Lainie stepped back reluctantly, put distance between herself and the first friend she'd made in years. She knew this moment, recognized its poignant sharpness all too well. Viloula could say whatever she wanted, but Lainie wasn't fooled. If there was one thing she did believe in in this life, it was this moment, this word. She'd said it too many times. Too many .. .
"Good-bye, Viloula." Fighting tears, she turned and ran for the door.
"Believe, Alaina," Viloula whispered.
Then the door slammed shut behind her, and Lainie was alone. She leaned back against the cold, splintery wood and closed her eyes. Unconsciously she reached for the medallion at her throat. Curling her fingers around the stone, she felt its comforting weight. A strange calm seeped through her. She let out a long breath and sagged against the door.
"So," hissed a masculine voice in her ear. "You stole the old woman's necklace."
Lainie's eyes popped open.
Mose was standing beside her, a rifle cradled negligently against his chest. Black, beady eyes drilled her.
Stay calm. Lainie knew about men like Mose; they fed off fear. It gave them an edge that they wielded like a sharp sword. She gave him a slow, deliberate smile. "Why, hello, Mose. I was just saying good night to my grandmother."
"If you're Viloula's grandkid, I'm Grover Cleveland."
She forced a cocky smile. "Hello, Mr. President."
His dark, swarthy face pulled into a heavy frown. "Don't get smart with me, lady. I'm just itchin' to kill you."
She wanted to draw back, but stood her ground. The overpowering stench of bad breath laced with whiskey slammed into her nostrils. "Then you'll have to kill Killian, too."
A deadly smile curved his mouth. "You think I wouldn't?"
Lainie swallowed hard. "I know you would, Mose."
"You got twenty-four hours."
"To do what?"
He pressed closer, rubbed himself against her leg, and brought his face into the crook of her neck. She stiffened, feeling the shooting heat of his moist breath along her skin. The wet tip of his tongue flicked up her neck.
She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, barely breathing.
He pulled back just enough to stare into her eyes. His gaze was cold and dead and dangerous. "Tomorrow I'm gonna take over this camp, and when I'm leader ..."
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He licked his thick lips, left a trail of spittle behind. "You're mine."
"Yeah, right," she said throatily.
He leaned close, shoved his hand between her legs, and squeezed. "You must be good�Killian ain't had a woman up here in years."
Lainie wrenched away. Shoving past him, she ran for the cabin. His throaty laughter nipped at her heels, spurred her to run faster. When she reached Killian's cabin, she was breathing hard, and fear was a cold, throbbing coil in her stomach.
At the door, she stumbled to a stop and glanced back.
Mose used his rifle to tip his hat back. Then, still laughing, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the drinking tent.
Lainie let out a sigh of relief. She stood there a long time, staring at the door, until her breathing was normalized. Then, slowly, she went inside.
Chapter Seventeen
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Killian lay sleeping, his jet black lashes sealed against his sun-darkened skin. His mouth was parted just enough to see a hint of the strong white teeth beneath. The blue chambray of his shirt was stretched taut across the broadness of his back. Grayed linen humped in a wrinkled mass across his buttocks and covered his long legs.
Lainie gazed down at him. She got a sudden, fleeting image of him sprawled on rumpled sheets, cropped black hair in sharp contrast to the stark white pillow beneath. He looked young and boyish and breathtakingly handsome.
She backed away from him, frowning. He didn't look anything like the man she'd just imagined. Nothing. It was as if she was seeing Killian as she'd seen him before, somewhere. . ..
Soul mates. The words filled her with longing, then regret. She backed away from the bed, as frightened as she'd been a second ago with Mose.
But she wouldn't let fear stop her. Not then, with Mose, and not now with Killian.
If Viloula was right�and Lainie prayed to God that she was�Lainie had to make Killian take her to the rock.
At the thought, longing moved through her. God, 221
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she'd give anything to be able to walk up to Killian, smile up at him, and say, 'Take me to the rock." If she could believe in him, trust him, maybe there wouldn't be this painful ache in her chest. She wanted� needed�to trust him.
Yet she couldn't. Getting to the rock was too important. Maybe in a perfect world, she'd spend more time with Killian and find out what invisible strands bound them together, discover why anger and fear were so close to the surface in him and why he was so afraid to help her.
But God knew, this wasn't a perfect world, and she didn't have the time to do that. She had to be at the rock by sunset on Sunday, and she had to be there with Killian.
She went to the bedpost, where his gun belt hung limply over a knot in the wood. Taking the gun out, she eased the gun belt off the post and set it on the floor. Then she retrieved the canvas sack she'd filled earlier. Adding a double supply of everything and a change of clothes for him, she swung it toward the door. It hit the floor with a muffled thwop.
She went to the bed and stared down at Killian.
A moment's hesitation paralyzed her, made her hand shake slightly. The gun wobbled.
Stop. She gripped the handle more tightly.
For this to work, she had to be as strong as steel, as determined as ever in her life. She had to be ready to shoot him, otherwise the gun was more of a liability than a tool.
Could she shoot him? Her heart clutched at the thought. If only she could trust him, she thought again. God, it would be so wonderful. . ..
Dreams. She forced herself to think of Kelly and the
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empty house. Memories hurled themselves at her, sickened her.
Yeah, she thought. She could kill anyone to keep Kelly safe.
"Killian. Wake up."
The words came at him through a hazy cloud of sleep. "Lainie," he murmured, smiling. A surprising warmth seeped through him. It had been so long since he'd wakened to the sound of a woman's voice.
"Get up."
He frowned. Her voice was cold, angry. The momentary warmth vanished, left in its place a cold chill. He tried to push all thoughts of her from his mind, tried to remind himself that he felt nothing for her. Nothing.
Blinking hard, he rolled onto his back and sat up. The dark cabin curled around him. It took his bleary eyes a minute to focus. When he did, he saw the gun.
The sight of her standing in the center of the room like she was Wyatt Earp made him laugh. He thanked God for it; the ridiculousness of the moment made his fear seem insubstantial and irrelevant. "You're going to shoot me, Lainie?"
"Not if you take me out of here."
She was serious. Jesus. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair, eyeing her warily. "I gave that job to Skeeter. Shoot him."
"I don't want Skeeter," she said quietly. "I want you."
The words hit him so hard, he reeled backward. "Get out of here, Lainie," he said in a hoarse voice.
She flicked the gun a little. "Get out of bed. We're packed and the horse is ready. Let's go."
He stared at her, trying to think of what to do. She stood as still as a rail, arms chest-high, chin up. Her
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skin was so pale, it looked translucent against the dark intensity of her eyes. Her lips were a tense, colorless slash. "You wouldn't really kill me, Lainie."
Pain glazed her eyes for a heartbeat, then vanished. "I don't want to."
Everything about this moment was crazy. He felt ... disconnected, confused. But he knew one thing for sure: He wasn't taking Lainie out of this camp. He'd already decided that. He wasn't going to play the hero for her, an
d he wasn't going to lose himself in the needy vulnerability of her eyes.
Not him. Slowly he got out of bed and walked toward her. She backed up. "Stop. I mean it. Stop."
A grim, humorless smile curved his mouth. He was in his element now, had slipped into the role he knew so well. The outlaw; he used the persona as he'd used it for years, as a shield to hide the weak and selfish man within. "A gun's only as good as the man�or woman� holding it. How good are you?" He kept moving, his hands loose and swinging at his sides, his eyes fixed on her.
She flicked her wrist to the left and pulled the trigger. There was a cracking explosion and a spray of yellow-bright light. The pungent, acrid scent of sulfur filled the room. He felt the whiz of a bullet pass his ear and the shattering crack of glass. Behind him, a jar exploded. Nails burst outward, clattered on the floor.
He stopped dead, staring in shock at the gaping hole in the wall behind him and the drifts of flour on the floor. Slowly he turned back to Lainie.
She pointed the gun at his heart and drew back the hammer. Steel hit steel in a deafening click. "I need to be at the rock by sunset Sunday. After that, you can walk away."
For a blinding, terrifying moment, he didn't even
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want to argue. He wanted to give in, gracelessly and with a measure of hope he hadn't known in years. Christ help him, for a second, he wanted to change. The thought scared the shit out of him. He was forty-three years old. Too goddamn old and banged up and disillusioned to turn into someone's white knight.
He moved toward her, lifted his palms in helpless despair. "You're asking the wrong man, Lainie. I'm no goddamn hero."
She didn't blink. "Let's go."
He stopped. His hands fell to his sides. A cold, crushing sense of inevitability descended on him, pushed at his shoulders until they rounded with defeat. He saw suddenly and with a rising desperation that they'd been heading toward this moment from the second they met. And nothing he could say or do would change it.
She expected a hero, demanded one. Unfortunately, what she got was a broken-down outlaw with a soul full of regrets. They were both screwed.
He felt as if he were being drawn into some great blackness from which there was no escape. "I won't be there when you need me," he said softly, so softly that he wasn't sure she heard. But he heard, and the ringing truth of the sentence made him sick. Bowing his head, he moved toward her. "Let's go."
She moved in beside him, tucking her smaller body close to his. Together they walked out of the cabin and headed down the street. Lainie kept the gun close to his ribs. On either side of them, lightless cabins sat quietly against the jet black mesa. The only sound in the night was the rhythmic thump of their footsteps and the clatter of their supplies. Captain plodded slowly along behind them, his head hung low.
"Is that Skeeter up there?" Lainie whispered, seeing the lookout.
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"It is."
"Put your aim around me."
He froze, felt another flash of fear. Christ, the last thing he wanted to do was touch her. He forced a laugh, tried to sound nonchalant. "You don't need a gun to seduce me, Lainie. Your charming personality is more than enough."
"Put your arm around me."
"Whatever you say. You're the one with the gun." He curved one long arm around her shoulders. He meant to keep his touch cold and impersonal, but at the feel of her body, so warm and soft, something inside him gave way. He drew her close. A little too close. His hand slid down the hard curve of her shoulder and settled at her upper arm. The sunshine and dust scent of her clothing filled his nostrils.
"Hey, boss, that you?" Skeeter called out, drawing his rifle.
"It's me, Skeet. Me and the woman."
Skeeter lowered his rifle. A frown wrinkled his forehead. "Where'd ya find her?"
"She was .. . out taking a piss."
Lainie rammed the gun against his ribs so hard, he jumped to the left, dragging her with him for a step.
"You goin' out?"
Killian nodded. "Purty's in charge till I get back."
"Where ya goin'?"
"I'm taking the woman to the rock that lightning struck. I'll be back in a few days."
Skeeter stepped aside. "See ya, boss."
They walked past the lookout and came to the end of the street.
"Mount up," Lainie said under her breath. When he didn't move, she poked him in the ribs again. "Now."
He stabbed his boot in the stirrup and climbed into
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the saddle, trying to shake a heavy sense of impending doom. "Why are we only taking one horse? Two would�"
"I'm in charge here." Keeping the gun pointed at him, she clambered into position behind him. Settling comfortably, she pressed the gun into his side. "That's why there's one horse, and you knew it. Now, let's go."
Killian spurred Captain forward. "You're the boss."
But not for long. He clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead. She might have a gun on him now, but she wouldn't be able to keep it up. Sooner or later�and it better be sooner�she'd accidentally give him a heartbeat's worth of time. That's all he'd need with someone like her, just an instant. Then he could get the gun away from her and take control back.
And get the hell away from the naked vulnerability in her eyes ... and the sickening need in his own.
Lainie's arm ached with exhaustion. They'd been riding for hours upon hours, and neither of them had spoken a single word. In the darkness of the cave, Lainie had been ramrod-stiff, her body angled away from his so that there would be no accidental contact. But in the long, wearying hours since, she'd softened a little. Every now and then she'd find herself falling slightly forward, find her arm resting against his thigh.
It was irritating, and when she realized what she was doing, she drew back sharply and cleared her throat, jabbing the gun against his ribs for good measure.
It was because of the heat, she knew, and the endless, glaring light of the sun. She brought a sweaty hand to her brow and shoved a lock of damp, sticky hair from her eyes. Lord, she was tired. And hungry. And weak.
She stared at the broad back in front of her, and before she knew it, she was thinking about how solid it
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looked, how strong. How comfortable it would be if she could lean forward just a little and press her cheek against his back and go to sleep ...
A quiet sigh escaped her parched lips. The horse rocked beneath her, swaying in a gentle, seesawing motion that made her sleepy. Her eyelids fluttered shut. The sudden darkness enfolded her, wrapped her in familiar warmth and took her to a different place, a world of towering fir trees and incessant rain, of cloud-thick gray skies and whispering wind. It felt so real that for a heartbreakingly perfect moment, she tasted the cool moisture of Seattle air, smelled a wisp of cedar.
Home. She was on her way home. It was that thought that had sustained her since leaving the hideout. When the weight of the gun became unbearable, when her fingers hurt from so many hours in the same position, she took strength from the quiet plodding of the horse's hooves, from the slow, steady movement east. Every step they took brought them closer to the Rock, closer to the daughter she'd unwillingly left behind.
"Kelly." The word slipped from her mouth, hovering in the silent air for a second before it disappeared.
At the thought of her daughter, Lainie felt a stunning sense of hopefulness, of relief. She'd done it, just as she'd promised herself. She'd handled the problem and figured out a way to get back. She was on her way home.
In her mind's eye, she saw Kelly fling open the door and hurtle into the kitchen, her long black ringlets bouncing against her back. Her face would be sunburnt from the weeks in Montana, her cheeks pinkened and peeling. She'd be smiling, her crooked teeth framed by the silver track of new braces.
Mom, I'm home.
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He reined Captain to a stop. "This is probably a good place to make camp."
She pulled back, blinked. "Camp?
The sun just set. I want to ride as far as possible tonight."
"You have. Now, get off."
She pressed the gun more tightly against his ribs. "You've obviously forgotten that I have a gun on you."
"Sure, Lainie. Outlaws forget shit like that all the time."
"Then�"
"Then nothing. This is the last water for twelve miles. It's the end of the line for tonight."
"I'm not thirsty."
"The horse is. Now, get off before I swing my arm back and knock you off."
Lainie stared at his back again, and this time there were no thoughts about resting her head against him, no daydreams drifting through her mind. This was the moment she'd dreaded all day. It was so safe with him in front of her on the horse, the gun pressed to his side. It placed her in a position of power. But when they were both on the ground . . .
"Put your hands behind your back," she said.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
He wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and did as she asked. She untied a length of rope from the saddle's skirt and twisted it around Killian's wrists, binding them as tightly as she could.
She looked away quickly, but not before the image of bound wrists had registered in her mind. A shudder moved through her, settled as a tightness in her chest. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret at doing this to him. It was so demoralizing, so ... She shook the thought off, trying not to care.
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"Is that too tight?"
"It'll make dancing difficult."
Lainie edged backward, off the skirt and onto the hairy hump of Captain's butt. "Get down."
Killian brought one booted foot over the saddle horn and twisted in his seat, sliding downward. He hit the ground with a dusty thump and turned to her. He stood directly beside her, his face tilted up to hers. The black hat cast his face in shadow, so she couldn't see anything except the jarring whiteness of his teeth.
"Move back. I want to dismount."
He didn't move. "I wouldn't want you to fall," he said in a quiet, seductive voice that filled her with longing.
Her throat felt tight. "I'm not going to fall. Now, back up."
"No."
She stared down at the shadowy lower half of his face, knowing�as he did�that if she slid off the other side, the horse would be between them. She couldn't shoot him, and if she didn't have a clear shot at him at all times, she wasn't in control.
And she shuddered to think what would happen out here if she ever lost control.
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