He refused�flat refused�to feel it again. And the best way to keep her at bay was to keep his mouth shut and his gun pointed at her. "I'm not gonna take care of
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you when you pass out from sunstroke, lady. So put that sweater back on."
She stared at him for a long time. Their gazes clashed hard. Her small, pointed chin edged upward. "I'll have you know this sports bra is perfectly acceptable where I come from. I wear it for aerobics."
"Uh-huh." He tightened his hold on the grip, edged the pistol from its holster. "A bra, huh?"
"Who the hell do you think you are ... Blackwell?"
He didn't say anything. It was better that way.
She stared at him for another few seconds, then heaved a sigh of obvious disgust. "Fine, I'll put the damn sweater back on, but it's going to be uncomfortable and you're going to hear about it."
"Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"
She untied the baggy sweater and flung it over her head. The bulky red material settled in folds on her thighs and gaped across that bra thing. She gave a false, sugary smile and relied her canteen onto the saddle. "Feel better, he-man?"
He started to respond, then stopped. A sound caught his ear. He frowned and turned toward it, his every sense focused on the noise, far away and indistinct, yet unmistakable. A chill slid down his back, mingled with the hot moisture of his sweat, and caused a shudder.
"The posse," he murmured.
"No shit, Sherlock. They're closer than ever. I was going to point it out before you had a cow about my shirt."
He stared at her for a second, slack-jawed. Had a cow?
She gave him a cocky smirk. "Were you going to speak?"
He wrenched his gaze away and stared into the distance. He could just make out the first tendrils of dust
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blurring the horizon. It was a sight he knew well, too well.
"Horses," he said tightly. "About ten."
'Twelve, actually. Shall I give you names?"
He didn't glance at her. He was afraid that if he did, he'd punch her. "No."
"Joe Martin is the leader."
"So you've said." He pulled his hat back low on his brow. "We're gonna have to race for El Diablo."
"Since I never invented a place called El Diablo, I assume you're speaking metaphorically. But you're wrong. The shootout takes place at Bloody Gorge." She misinterpreted his look as interest and went on. "It's a little melodramatic, I know. Bloody Gorge. But I was getting close to deadline. Anyway, it worked fine. You died at Bloody Gorge ... in a spectacularly painful way, I might add."
"I think it's safest if you don't talk."
She gave him a wry smile. "Funny ... men often say that to me."
He didn't bother to state the obvious. "It's gonna be a hard run for the next few hours. El Diablo's a good fifteen miles from here."
"We're not going to El Diablo."
For the first time in a long time, he felt a genuine smile start. "Yeah, we are. And when we get there, I'm gonna put you in front."
The first hint of concern tugged at her full, dusty lips. She frowned at him. "Why?"
His gaze slid from her face to the huge, baggy sweater. "That red sweater'll make a nice big target."
Her frown twisted into a grimace. "Is that a crack about my weight? Because if it is�"
He let out a whoop and kicked the black hard. The stallion snorted and took off. The ground rumbled and shook as the horses surged into a gallop.
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Behind him, he heard the woman scream. The sudden movement of her horse obviously knocked the wind from her lungs, because for a moment�a blessed second�it was quiet.
Then the cursing began again.
Chapter Seven
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"I have to stop. Goddamn it, I have to stop!" Lainie tried to scream the words at the top of her lungs, but all that made it past her parched, sunburned lips was a feeble, throaty croak. She leaned back and sawed mercilessly on the reins. Her horse snorted and tossed its head, slowing for a few steps, then surging forward again.
Lainie landed back in her seat so hard that for a moment she couldn't breathe. She opened her mouth and sucked in a lungful of dry, searingly hot air.
Killian stopped suddenly. The other three horses dropped down to a trot and then halted, snorting and wheezing from the long run.
Lainie reached back for her canteen and tried to untie the leather straps, but her fingers were so sore, she couldn't will them to function.
"It's too quiet." Killian glanced around.
Lainie noticed it, too. She looked around. In the distance, the sun was just inches above the horizon, a huge, brilliant orange ball suspended in a violet sky. Miles of copper red earth and faded sagebrush fanned out to their left; to their right was a steep, tree-strewn hill. Behind lay the winding, twisting canyon that led nowhere. In front of them was a three-hundred-foot stone cliff, its face striated with layers of gold and
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red and gray. Shadows of the coming night slashed across it.
It was quiet out here. Creepy ...
Lainie shivered and hugged herself. All day there had been noise in the desert: the echoing heartbeat of hooves, the clatter of small stones as they tumbled down hillsides, the cant of the animals' breath.
Now there was nothing.
Suddenly a sound cracked through the quiet, splitting it, echoing off the canyon. A bullet whizzed past her head, so close she felt a whisper through her hair. The sharp scent of gunpowder filtered through the air.
"Christ! They're closer than I thought. Hold on."
The black took off at a gallop.
Lainie threw herself forward and clutched the saddle horn just as her horse lurched. The four horses raced across the sandy desert and crashed into the trees.
She saw in horror that Killian was leading them up the mountain. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't do anything except hold on as her horse strained to make it up the slick, rocky face.
Sticks and branches clawed at her, yanked on her clothing, and tried to pull her out of the saddle. Lainie gritted her teeth and hung on, her eyes squeezed tight against the dust churned up by the horses' hooves. Her mount wheezed and snorted, surging up the slick face.
More shots rang out, cracked into trunks, and split branches. A bullet blasted through Lainie's sleeve. There was the wrenching hiss of torn fabric.
"Killian!" a male voice boomed up at them.
Relief poured through Lainie. Finally this horror was
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over. She'd imagined that voice a million times. Joe. Any minute now she'd be rescued... .
But it didn't happen. They clambered up the sheer hillside, horses straining, for what felt like hours. Then, suddenly, they stopped. It took Lainie a moment to realize that her saddle was no longer pitched at a ninety-degree angle. The horses were on level ground again. She drew back slowly, shaking, and opened her eyes.
They were on the crest of the hill, clustered together on a narrow ridge.
She looked around, searching for the towering rock walls and stone spires. "Where's the gorge?"
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her sideways, carrying her to a small lip of a clearing along the path, where he stopped abruptly and dropped her.
Before she could even grunt in pain, he was gone again, racing back to her horse.
"What are you doing?" she asked, watching as he wrenched the saddle off her horse and threw it aside.
From far below, Lainie could hear the muffled sound of raised voices, men arguing. The merchants and farmers who made up the posse didn't want to risk actually getting hurt. They didn't want to get too close to Killian. In the end, they would turn around and go home to their families, to safety.
All except Joe. Any minute, he was going to follow them. And he'd do it alone.
Killian grabbed a rope from his saddlebags and cracked a huge, splayed limb from a pine tree. Dragging the limb, he tied a knot around its branches, th
en tied the other end of the rope around the horse's tail.
He whooped and smacked the horse on the butt.
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The roan took off like a shot, sliding down the loose-rocked hill in a dusty cloud. The branch crashed along behind him, breaking off trees and starting a thousand tiny avalanches. It sounded as if a dozen horses were careening down the mountain out of control. Gunfire exploded through the air in panicked bursts.
Killian bolted back to the saddle and flung it over his shoulder, then threw it on The Bitch, tightening the girth-strap in a matter of seconds. "That'll buy us some time. Get on."
Lainie groaned. "No . . . please . . . leave me here."
He lurched toward her and scooped her into his arms. She fought to be free, clawing, scratching, slapping at him. "Let me go. Damn it, let me go! I want to wait for Joe."
He threw her into the saddle and tossed her the reins, then leapt onto the black. He made a quiet clucking sound with his tongue and urged his mount off the narrow path. The huge stallion stood at the rim for a second, snorting and pawing at the loose earth.
"Come on, boy," Killian said quietly, glancing back down the hill.
Below, there was silence. The gunfire and the voices had died.
Suddenly the black lurched forward and disappeared.
Lainie gasped. A cold sweat slid down her back. She felt the animal beneath her bunch up, quiver. "Oh, no."
She just had time to fall onto the saddle horn when her horse followed the stallion over the edge.
The horses crashed and slid down the sandy, tree-strewn slope, their hooves flailing for purchase. Dust engulfed them, stung Lainie's eyes, and clogged her
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nose and mouth. She gagged and gasped and tried to hang on.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. They'd reached the level ground on the other side of the hill.
Killian stopped and turned around in his saddle, staring back up the slope. The air around them was quiet, dusty.
Lainie slumped in her saddle, feeling the miles they'd ridden as sharp, stabbing pains in every muscle of her body. Her eyes slid shut, her breath expelled in a shuddering sigh.
She felt a moment's utter, debilitating defeat. It took everything from her, twisted her insides with despair, left her feeling broken and afraid and alone.
But she wasn't alone.
Joe will follow. Forever.
The words moved through Lainie like a balm, returning to her a spark of hope and courage. Joe would rescue her; she was sure of it. All she had to do was wait.
And stay.
She straightened. She'd ridden all day, eaten enough dust for ten lifetimes, and been shot at. Shot at, for God's sake.
Enough was damn well enough. She wasn't going to let the dream keep manipulating her. It was time for her to take control, time for her to call Mr. Macho's bluff. Time for Alaina Costanza to make her stand.
She was waiting for Joe. Right here, right now. He'd done his part; he was here. Now it was time for Lainie to stop playing the victim.
She wrapped her reins around the saddle horn and slid to the ground. The minute her feet hit, shards of pain shot up her legs and radiated outward.
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"What the hell are you doing?"
"Staying."
"Get on that goddamn horse right now."
She flipped him off. "It's over, Killian. I'm taking my dream back."
"Don't start with that again. Not now."
"You better hurry. Joe's probably on his way up the hill now. When he gets to the top .. ."
Killian cursed and vaulted out of the saddle, striding toward Lainie. Yanking the gun from his holster, he pointed it at her. "Get up and get on that horse."
She moved toward him. As she closed the distance between them, surprise widened his eyes. She kept moving, inching toward him until the cold steel of his gun touched her breast.
From far away came the first cracking sound of a horse moving up the hillside. The sound gave her strength, renewed her spirit. Joe was coming.
She smiled coldly. "Go ahead, shoot me."
A muscle in his jaw tensed. "You're willing to die for him?"
She leaned into the gun, daring him to pull the trigger. "You couldn't shoot a woman, Killian. It's not in your character. Not after what happened to Emily."
The color drained from his face. The gun in his hand trembled against her flesh. "How do you know about Emily?"
"I wrote it."
They stared at each other in silence, both breathing hard. She waited for him to say something. Behind them, the sounds of Joe's horse struggling up the hill intensified, filled the clearing with grunting, pounding noise.
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Slowly he withdrew the gun from her chest and eased it back into the holster.
Lainie grinned. "See, I told�"
He reached out and grabbed her sweater, yanking her toward him. She stumbled forward and slammed into his chest. Her head snapped back.
She blinked up at him in surprise, felt the ragged strains of his breath against her lips. His face lowered toward hers.
An icicle of fear slid down her back. She tried to shrink away from him. He held her fast.
For one terrifying, debilitating moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Memories surged up from her past, filled her with icy terror. Oh, God, oh, Jesus . .. no ...
But he didn't. He brought her close, so close she could see herself in the dark pools of his eyes. "Maybe I won't kill you." He said the words softly, but they seemed to reverberate through forever. "But it doesn't mean I won't hurt you. It doesn't mean I won't let someone else hurt you. Now, get on that horse or I'll throw you over the saddle like a sack of salt and tie you down."
Lainie gasped, tried to draw back. "Y-You wouldn't."
"Get on the goddamn horse, lady. Now."
He loosened his hold and she stumbled backward, clutching the sweater to her breasts. Breathing hard, she staggered back to her horse and climbed into the saddle. When Killian was mounted he turned back to her. "If you lag behind, I swear to God, I'll strip every piece of clothing from your body and let you ride into the hideout stark naked."
Her eyes rounded. "But the men�"
"Yeah ... the men."
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She swallowed again, wet her parched lips. "I'll keep up."
For the first time in hours, he smiled. "I bet you will."
Killian turned back in his saddle and spurred the black. All three horses moved at once, surging into a thundering gallop across the purple- and pink-stained desert.
Lainie squeezed her eyes shut and clung to the saddle horn. She told herself it didn't matter that she'd given in, that she'd been afraid�just for a second�of being tied up again. Joe would still find her, still rescue her.
Besides, it was just a dream, just a stupid pointless dream.
But it didn't feel like a dream.
She concentrated on breathing evenly, listening to the gentle ebb and flow of sound, blocking out everything until she was calmed. The strength she needed was there, inside her, as it always was, as it always had been. She reached for it, clung to it, let it warm the cold places in her heart. This was just a dream, and sooner or later it would end. He couldn't hurt her.
She could survive it, as she'd survived so many other things. She'd given up her courage once, long ago, and she'd never do that again. Never.
Long into the night, they raced on. After about an hour, darkness cloaked the valley, spilling at first over the canyon walls, then puddling, thick and invincible, on the desert floor. They galloped on, heedless of the darkness, hooves pounding on the hard-packed dirt. Lainie clung to the saddle horn with sore, shaking fingers,
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her eyes squeezed shut, her heart slamming in her chest.
Behind them, faint but unmistakable, was the distant thunder of a single horse. That sound was Lainie's lifeline, the only thing keeping her going. With every sound, every footfall in the night, she was able to
let herself believe that this nightmare would end.
Joe. Joe. Joe. The single word became a prayer that matched her heartbeat, punctuated her every breath. He was back there, alone but undaunted, following her and Killian into this boundless darkness.
Soon�please God, soon�he would catch up and rescue her, and this devastating nightmare would end.
Suddenly a gunshot rang out.,
Joe.
Lainie felt a wave of hope. She forced herself to unfurl, to straighten in the saddle. She blinked, trying to see something in the black tomb that had become her world.
She twisted in the saddle and peered behind her. There was nothing; the void behind them was impenetrable, empty save for the thundering beat of hooves.
From somewhere came another gunshot.
She realized that the sound had come from above them, not behind. Disappointment brought a sharp, stabbing pain to her stomach. Dully she turned back around and glanced up.
The gun fired again, a blink of yellow-bright light amidst the darkness. It came from high above them, on what had to be a mesa shrouded by nightfall.
An answering shot bit through the night behind them. There was a moment's hesitation, then gunfire
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exploded from the invisible ledge above. A dozen shots rang out simultaneously. Sunburst explosions lit the ridge.
"Whoa, boy." Killian brought his horse to a halt and dismounted.
Silence fell into the valley again. And this time it was quieter, more oppressive.
It took Lainie a moment to realize what had happened. There was no longer a distant thunder of hooves gobbling up the ground behind them.
Joe had stopped.
She wanted to scream but didn't have the energy.
Killian materialized beside her. "Martin won't follow past here," he said softly. "He knows it would be suicide."
Lainie glanced up, trying to see the men who stood there. "Those are your men." Her voice felt as if it came from another person.
"Guards." He straightened. "We've got a few more hours and we'll be in camp. Then, lady, it's you and me . .. without your precious Joe to worry about."
Lainie squeezed her eyes shut and slumped again, feeling beaten and tired and lonely. The dream was veering away from her plot, taking her somewhere she couldn't begin to understand. Joe was supposed to have rescued her by now, and Killian was supposed to be dead.
When Lightning Strikes Page 8
