ChasetheLightning

by Madeline Baker

“Hey,” Amanda called, tapping on the door. “Let me see.”

  “I’ve been buying my own clothes for years,” he muttered, but he opened the door and stepped out, felt a wave of heat climb up his neck when she whistled at him. “Quit that,” he hissed.

  “We’ll take those, too,” she said. “And a pair of black ones just like them.” Before he could stop her, she had grabbed his old jeans.

  “Dammit, Amanda…”

  But she was already gone, headed for the counter with his old pants and a pair of black Levi’s tucked under her arm.

  Trey shook his head. She was a woman used to getting her own way, there was no doubt about that. Going back into the room, he pulled on his boots, then took another look at himself in the mirror. Damn jeans fit almost like a second skin. He grinned at his image. But they looked damn good on him.

  He took hold of her arm when they left the store. “How much do I owe you?”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw as he fought of control his temper. “I’m already beholden to you for savin’ my life. I said I’ll pay you back, and I will. Now, how much do I owe you?”

  “Well, the hat was a hundred and forty dollars…”

  “A hundred and forty dollars! For a hat?” He was shocked out of his anger momentarily. “That’s worse than robbery! That's…that’s…” Words failed him.

  "Western wear is popular these days,” she said. “And expensive.”

  How much for the jeans?”

  “About seventy dollars.”

  “For both?”

  “No, for one pair.”

  He looked totally shocked.

  “I guess prices have gone up some in the last hundred years,” she remarked.

  “You can say that again,” he muttered.

  “Well, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I can afford it.”

  “It’s not right, you payin’ my way. I’ll pay you back for what you spent today. Even if I have to rob another bank to do it.”

  He continued to brood about the outrageous prices as they strolled down the street. So much had changed, it was hard to believe he was in Canyon Creek. Amanda showed him video stores and music stores. They stopped at a pet shop that had once been a boarding house and she cooed over a fluffy gray kitten and a pot-bellied pig.

  They wandered through a gift shop that carried plates and cups, toothpick holders and shot glasses, shirts of all kinds emblazoned with the name of the town. Row after row filled with more knickknacks than he had seen in a lifetime.

  He paused, realizing she wasn’t with him. Turning, he saw her standing next to a pile of stuffed animals: dogs and cats, lions and tigers, horses and cows. He had to admit they were kind of cute. Totally useless, but cute.

  He stepped back as a tall, willowy girl clad in a pair of skin-tight red jeans and a white sleeveless shirt came down the aisle toward him.

  He tipped his hat automatically.

  “Hi, cowboy,” she said in a throaty voice.

  “Ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” She smiled at him, batting her eyelashes prettily. “Are you all alone, handsome?”

  He grinned at her, flattered and amused by her attention. “Honey, I’ve got a saddle older than you.”

  She winked at him. “I’d be glad to let you break me in.”

  He laughed out loud at that, wondering if all the women in this day and age were as forward as this one.

  “Having fun?”

  Trey met Amanda’s inquiring gaze over the top of the girl’s head.

  Glancing over her shoulder, the girl looked Amanda up and down. “Is he with you?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said curtly.

  “Well, if you ever get tired of him, let me know.”

  “Yes,” Amanda replied drily. “I’ll do that. Run along now.”

  The girl winked at Trey. “So long, cowboy.”

  He touched the brim of his hat with his forefinger, laughed softly as she sashayed down the aisle.

  “Don’t let me keep you, if you’d rather be with her,” Amanda said.

  He didn’t miss the slight edge in her tone, couldn’t resist asking, “You jealous?”

  She tossed her head. “Of course not.”

  “Well, don’t worry, sweetheart, I never change partners in the middle of a dance,” he assured her with that now familiar roguish grin.

  Amanda felt her heart catch in her throat. He was far too handsome, his smile far too devastating. And he knew it, too. She hadn’t missed the way women stopped to look at him as they walked down the street. He had a long, easy stride, an aura of self-confidence that was almost palpable. He was a man who knew who he was, a man comfortable in his own skin, her uncle would have said. But it was his face that drew the eye of every woman past puberty. Smooth, copper-hued skin, finely sculpted cheekbones, a strong square jaw, that sensual lower lip that even now tempted her touch. It didn’t hurt that he filled out those new jeans like a Hollywood model, or that his shoulders were as broad as a barn door. And he oozed sex appeal. She grinned. Sex on a stick, she thought, remembering her girlfriend’s apt but humorous description of Russell Crowe in last year’s hit movie.

  He was looking at her, one brow raised inquisitively.

  “Shall we go?” she asked.

  With a nod, he followed her out of the shop.

  “I’m hungry,” she said. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

  “Sure.”

  She took him to her favorite restaurant, a little place that served the best Mexican food she had ever tasted. They took a table by the window.

  The waitress wasn’t immune to Trey’s good looks, either. The woman had to be forty if she was a day, but she simpered and smiled while she took their order as if she had never seen a man before. Amanda couldn’t blame her. There was something about a long-legged, good-looking man in tight-fitting jeans and a cowboy hat.

  “So, tell me,” Amanda said when they were alone. “How’d you get into robbing banks?”

  “It’s a long story. And not very interesting.”

  “Tell me anyway. I’d like to hear it.”

  “Some other time. You said you’re engaged. When do I get to meet the lucky man?”

  “I don’t know. He’s out of town.” She paused a moment, savoring her next words. “He’s a bounty hunter.”

  Trey stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m sure he’d love to meet you. Professionally speaking, of course.”

  “You think he’d take me in for a crime I committed a hundred and two years ago?”

  She laughed. “I doubt it. I’m sure there’s some sort of statute of limitations on robbery.”

  “Statute of what?”

  “Limitations. You know, some sort of limit on how long you can be prosecuted for a particular crime.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” he replied drily. “So, when’s the big day?”

  “We haven’t set a date yet. We only met a short time ago.”

  His gaze met hers, hooded and indecipherable. What was he thinking? And why did she feel as though she had somehow betrayed him?

  Chapter Ten

  It was sprinkling when they left the restaurant.

  Shivering, Amanda rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Looks like we��re in for another storm.”

  Trey glanced up at the sky and nodded. Judging by the dark clouds rapidly gathering overhead, they were in for a real gully washer.

  “I think we’d better head home,” she said. “I hate driving that winding road in the rain.”

  “Okay by me,” Trey said. He’d seen enough of the town; his back was aching. He looked at Amanda’s car. It was going to be a long, wet ride back to her place, he thought.

  Amanda tossed her purse and Trey’s jeans on the backseat, then slid behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition. She watched Trey fold his long length into the passenger seat, saw him grimace as he did so. Sometimes she forgot he had
been wounded.

  She put on her seat belt, and, after watching her, he did the same.

  She pushed something on the dashboard. There was a soft, whirring noise.

  Trey glanced over his shoulder, alarmed to see a part of the car unfolding and rising over him.

  “Relax,” Amanda said. “It’s just the top.”

  He had to hunch over to keep the top from hitting his head. Taking off his hat, he tossed it onto the backseat. That afforded him a little more headroom, but not much.

  She released the button when the top clicked into place. “Are you ready?”

  He nodded, not certain he liked this new closed-in feeling.

  “I’d better get some gas. For the car,” she explained, seeing his puzzled look. “It’s what the car runs on, what makes it go.”

  He grunted softly. “Where do you get it? Gas?”

  “There,” she said, pointing at a building across the street. “You can buy gasoline there, as well as bread and milk, beer, that kind of stuff.” Pulling up in front of several strange-looking objects, Amanda stopped the car and turned off the engine. “I’ll be right back.”

  He watched with interest as she inserted her credit card in a slot, then removed a long hose from a hook. Curious, he got out of the car to watch as she shoved the end of the hose into a hole in the side of the car.

  “This is a gas station,” she explained. “This is a gasoline pump. These numbers,” she pointed to a window on the pump, “tell you how many gallons of gas have been pumped into your car.”

  “All cars run on gas?”

  “Yes. Some get better mileage than others. I get about seventeen miles to the gallon in the city, more on the highway.”

  “Highway?”

  “The open road.”

  “Is that good?”

  She shrugged. “About average, I guess. Usually, the bigger the car, the worse the mileage.” She put the hose back on the hook. “Let’s go.”

  “Your credit card?” he said as he got into the car. “You can use it for gas, too?”

  “Yes, you can use it for just about everything, food, clothes, whatever you want.”

  It was raining harder now. Amanda switched on the windshield wipers.

  Trey gazed out the window. The clouds were dark, ominous. A brilliant flash of lightning was followed by a clap of thunder. Soon, they had left the town behind.

  “I love thunderstorms,” Amanda said, both hands gripping the steering wheel as she maneuvered the car around the first curve in the road. “When I’m at home in front of a cozy fire.”

  Trey nodded. He had always loved storms. The sound of the rain and the thunder, the sharp crackle of lightning sizzling across the sky. He loved the power of it, the wildness. It called to something deep down inside him, something feral and untamed.

  Another flash of lightning cut across the sky. Thunder followed hard on its heels. Another bolt rent the heavens. Amanda screamed as it struck a tree just ahead. Sparks lit the sky as, in seeming slow motion, the big tree buckled near its roots and toppled over, crashing into the roadway. Amanda rode the brakes as the Jag hydroplaned on the wet surface, until, after what seemed like an eternity, the car came to a stop within feet of the tree’s tangled limbs.

  She sat there a moment, breathing heavily, her hands in a death grip on the wheel, her knuckles white. She slid a glance over at Trey. “Now you know what seat belts are for.”

  He nodded. The rain was coming down in sheets now, the heavy drops making a loud tattoo on the top of the car.

  She was shivering. Nerves, he thought, in reaction to what had almost happened. He couldn’t blame her. It had scared the hell out of him, too. They missed plowing into the sudden road block by no more than a couple of feet. She had good reflexes, for a city woman.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You okay?”

  “Y-yes.”

  He glanced at both sides of the road. Trees grew thick on either side. There was no way around the tree, and no way he could move it.

  The rain pounded on the roof of the car.

  When she regained her composure, Amanda carefully backed her car around in the two-lane road, and drove slowly back the way they had come.

  “Where are we going?” Trey asked.

  “I don’t think I want to try the side road up to the house,” she said, her voice still a little shaky. “It’s very narrow, hardly more than a dirt path. It’s probably washed out, anyway. There’s a motel about a mile this side of town. We can spend the night there.”

  “What’s a motel?”

  “It’s like a hotel, except people usually only stay for a night.”

  Trey nodded. She had said she hated driving in the rain. He could see by the taut line of her jaw, the way her hands clenched the wheel, that she was tense.

  He felt a sense of frustration. With a wagon and team, he could have taken over and gotten them home safely. But he had no knowledge of her car, no understanding of what made it go. He longed momentarily for ’Pago. The stallion shrugged off storms with equanimity, had no need of roads or trails.

  Lightning continued to slash across the skies. The rain continued to come down in heavy sheets, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead.

  Silence enfolded them, broken only by the sound of the rain and the rumble of thunder, and the swish of the windshield wipers against the glass.

  Night spread her cloak across the land, cocooning them in deepening darkness.

  A man’s voice came over the radio saying the storm was expected to last through the night and warning motorists to drive carefully.

  “What does that mean?” Trey asked. “Motorists drive carefully?”

  “We’re motorists,” Amanda replied, not taking her gaze off the road. “And driving is what I’m doing.”

  “And who is the man on the radio?”

  “He’s a DJ. A disc jockey. It’s his job to play the music and make public service announcements.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At that radio station I told you about.”

  She fell silent as the road curved again.

  He heard her sigh of relief when the road straightened out and the lights of the town became visible.

  A few minutes later, she pulled up in front of a long, low building. The sign said, “Cactus Tree Motel. Vacancy.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Reaching into the backseat, she grabbed her handbag. Opening the door, she got out of the car and hurried into the office.

  Through the window, Trey could see her talking to a pudgy, gray-haired man. She emerged a short time later and they drove around the side of the building. She stopped the car and turned off the engine. She sat there a moment, then got out of the car.

  Grabbing his hat, he followed her out, hunching his shoulders against the rain.

  “Here’s your key.” She thrust it into his hand, her fingers brushing against his. “See you in the morning.”

  She opened the door to the room next to his and stepped inside. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He waited until she closed the door, then looked at the key in his hand. It was small, attached to an oblong disk with the number 31 on it. Unlocking the door to Room 31, he stepped inside. It was dark and cold. In the dim light coming through the open door, he could make out two beds with a table in between. Remembering Amanda’s house, he felt along the wall beside the door until he found the light switch. He flicked it on, shook his head as the room filled with light. Amazing. The walls were a faded green, reminding him of the color of sagebrush in the spring. There was a small lamp on the table, and one of those telephones people in this century seemed so fond of. A small chest of drawers across from the beds, and a single overstuffed chair.

  He tossed his hat on the dresser, then stretched out on the bed, hands clasped behind his head, and listened to the steady drumming of the rain against the window. He thought briefly of Relámpago, though he was not really concerned. The st
ud had shelter and water, and would have been fine even if he didn’t. It wouldn’t hurt the stallion to miss a meal, Trey thought wryly. They had both done it in the past. He was a sight more concerned about how he was going to get back where he belonged. Damn.

  Feeling restless and closed in, he stood and began to pace the floor. What was she doing, he wondered. Maybe he should just go check to make sure she was all right.

  He headed for the door, stopped, his hand on the knob. Muttering an oath, he went back to pacing the floor. She was probably asleep by now.

  He was thinking about trying to get some sleep himself when he paused, his head cocked to one side, listening. Had he imagined it, or was someone knocking on the door. It could only be Amanda.

  He hurried to open the door when the knock came a second time.

  She smiled tentatively. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” He stepped back. Closed the door behind her.

  She stood in the middle of the floor, her arms crossed over her breasts. “I can’t sleep.”

  Trey nodded.

  “Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “Make yourself at home,” he said with a wry grin. “You’re paying for the room.”

  She glanced around, started toward one of the beds, then changed direction and sat down in the chair. “It’s cold in here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you turn on the heat?” she asked, and then grinned. “Because you don’t know how,” she said, answering her own question.

  Rising, she walked across the room. “This is the thermostat,” she said. “You turn it this way for heat, and this way to turn on the air. Heating and air-conditioning,” she elaborated. “One heats the room when it’s cold, and the other cools the room when it’s hot.”

  “Handy.” He came up behind her, peering over her shoulder.

  “Yes.” She turned to face him, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t realized he was so close. Coming in here had been a mistake. He was too close. Too virile. Too much on her mind. And far too tempting. But she had come here anyway, hoping for…what? She shied away from the answer that came quickly to mind.

  “Well,” she said, “I’d better go. I just wanted to make sure you found everything. I mean, you’ve never been in a motel before, and…and I need to check on your wound. And…”