone, finding a measure of peace in the solitude.
Now she was creating doubts about the sentence he’d imposed on himself. All those emotions and feelings he’d left behind and thought dead were threatening to surface. But that was okay. He could handle them and he could handle her.
Sometime later he awoke with a start. He had fallen asleep. Damn. He listened closely. No sound of riders. Spikes wasn’t on their trail yet. The first thing he noticed was that it had stopped sleeting. It was a clear afternoon. The temperature had risen about ten degrees. Texas weather. Always a mystery.
The second thing he noticed was the woman asleep at his side. Her blond head rested on his shoulder, and her arm was linked through his. The blanket was still wrapped around them, and Bandit lay like a babe in her lap.
She moaned softly, an erotic sound he couldn’t help reacting to. A sound she probably made when she was—No! Don’t even think it. A woman with the same sexual appeal had destroyed him, broken his heart, crushed his soul. He had no desire to go down that path again, no matter how attractive the woman.
He shifted uncomfortably and she stirred. Her bright brown eyes glistened with beautiful dreams—and then they darkened with the reality of their situation.
“Oh, it’s not sleeting anymore,” she said. “And it doesn’t feel as cold.”
“It isn’t,” he replied, disengaging his arm from hers.
The movement didn’t escape her. The man had a thing about closeness. An impish idea lit her eyes. When he got her safely back to her father, she was going to give him the biggest kiss of his life. It would be her thank-you, her goal at the end of their journey.
“Shh,” he said, instantly alert, and grabbed his rifle, which was never far from him.
She bit her lip, not saying a word, her arms tight around Bandit.
“Riders,” he whispered. “Damn, Spikes caught up with us faster than I expected. The rain and sleet didn’t even slow him down. Damn fool’s determined not to let you make it back to the ranch.”
Miranda’s insides quivered uncontrollably. “Can he find us?”
“Not unless he’s a better tracker than I give him credit for. The rain washed away all our tracks. He’s just going on instinct. Get your shoes,” he ordered, and she quickly obeyed, remembering her sneakers lay where he’d removed them to massage her legs.
“How close is he?” she asked, lacing up her sneakers, then moving back to his side.
“Less than half a mile and riding hard,” he replied, and turned to face her. “Not a word, not a sound—not even if a rat runs up your leg. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her eyes like saucers.
“What about Bandit?” she had to ask, thinking he’d start barking if the riders were close enough.
“Bandit and I have hidden from Spikes before. He knows not to bark.” He rubbed Bandit’s head. “Don’t you, boy?”
Bandit whined low in his throat.
“Not a sound, boy.” The hermit held his finger to his lips.
They were conversing. Dog and man. They understood each other. She’d never seen a master and animal so in tune with each other.
Her concentration shifted as she heard the riders, the sound of hooves hitting the ground like distant thunder. Her muscles tightened in trepidation. What would happen if Spikes found them?
The hermit laid the rifle on his lap and pulled the .38-caliber pistol from his shoulder holster. He released the safety with a silent click and held the gun in his right hand. They waited. And waited.
The horses slowed, came closer. So close they could hear voices.
“Why you stopping?”
“This branch has been broken.” Spike’s voice was loud and clear.
Miranda clamped a hand over her mouth. Oh, no. They’d found it. Now they’d probably find them. She tried to breathe normally and to control her fear, but nothing worked until she looked into his dark determined eyes and knew he could take care of this situation. Knew she could trust him.
They listened carefully.
“So? Probably an animal,” the other man said.
“Or a person.” They heard the creaking of leather as Spikes obviously dismounted. “Let’s check it out.”
“The hermit’s not that dumb. He ain’t gonna leave broken branches.”
“He doesn’t have time to be careful. Now get off that horse and help me.”
The sound of creaking leather reached them again. “Whata we looking for?”
“We’re looking for them, you idiot. Check this thicket and those bushes. They could be hiding anywhere around here.”
They heard the two men moving and Miranda’s throat locked tight. The hermit remained completely still, his eyes on the cave entrance.
Any moment those man could find them. Any moment…
The voices grew faint as the men searched, then suddenly Spikes’s words came nearer, and nearer and Miranda thought her nerves were going to snap.
“Dammit to hell, Peavy, where the hell could they be?”
“Told ya the hermit ain’t gonna leave no broken branch.”
“Shut up, Peavy, I need to think.”
“’Bout what? That dang hermit’s takin’ her to Maddox.”
“But they’re not there yet. We gotta stop ’em or we’ll never see a dime of that money.”
“How? That hermit, he knows these hills fer better than us and he ain’t gonna make it easy.”
“You’re the most pessimistic bastard I’ve ever met. They’re walking south, so they have to be in this area. We’ll find ’em. We have to.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Putting a bullet in that hermit is gonna make all this worthwhile.”
“What about the little princess?”
The horses stomped and snorted as they mounted again.
“Ah, the little princess and me are gonna have some fun, and right before I slit her throat, I’ll give her the good news that someone in her family made all this happen. I’m sure she’ll be glad to know who’s paying us.”
There was complete silence as shock wave after shock wave washed over Miranda. Someone in her family had done this to her? Who? Who hated her that much?
“Where the hell could they be?” Spikes’s voice seeped into her nerve endings, making her want to scream—but she didn’t.
“They hidin’ real good.”
“Yeah,” Spikes agreed. “There’s only one thing left to do. You ride over to Beaver Creek and try to find Blackhawk. It’s not far from here and he’s the only one who’ll be able to track the hermit. I’ll keep searching south.”
“Blackhawk? He’s probably drunk. Why do you pay him, anyway? He never does a lick of work.”
“Who says I pay him?” Spikes laughed. “I give Blackhawk money for liquor and pocket the rest. Blackhawk doesn’t complain and Maddox doesn’t have a clue. He leaves all the ranching business to me. He’s busy trying to juggle five wives and an oil company.”
“You a smart son of a bitch.”
“I just know Maddox. The older he gets, the more interest he has in women—and the less interest in business.”
“What if Blackhawk talks?”
“No one’s gonna believe that drunk.”
The sounds receded into the distance, and the hermit slid the pistol into its holster. He turned to a paralyzed Miranda. She was trembling and shaking her head.
“No,” she whimpered. “Not someone in my family.”
His first reaction was to console her, but he couldn’t afford that luxury. Nor could she. She had to be strong to get through this, and he had to deal with Spikes.
“Snap out of it. We don’t have time for hysteria.”
His callousness pushed her over the edge. Before she knew what she was doing, she hit him with her fists, over and over, knocking his hat off. Her blows stunned him only for a second. In one swift movement, she was on her back, staring up into dark threatening eyes.
His right hand gripped her throat, holding her immobile. “I could cut off your windpipe in just a few seconds.” His dark hair fell forward, almost covering his face, giving him a wild look, but all she saw were his eyes, the warm dark eyes reaching the coldest part of her heart.
He hoped to put the fear of God into her. If she was afraid of him, then she’d forget Spikes and his words.
“But you won’t,” she said with more confidence than he liked.
He continued to hold her. Her skin was soft and the pulse in her neck burned like a steady fire against his hand. Warmth swept through his body from the contact, and he cursed himself for that weakness.
“Don’t count on it,” he replied gruffly, and waited to see fear in her eyes—the fear he’d seen the first time she’d looked at him. But there was only sadness.
“Go ahead, then,” she taunted him. “Finish me off. It’ll be better than what Spikes has in store for me. Did you hear what he said?” She closed her eyes in pain, then opened them quickly. “Promise you’ll shoot me before you let him take me.”
The thought of Spikes touching her body, raping her, was more than she could bear. She was trying to be strong, but she couldn’t handle that.
At the entreaty in her voice, he removed his hand and sagged against the wall. She scrambled to her knees to face him, pushing the hair out of her eyes.
“Please, don’t let Spikes hurt me.”
“I’ll do my best,” he answered quietly, trying to dispel the image of Spikes touching her.
“No, no,” she persisted. “If he has us cornered or something, promise that you’ll shoot me.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Please,” she begged. “I have to know he won’t be able to do those awful things to me.”
“As I said, I’ll do my best.”
“What is it?” she asked in desperation. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes held hers with a numbing force. “I’ve killed before, and it’s not something I want on my conscience again.”
“Oh,” she breathed, her own eyes enormous.
He watched the conflicting emotions skim over her pale face. Her expression wasn’t filled with fear, though, just shock and some other feeling he couldn’t identify. But it was similar enough to fear for his purposes. He leaned in and whispered, “You have reason to be wary, so if I were you, I wouldn’t be asking a man to kill you. A man you know nothing about.”
He didn’t get the reaction he wanted.
“Oh, but I do know you.” Her lips curved softly. “I don’t know your name or where you came from, but I know the man in here.” She laid her hand on his heart. “You’re strong yet gentle, stubborn but caring, and you’ll protect me, a perfect stranger, with your dying breath.”
He looked at the soft fingers pressed into his chest, and without thinking, he let his hand close over hers and hold it tight.
It was the second time he’d freely touched her and she was beginning to like it. They stared at each other, their eyes locked in a silent communication.
He wanted to deny her words, insist that he didn’t care anything about her, but in a matter of a few hours, he’d become fully involved with her. And she was right—he would die to protect her.
Miranda gazed into his eyes and experienced a moment of revelation. She’d been searching for something all her life. She didn’t know what, but her life wasn’t complete. Something had always been missing. Now, as their eyes met and she looked into the warmth of his, she felt as if she’d found whatever she had lacked.
He released her hand and broke eye contact. He raised one leg and pulled the small revolver from his boot. He gave it to her and said, “Put this in your pocket and keep it with you. In case you have to defend yourself.” As she started to protest, he added, “You can. You can do it. It’s a five-shot .22-caliber pistol. It’ll do the job. Just aim at his chest and you’ll be fine.”
She stared at the small gun in her hand. A moment ago her hand had tingled from the warmth of his; now it was frozen, trembling at the prospect of what she might have to do.
Suddenly she noticed the initials engraved on the handle. J.C. Were those his? “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
She lifted her eyes and tried to smile, but failed. He would be with her. That was all she needed to know. For now. Soon she’d ask him about those initials.
If they were going to die together, she had to know his name.
CHAPTER FIVE
SILENCE SURROUNDED THEM as they waited for darkness to fall. He knew she wanted to talk. He could feel it, but she was holding everything inside. Her tortured expression told its own story, and he wanted to help her. That shook him. Most of his life he’d helped people, put his life on the line more times than he could remember, but all that had died one fatal day five years ago. Or so he’d thought. Another inborn trait he probably wasn’t going to outrun. Or maybe it was just her. Something about her was getting to him.
Bandit lay between them. He made a mournful sound, more like a moan than a whine.
The hermit rubbed his head. “I know, boy,” he muttered.
“Go ahead,” he finally said.
She turned her head, a quizzical expression on her face. “What?”
“Talk. If you don’t, you’re going to explode.”
What a difference a day made, she thought. Yesterday he didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. Today he wanted to listen, and she wanted to tell him—everything. Every hurt, pain and bizarre event of her life.
She shrugged. “I’m in shock. I don’t know what to think. Someone in my family hired Spikes to do this to me. Who? I keep asking myself. And why?”
“Tell me about your family,” he invited, and he felt as if he was back at his old job, gathering information, clues, anything to find an answer.
She drew her knees up to her chin. “I have one brother, Tom. There’s fourteen years between us, so naturally we didn’t grow up very close, but we’ve always liked each other and gotten along well. I like his wife, Doreen, and I’m not aware of any hostility between us. I can’t say that about Doreen and Helen—that’s Tom’s mom and my dad’s first wife. Helen’s a very domineering mother, and she tries to control their lives. Doreen even went so far as to send their two children to boarding school to get them out of Helen’s clutches. But that has nothing to do with me.”
“How does Helen feel about you?” he asked.