by Rita Herron
But the moment he lifted a hand toward her, she shrank like a delicate flower wilting in the sun. He gritted his teeth, silently cursing the past and the circumstances that had led them to this point.
“How about a friend?” he asked, intentionally lowering his voice. “Someone at the reservation?”
Her eyes widened, pits of steel. “I can’t endanger them, Carter. This man has kept track of me for five years. He knows you’re out, and now that he’s seen us together, he’s not going to give up until he silences us.” She heaved a weary sigh. “And he’ll hurt anyone we care about to get to us.”
Carter grimaced, hating that she was right. He’d long ago learned to stop living on empty hopes and senseless fantasies that people were good. No…most of the time they stabbed you in the back.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to formulate a plan, but his head ached from trying to figure out his next move. He was a cowboy, not a cop or the devious criminal everyone had pegged him to be.
But he had to think like one if he was going to survive and clear himself.
Having Sadie with him would make it more difficult to hide out. Then again, the police were looking for him, not a man and a woman, so it might serve to his advantage to travel as a couple.
Although if the police discovered they were together, they could arrest Sadie for aiding and abetting a convicted felon.
But what choice did they have? If he left her alone and that jerk found her, no telling what he’d do to her this time before he killed her.
And he would kill her.
Dammit. He had enough guilt to last a lifetime.
He couldn’t live with Sadie’s death on his conscience.
SADIE STRUGGLED to quell the fear raging inside her as Carter started the engine and pulled back onto the road.
She had once been a strong woman. She was an advocate for the Native American community, had fought for her people and their rights. She had studied the Navajo way of medicine, learned the roots and herbs used to help treat illnesses, the prayers and rituals performed to help with the healing of the body, the mind and the soul.
But she had also seen such poverty and backward ways that she had wanted more for her people. She had excelled in school because her education was her ticket out of poverty. She had set her sights on medical school in an effort to bridge the gap between the reservation and the surrounding areas in terms of medical care.
Then her mother had been diagnosed with cancer.
And she’d been forced to take waitressing jobs to pay medical bills and hire a nurse to tend to her mother while she worked. It had been a vicious cycle that had left her drained, and with no time to study, she’d lost her scholarship and her dreams.
Then Carter had walked in that night with his sexy, bad-boy swagger and talked her into his bed, and she’d fallen into his arms. She’d even imagined a relationship beyond the bedroom. A life. A future.
But then she’d been attacked…
Nausea roiled through her. For five years, she’d run from that memory. From the hulking monster who had threatened her and abused her and left her scarred both physically and emotionally.
She wouldn’t run anymore.
Carter had been unjustly accused and incarcerated. But she’d lived in a prison of her own, as well.
A prison built on fear.
Carter deserved justice. And so did she.
Together they would find the truth and go to the police. And if she died trying to do the right thing, at least she’d go to her grave with a clear conscience.
Exhausted, she closed her eyes and let the rumble of the truck eating the miles lull her into sleep. She had no idea what time it was when they jolted to a stop, but when she opened her eyes, they were at a deserted ranch in the middle of nowhere.
A thread of anxiety knotted her stomach, but Carter was scowling as he looked across the property, and he didn’t appear to have sex on his mind.
Instead his face was contorted with pain.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My old man’s ranch,” Carter muttered.
“Is he here?”
Carter shook his head. “SOB died a few weeks ago. Place is run-down, but we can hide here for the night.”
“Won’t the police be watching it?” Sadie asked.
Carter shrugged. “Maybe. But Brandon said they’ve already searched it once.”
Anger laced his voice, but Sadie decided not to push for more information. Still, as he pulled the truck into a sagging barn, then climbed out and shut the barn door to hide the truck, she realized how isolated they were.
If Carter had been lying about protecting her, he could kill her and dump her out here, and no one would ever find her.
Irritated at herself for losing ground with her resolve to be stronger, she opened the door and slid down from the truck seat. Carter still had her derringer. She had to get it back.
At least with a gun in her hand she might have a chance at protecting herself from Carter. Or from the man who’d stolen her life and her sanity for the past five years with his constant threats.
Her mind warred with her Navajo beliefs, but she had to stand her ground. This man was evil, had scarred her and had destroyed too many lives.
She’d kill him before she allowed him to touch her again.
CARTER SCANNED THE PROPERTY, in case someone had followed them, then grabbed his duffel bag and led Sadie into the house. He hadn’t seen the place in years, and the shabby, run-down conditions were worse than he’d expected.
At one time, he’d had lofty dreams like Johnny and Brandon. He’d known one day his old man would get locked up or killed by someone he pissed off, and he’d thought this land would be his. He’d planned to bring in cattle, some horses, work it from the ground up and have something to be proud of.
Hell, he didn’t even care if he was rich like his buddies. He just wanted something of his own. A piece of land. Freedom. To earn a respectable living.
To be able to walk the streets without people calling him a murderer.
Bitterness welled inside him at the irony that he’d hated his old man and his violent tendencies but that he’d ended up in jail just like him.
And when his old man had been released from prison, he’d come back to the ranch to live out his last days. Had he hoped Carter would show up so he could pound his fists into him one more time before he died?
Or had the bastard mellowed?
A sardonic chuckled bubbled in his throat, riddled with disgust. No, his father hadn’t had a decent bone in his body.
And judging from the peeling paint, rotting porch, cobwebs and dirt streaking the farmhouse, he hadn’t done anything to improve the place once he was released. Of course, he had been dying…
Served him right for all the pain he’d inflicted on others.
Sadie tried to flick on a light, but the bulb popped. Hell, he was surprised the power was still on at all.
“I know it’s a rattrap,” Carter said. “But at least we can get some rest and regroup in the morning.”
Sadie nodded, and he showed her up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. The faded blue paint of his little brother’s room had turned a dingy gray, dust coating the old dresser and iron bed in the corner.
“Was this your room?” Sadie asked, as she glanced at a yellowed poster of a country rock group taped on the wall.
“No, it was my brother’s.”
“Where’s he now?” Sadie asked.
Carter swallowed hard. “He killed himself. Couldn’t take my old man anymore.” And I had already cut out and deserted him.
The familiar guilt plowed through him. He should have taken his brother with him.
Sadie gave him a sympathetic look, but he didn’t deserve it. Besides, she looked dead on her feet. Realizing they’d left her place with no time for her to pack anything, he unzipped his duffel bag, yanked out a denim shirt and tossed it to her. “Here, you can sleep in that. Now get some rest. If
you need anything, I’ll be down the hall.”
She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Carter?”
He turned to go, but paused at the sound of her voice. “Yeah?”
“Can I have my gun back?”
He studied her for a long moment, then his gaze fell to her trembling hands, and he removed it from his jacket and laid it on the nightstand. “Just don’t shoot me with it, okay?”
Relief softened her face. She’d probably slept with that gun since her attack. He understood about the demons that emerged at night and wished he’d had a damn gun in prison.
“I won’t,” she said in a strained voice. But a small smile curved her mouth, reminding him of how beautiful she was, and lust hit him hard.
Dammit, he had to leave or he’d haul her up against him.
What in God’s name was wrong with him? Every night in jail on his cot, he’d thought of her, remembered her seductive eyes and body. Remembered the soft curve of her breast, the dusky ripe brown of her nipples, the creamy skin of her hips, the damp invitation between her thighs…
Then he’d start sweating and shaking and wake up nearly howling like an animal. Because he remembered how she’d used him.
For five years, he’d considered her his enemy.
But now, he suddenly wanted to protect her and make love to her again.
He was damn crazy.
Hadn’t prison taught him he couldn’t trust anyone?
He balled his hands into fists and strode down the steps, his boots pounding out his frustration on the rickety wooden steps. Hell, yeah, it had.
He had escaped for one reason and one reason only. To clear himself. Not to get laid or hook back up with the woman who’d put him in jail.
He’d keep them both alive long enough to find the real killer, then they’d part ways.
Steeling himself, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He heard the door close and lock upstairs, and a bitter laugh escaped him.
Why the hell would Sadie or any woman want to be with him anyway? He had nothing to offer.
His boots clicked as he strode through the downstairs searching for more weapons. He found a shotgun and rifle and carried them back up the stairs and down the hall toward his old room. Tomorrow he had to make a plan. Figure out a way to find the man who’d framed him.
But it was late and his adrenaline had waned, so he yanked off his clothes and fell onto the metal bed he used to call his, wearing only his boxers.
Even though he was worn out, he couldn’t sleep for the troubling memories crashing down on him. Memories of things that had happened in this house. A house that had been filled with daily horrors.
The brutal tongue-lashings. The physical beatings. The night his old man had broken Carter’s nose when he’d thrown him against the wall.
The day when he was ten and his father had stripped his clothes, tied him to a tree and beaten him with a switch until his legs had been bloody. His brother had been terrified and had hidden in the woods.
Brandon and Johnny had found him, untied him and carried him to the creek to clean his wounds. He’d been half unconscious, spitting blood and feeling humiliated.
But both of them had admitted that their daddies were just as mean, their houses just as sick and twisted, then they’d shown him their scars. The moment had bound the men together forever.
Carter had vowed to stand by them after that, and the three of them had protected each other.
Another memory splintered through the haze, this one even more painful. The day his daddy had killed his mother.
Carter had run away as fast as his legs could carry him.
He shouldn’t have been so selfish. Should have taken his brother with him.
But his brother had been the golden boy, the one his father loved. It hadn’t occurred to him that his father would vent his rage on him.
And in the end, he hadn’t had to. His brother had killed himself.
And here he was back in the same crummy house he’d started in. Only his life had gone to hell. He had a criminal record, the law on his tail and a man who was determined to kill him breathing down his neck.
He racked his brain trying to recall an image of the man Sadie said he’d fought with in the bar, but those days and nights he’d been in an alcohol-induced blur, and nothing registered.
Disgusted, he closed his eyes and finally collapsed into a fitful sleep. But sometime later, a noise jarred him awake.
A car? Footsteps? He scrubbed his hand over his face, disoriented.
Then a scream pierced the air. A scream that cut through the chilling silence. Sadie’s scream.
Had the damn bastard found them?
He grabbed his gun from the dresser, yanked his jeans on, although he didn’t take time to snap them, then raced down the hall.
He had to get to Sadie.
Chapter Four
Carter raced down the hall, wielding his gun, his senses honed for trouble. He hesitated at the door to the room where Sadie slept and cocked his head listening for…the sound of a man inside? Footsteps? A man’s voice?
“No, stop…please,” Sadie cried. Then a thrashing sound and something hit the floor. A lamp?
A second later, another bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. This one was filled with pain and terror.
He jiggled the door, but it was still locked. How the hell had the man gotten in?
His heart drummed with panic, and he slammed his body against the wooden frame. The thin, rotting wood splintered, and he braced himself and hit it again with all his weight, so hard his shoulder wrenched.
He didn’t care, though. He had to get inside.
The force of the impact cracked the edging and the door burst open. Darkness bathed the room, but his gaze flew to the bed where Sadie was thrashing. A tiny sliver of moonlight sliced through the ratty sheers and broke the darkness, allowing him just enough visibility to search for the predator.
But the window was closed. The room empty, except for Sadie.
Pulsing with sweat, he blew out a relieved breath as he realized she was in the throes of a nightmare.
Shoving his gun into his waistband, he scanned the room again then jerked open the closet door just to make certain an intruder wasn’t hiding inside.
“Stop, please, no…”
Sadie’s tormented cry wrenched his gut, and he shot a quick glance below the bed, confirming there was no one underneath. Then he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her and reached out a hand to wake her.
“Sadie, honey, wake up,” he murmured. “You’re dreaming. You’re safe now.”
“No, don’t.” She threw up her hands and fists and hit him, obviously trying to fend off her attacker.
He gritted his teeth at the sight of her half naked in his shirt, willing his libido in check as the edges gaped open. His gaze fell to the puckered scar at the center of her chest, and he cursed.
She was reliving that night she’d been attacked....
Damn that bastard.
She kicked him, her ragged breathing punctuating the silence. His throat thickening, he stroked her arm and reminded himself he had to treat her with kid gloves. She was terrified and had been abused.
“Sadie,” he said softly.
A guttural sound tore through the air as she shoved at the covers. Then she shifted sideways and lunged upward as if she was going to run. She made it halfway off the bed when he caught her by both arms and pulled her to him. Her body was trembling, her breathing labored, her hands clammy as she gripped his arms.
“Shh, you’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here with you.”
She tried to jerk away again, but he shook her gently. “Wake up, Sadie. It’s me, Carter.”
She stopped thrashing momentarily as his voice registered, although her body went stone still. He cradled her face between his hands, determined to break her out of the terror gripping her. “You’re just having a nightmare.”
Sadie’s eyes flicked open, and she stared at him w
ith a glazed look, as if she had no idea where she was or what was happening.
But the terror in her face at the sight of him made his gut tighten.
“Let me go,” she said in a voice so haunted that he released her immediately.
He held his hands up indicating he meant her no harm, but she shuddered anyway. “I’m not going to hurt you, Sadie. You were screaming, having a bad dream.”
She glanced down at her nightshirt where it gaped open at the top, then at the splintered door where he’d broken it and shock settled across her features. “I’m sorry I…woke you.”
His gaze locked with hers. “No problem. I’m a light sleeper.” He shrugged. “A habit I picked up in prison. Always had to be alert.”
Pain drew her face into a frown, then her gaze lifted to his scarred cheek. Self-consciously he rubbed a finger across it. He’d never considered himself a handsome guy, but before prison he hadn’t been hideous, either. At least he hadn’t scared little children and old women.
“Ugly, I know.”
“I guess we both have scars,” she said softly. “They’ve changed us.”
“Maybe.” But she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.
Her tender voice stirred memories of the first time he’d laid eyes on her. She had been wearing a turquoise-and-red Navajo skirt with a red blouse and sandals, her black hair hanging in a long braid down her back, turquoise earrings dangling from her earlobes. The other men in the bar had all been ogling her, muttering obscene comments, talking dirty.
He had wanted to knock their teeth out.
Because he’d wanted her for himself. But not just because he knew she’d be the hottest sex he’d ever had.
There had been something more to her. A deep, reserved, quiet kind of beauty that had triggered his lust but also his admiration. She wasn’t like the other girls he’d known in high school, snotty and materialistic, women who’d looked down on him as the trailer-trash troublemaker.
No, Sadie had looked at him as if she saw something good in him. As if she saw beneath his hard surface to the man he wanted to be.
He cleared his throat, the memory of having her in his bed returning to taunt him. He had loved her with his mouth and hands and body once and brought her to ecstasy. In fact, she had screamed with pleasure.
