by Helen Conrad
“Tall guy, dark blond hair, used to fly planes... ?”
The woman nodded. “That’s him. He was going to get rich finding minerals with a spade and a pack on his back.” She shrugged. “I told him my father and my grandfather before him had died trying to catch hold of that dream, but he wouldn’t listen. Went out every day into the hills. Came home every night madder than the night before. Drank himself to sleep. And woke up meaner than a skunk.” She shook her head. “But I guess he was smarter than the men in my family, after all, cuz he gave up after only a few months.”
Michael could see why. “Do you have any idea where he went?”
“No.” She shrugged again. “Sorry. He just packed up and took off a few weeks ago. I don’t expect he’ll be back any time soon.”
Michael hesitated. He was disappointed, but more than that, he was unsure of what to do next. The woman appeared so pitiful and the poverty she was living in was obvious. He felt he should give her some money or something, but he didn’t know how to do it.
He looked inside at the children again. “Have you got a man around here?” he asked awkwardly.
She brightened before his eyes. “No, sir,” she said. “You need a place to stay?”
He took a step backward. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. I just...” The hell with it. He reached into his pocket and took out two twenty-dollar bills. “Here you go,” he said, shoving it into her hand. “Thanks for the information.” Turning, he started quickly for his car.
The woman called after him. “Hey, mister, I just remembered something. Kerry had a brother in Phoenix. He said something about visiting him. He might still be there.”
Michael swung around. “Do you remember his name?”
She thought for a moment. “Chester. Yeah, that was it. Chester Carter.”
Michael had sighed. Phoenix. Another long drive. But at least it was something to go on. “Thanks,” he called back, and got into his car. A few hours later he’d shown up at Harley Carrington’s café.
And this cowgirl had landed in his lap. He hoped Kerry was in Phoenix. If he could get hold of him today, this could be all over by nightfall, and he could rid himself of this woman. If he could keep her with him just that long.
“Come on,” he said abruptly, moving to kick out the fire. “We’re getting out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Jessie began rolling up the sleeping bag. He picked up the jar of instant coffee, then bent to pick up the saucepan he’d left lying in the coarse sand. Suddenly she heard him yelp with pain. Whirling, she saw him rear back and fling something from his hand, his face contorted. Without thinking, she ran to his side, just in time to see a long brown scorpion scuttle under a rock.
“I’ll get him,” she said fiercely, lifting the rock. The insect was about eight inches long, its coiled tail held high, its lobsterlike pincers ready. Without a qualm, she smashed down the rock, flattening the scorpion with the methodical calm of one used to doing such things.
Behind her, Michael sank to the ground with a thump, holding one hand with the other. His face was white. “That was a scorpion,” he said, his voice hollow. “It stung me. Aren’t they poisonous?”
She sighed in exasperation. Only a tenderfoot would let himself get stung so easily. The man needed a keeper.
“Yes, they’re sort of poisonous,” she began, about to launch into an explanation of the difference between the dangerous bark scorpion and the others, whose stings were painful, but not fatal. But before the words were out, she stopped.
Wait. He didn’t know anything about scorpions. Like most city dwellers, he thought scorpions and tarantulas were the monsters the movies portrayed them as. As far as he knew, he was about to die if he didn’t get help.
“Yes,” she said again, more firmly, her dark eyes alight with hope. “We’d better get you to a doctor fast.”
He rose unsteadily to his feet. She had to suppress the urge to help him. He looked pale, but not panicked. That was good. It was a little cruel to trick him this way, but she needed an advantage if she was going to get away.
“Come on,” she said gruffly. “Get in the car. I’ll drive.”
Her heart began to beat quickly. Yes, she would drive...she would drive them wherever she pleased. He would be a helpless baby in her control. Look at him now, scared to death of having been bitten by a scorpion. He was putty in her hands.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I’m Counting On You
She walked over and yanked open the car door on the passenger’s side, but in her euphoria, she misjudged and cracked the door hard against her shin.
“Ouch,” she said, wincing and bending over.
He was right beside her, his own injury forgotten for the moment. “Are you okay?” he asked, taking her arm, steadying her.
She looked up at him, shocked, surprised at his concern. What was the matter with the man? He was supposed to be self-absorbed right now, not worrying about her. “Yes,” she muttered, pulling away, resentful of his kindness. “It’s nothing.”
They got in and drove along the dirt track in silence, Jessie at the wheel, Michael watching everything with eyes that seemed to see more than she wanted him to. The sun was up now, a huge ball of fiery life that had made its appearance over the serrated rim of the mountains to the east. Its color reminded Jessie of the huge glass of orange juice she usually had for breakfast. One long sip of o.j. would go great right now.
The car handled like a dream, even on this rutted dirt road. She’d never driven anything like it before. The leather steering wheel cover felt good beneath her hands. She glanced at Michael.
His silver-blue eyes met hers and he nodded. “Okay,” he said shortly. “Go ahead, give me the sordid details. Just exactly what is going to happen to me?”
She took a deep breath, feeling guilty. “Nothing if we get you to a doctor on time.”
“But we don’t know where a doctor is, do we? Finding one might take hours.” He moved restlessly, holding up his sore hand with his good one. “In the meantime, what can I expect? I’d like to be prepared.”
When she didn’t answer right away, he went on.
“Am I going to go into some kind of shock? Lose consciousness? Lose motor control?”
Still she didn’t answer.
“Hey, come on, Jessie,” he said, his voice soft and coaxing. “I can take it. Tell me the truth. Is my hand going to go numb? Turn black? Fall off?”
Her throat felt tight and dry. She glanced sideways at him. He didn’t look scared, just concerned. He was a logical man. He wanted a logical explanation, a logical plan of action. His peace of mind was in her hands. What was she going to do with it?
“Every... every case is different. Sometimes the victim gets abdominal cramps. Sometimes he loses consciousness.” She glanced at him, biting her lip. “How does it feel?” she asked.
“Painful. My whole hand’s swollen. It’s sort of numb, tingling, yet painful.” His laugh was short and humorless. “In other words, I don’t like it much.”
She nodded quickly, her eyes on the road. “I’m sorry it happened.”
“Are you?”
“Sure.”
The silence echoed painfully before he spoke again. “This might be just the break you need,” he said softly. “I might black out, you could drive me straight to the police.”
She felt color creeping up her cheeks and she swore under her breath.
“Did you think I hadn’t thought of that? Come on, Jessie. Getting stung hasn’t affected my brain. Not yet, anyway.”
She took a shivering breath. “But you still let me drive.”
“Sure. I don’t see much of an alternative here. The only other thing I could have done was swallow the keys and pass out in the sand. I would have died in the sun and you would have begun the long, perhaps fruitless trek, to find water.”
That nightmare scenario, city slicker cliché that it was, was
vivid for only a moment. Up ahead, the highway came into view.
“Look,” she said, feeling irrational relief. “Other cars.”
She wasn’t completely sure if his groan was real or mocking. “I guess it’s too late to swallow the keys,” he said. “You’ll just have to hope for the best.”
She glanced at him, then back at the highway. “The best?”
His voice was low and silky. “That I lose consciousness, so you can haul me in. But if I die before, they might not fork over the reward. You never know. People are likely to grasp at any opening where saving money is concerned.”
She gritted her teeth. “You’re not going to die.”
“I certainly hope not. I’ve got things to do before I go. Scores to settle.”
Jessie turned the car onto the highway. There wasn’t much traffic, but a highway meant food and gas and a telephone somewhere along the line. Michael was sitting very still. She looked at him anxiously. His face appeared strained. He was obviously in pain. Not to mention the agony of wondering...
“Oh, hell!” she cried at last, jerking the car to the side of the road, then turning off the engine and leaning forward, her arms folded over the steering wheel. “I can’t do it. I can’t keep lying to you.”
Michael stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
She turned slowly and met his clear gaze. “You know that scorpion that bit you? No big deal. He’s practically harmless.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then suddenly he threw back his head and laughed.
She gazed at him in bemused frustration. What was the matter with this turkey, anyway? Most of the men she knew wouldn’t have taken kindly to her playing such a trick. Men like Beau would have reacted with violence. That was one of the many reasons he was now her ex-husband.
Michael was different. He had strength, a taut, stubborn core that wouldn’t bend. But it didn’t manifest itself in bluster or bashing. For all that, he scared her in ways other men never could.
‘’Then I don’t need a doctor?”
She shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “Not unless you show signs of some kind of allergic reaction.”
He looked down at his swollen hand. “Funny. Now that you’ve told me that, it doesn’t hurt as much.”
“The pain should fade in the next hour or so.”
He laughed again. “You keep driving,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. I need a good cup of coffee after that. Let’s go have breakfast somewhere.”
That was just fine with her, but she was surprised he would want to go into a public place again. “You’re not afraid of being recognized?”
His sigh was heartfelt. “I’ll risk it. This is far enough off the beaten track to be pretty safe, I think. And after the night I had, I need resuscitation.”
She took off, a cloud of dust flaring behind the black-and-gold car. Michael found himself grinning as he watched her. Lord, you’d almost think you could trust her. But, no... the grin faded quickly. He couldn’t go that far. Every woman he’d ever put his faith in had let him down, and he wasn’t about to try again with this skinny desert rat.
Sometime later they cruised into the small dusty town of Jericho, nosing the car in behind the coffee shop, out of sight of the highway.
When Jessie got out of the car, Michael had already exited and was waiting for her. This was the first time she’d stood beside him on pavement, and she suddenly felt almost shy. He was tall. He still held his hand as though it hurt him. She stared up into his eyes for just a moment. Was she still his prisoner?
“I want to go to the ladies’ room,” she said stiffly.
His expression didn’t change. “I don’t know how you’re going to manage that,” he said. “You know I can’t let you out of my sight.”
Frustration swelled in her throat, choking her. She turned sharply and began to march toward the entrance to the restaurant. Across the street at a small, two-pump gas station, there was some sort of commotion, and she glanced over as she walked, attracted by the shouting, though her mind was mostly on the man behind her.
“Get out of here, kid,” a voice was calling. “You don’t belong here.”
Jessie paused, curious. A small, dark-haired boy of about eleven or twelve with the face of a street urchin was standing in the dirt at the side of the road. Two larger boys were laughing at him belligerently.
“I’ll leave,” the younger boy said quietly, holding out his hand. “Give me back my bag, then I’ll go.”
“Your bag?” The red headed boy tossed something made of blue canvas to his blond friend. “This old thing? He says this is his bag, Jason. What do you think?”
“Finders, keepers, I always say,” Jason crowed, throwing the bag back to the redhead, just out of the dark-haired boy’s reach. “Losers, weepers.” He crackled. “You’re a loser, boy,” he taunted. “Let’s see you weep if you want it back so bad.”
Jessie’s hands balled into fists at her sides. She hated this sort of thing. Two adults were also watching, two men in their thirties with baseball caps pulled low over their eyes, leaning on an old car in the station. They were laughing, seemingly getting a kick out of the situation. She hesitated. Surely one of them would do something to help the younger boy.
“Please give me back my bag.” The small face was set, stoic. Only the dark eyes betrayed any emotion at all. “It’s all I have. Please. I need it.”
“Yeah, but maybe Jason needs it, too,” the redhead jeered. “Here, Jason.” He threw it again. “Take a look inside. See if you need anything in there.”
“No!” the younger boy cried, lunging at Jason.
The bag was forgotten now that the bigger boys had the excuse they needed. Both began to flail at the smaller boy, and to Jessie’s horror, the two men watching began to cheer as though they were at a prize fight.
Fury moved her halfway across the street before she realized Michael had beaten her to it. He grabbed the two older boys by the scruff of the neck, as though they were puppies. The smaller boy wasted no time, darting in beneath them to grab his bag, and then began to back away.
“You okay, kid?” Michael asked him, ignoring the shouts and kicks of the other two.
The dark-eyed boy nodded, still backing away.
“You go on then,” Michael said.
He nodded again, then turned and began to run down the street, his bag slung over his shoulder.
The two men had rushed over, but something in Michael’s hard gaze seemed to keep them from getting involved. They hung back a few feet.
“Hey, you, let those boys go,” one of them called. “They ain’t done nothin’ to you.”
Michael turned slowly, his hands still gripping the boys’ necks. “These yours?” he asked with deceptive blandness.
“You let them go. They were just playin’ with the kid. Damn field gypsy, that’s all he was. Probably just didn’t want my boy to see into his bag cuz it was full of all the stuff he stole in town already.”
Michael glanced down to the end of the street. The boy had disappeared around the corner. He released the other boys, watching their fathers, his mouth a thin, hard line.
“Sorry, fellows,” he said coldly. “Didn’t mean to spoil your fun. In some places, I hear they raise pit bulls to fight each other for entertainment. I guess here you people just raise your own sons for the same purpose.”
Jessie waited, tensed. His tone of voice had been menacing, daring the others to challenge his insult. He stood and waited, but the boys went straight to their fathers, and the fathers turned away. There was a lot of muttering and black looks, but the fight was over.
Jessie let out a long sigh of relief. “Is your hand okay?” she asked anxiously.
“Yeah. More numb than sore now.” Suddenly Michael’s arm was around her shoulders, leading her toward the restaurant, and she didn’t feel the need to shrug it away. They climbed the steps and entered the building together before he released her. Michael asked for a table for t
wo, then turned to look at her.
“Go ahead and use the ladies’ room,” he said. “But, hey.” He touched her arm, holding her back for just a moment, looking deep into her dark eyes. “Don’t run out on me, okay? I’m counting on you.”
Counting on her! The nerve of the guy!
She thought about it as she gazed long and hard at her reflection in the cracked mirror of the washroom. Logic dictated a quick escape. She should be climbing out the window right now. Or scrawling a message on the mirror. Or waiting here for someone else to come in, then asking them to call the police. Anything except what she was actually doing. She was washing her hands and face and preparing to go right back out to join him.
At least she wouldn’t try to pretty herself up. Her mouth hardened and she glared at herself in the mirror. Her hands went to her hair, raking through its thickness and pulling it into plaits. Nope, she wasn’t about to fall into the trap of making herself pretty for a man, just because he was good-looking, just because his eyes seemed to search for a beauty in her. She was who she was, and proud of it.
A picture flitted into her mind and she remembered how his hand had almost touched her hair, how she’d found him so close when she’d woken up that morning. Something seemed to shiver down her spine, but she ignored it, yanking harder at her hair to ward off that warm, mushy feeling she so dreaded.
Maybe she was going out to join him again, but that didn’t mean anything. She was just biding her time, awaiting her opportunity. She put on her hat and pushed her braids up under it, then stared at her own tough image. “Just biding my time,” she repeated firmly before she turned to leave.
She sauntered out of the ladies’ room, and immediately caught his gaze from across the restaurant. There was no emotion in his face at all, but she couldn’t help but flush, and she took her time getting to him, hoping the color would fade.
