by Janet Dailey
It was impossible that she could have wandered too far in the wrong direction, she told herself firmly. She rubbed her hands briskly over the gooseflesh that seemed to have permanently dimpled her bare arms. If she continued straight ahead, sooner or later she would either see the lights of her home or run into the graveled road that led to the neighboring ranch house.
She would continue on, she decided. Movement was definitely better than sitting in one place freezing to death. A slight exaggeration, she admitted, since it was unlikely it would get that cold. She knew that the general advice was for a person to stay in one place if they became lost. But she wasn't aimlessly wandering about. She was going forward on a straight path that should either lead her within sight of her home or the graveled road that would eventually bring her to it.
She hadn't traveled very far when she developed a stitch in her side. Pausing, she pressed a hand against the pain and looked around. Off to her left, she thought she had seen the flicker of a light. She had been positive her home was either straight ahead or to the right.
Silently she stood studying the area where she thought she had seen the light, trying to force her eyes to pierce the darkness and the shadowy desert growth. Then she saw it again, wavering and fading, but definitely a light of some sort, she thought gladly.
With new purpose, Brandy set out toward it. This time she paid less attention to where she was putting her feet. A light in the desert had to mean people, although she doubted it was her home.
As she drew closer, fighting the sage and cactus that whipped at her legs, her thick leather boots taking the brunt of the punishment, the light became more definite. Then it suddenly took shape. It was a campfire sheltered in the notch of a hill, probably only visible from her direction. Brandy wanted to laugh at the luck that had smiled on her, but she was too weary to do more than grin breathlessly.
"Hello!" She ran toward the fire, an inner relief bringing a note of gaiety into her voice.
At the edge of the circle of light, a dark form moved at her call, the builder of the fire and her rescuer. The shape stayed in the curtain of shadows as Brandy burst into the ring of light opposite him.
"Boy, am I glad to see you!" she declared with a laughing trill of relief. "Somehow or other I got lost on my way
home. I was beginning to think I was going to spend the night on the desert alone."
"Really?" The male voice was low and husky, sharp with a quiet kind of anger.
A slight frown drew Brandy's eyebrows together. She hadn't expected an open-armed welcome, but she had thought the man would express concern when she explained that she was lost.
"I . . . I was out riding." She decided a further explanation must be necessary. "My horse bolted. I was walking home when it got dark. That's when I must have got my directions turned around."
There was a pulsing second of silence before the man in the shadows responded. "And you just stumbled into my camp by chance, is that it?" Again hard, cynical mockery lined the low voice.
"I saw the light from your campfire," she spoke hesitantly, trying to peer through the darkness to see more than a dark human shape. A horse stamped in the darkness, and Brandy could fool perspiration gathering in the palms of her hands, "It was such a welcome sight."
Unconsciously she used the past tense. All of a sudden, she didn't feel so very lucky. Who was this man, and what was he doing out here in the middle of the desert?
The fire burned through a thick branch, sending the two parts crumbling into the center. Flames flared brightly at the new fuel, light radiating into a bigger arc that encompassed the man. Something shiny flashed in his hand, and fear welled into a huge knot in Brandy's throat at the menacing knife-blade.
Her gaze ricocheted to his face. The wide brim of his stetson hat was pulled low, hiding all but the narrowed glitter of his eyes. A dark, shaggy growth of hair covered his jaw, cheek, and chin. It was too long to be unshaven stubble, yet not quite a beard either.
A lined suede vest covered the dark shirt he wore and accented the broadness of his shoulders. Faded levis fitted snugly over his hips and thighs. In the flickering firelight, he seemed much larger than Brandy had realized, larger and somehow frightening.
His disreputable appearance did nothing to reassure her. The man had made it obvious that he didn't care that she had got herself lost. His only concern seemed to be that she had stumbled into his camp.
He was angered that she had found him. That could only mean he wasn't supposed to be here. Brandy swallowed tightly. Was the man a cattle rustler? That seemed a logical conclusion, since they had become more of a plague than they ever had been in the Old West days. The more she considered the possibility the more certain she became that she was right.
He wasn't a cowboy from the neighboring ranch; she had a nodding acquaintance with most of them. In this modern day and age of trailering horses and four-wheel vehicles, it was rare that a working cowboy ever had a camp out on the range. Whatever this man's purpose was, Brandy was certain it was no good.
What kind of a position did that put her in? She had seen him. She knew he was camped here. What was more, she could identify him.
A cold finger of fear trailed down her spine as her gaze was drawn back to the knife held in the hand at his side. She could identify him if she got out of this alive, she realized with chilling terror.
"Look, I don't want to be any trouble." Her voice wavered thinly. "If you could just give me directions to the Ames house, I'll be on my way."
"You will, will you?" he returned with sardonic amusement. White teeth flashed in the dark beard growth as his upper lip curled over the words. "You could get lost again?" The glittering light in his eyes seemed to indicate that he found that possibility humorous.
But Brandy knew what he really meant. He had no intention of letting her leave. Panic started to engulf her. When the man took a step forward, she knew she had only one chance.
With a gasping cry of fear, she pivoted and raced back into the desert. Panicked, she didn't care which direction she ran, only that it was away from the fire and the man. There was no sound of pursuit, but she was making so much noise that she doubted if she could hear him chasing her.
Her blind flight carried her on a path through thickets of chaparral. Thorny bushes and cactus tore at her blouse and skin and the thick growth and uneven ground impeded her progress to a stumbling run that required more exertion to cover a small amount of ground.
Then she tripped. A startled cry was ripped from her throat as she was pitched headlong forward, hitting the ground with a force that momentarily knocked the wind out of her. Gasping for air, she rolled on to her back, unmindful of the prickly brush beneath her. Her eyes blinked open to focus on the tall man looming above her. For a full second she couldn't move.
"That was a stupid thing to do," he said in a sigh that was tinged with exasperation.
He started to bend toward her and Brandy cringed closer to the ground. "Don't touch me!" For all her inner fear, her voice rang defiantly clear.
"Shut up!" He shook his head and reached down to haul her unceremoniously to her feet.
Immediately she began twisting and kicking to be free of the iron grip of his fingers. She struggled furiously, and her boot finally connected with his shinbone.
"You little bitch!" he muttered beneath his breath. "What the hell are you trying to prove?"
With unbelievable swiftness, her wrists were captured in one hand and she was lifted off the ground, tucked beneath one arm and balanced on his hips. Her feet continued to kick the air as he carried her as effortlessly as if she had been a sack of potatoes back towards the fire.
"Let me down or I'll scream!" Brandy demanded in a throbbing voice.
"By all means, scream if you want," the man countered smoothly. "Maybe all the rattlesnakes and scorpions will come charging to your rescue."
The realization that no one would hear her cries for help only made her struggle more vigorously against the iro
n band that pinned her hands and held her easily off the ground. By the time they reached the circle of the campfire he hadn't lessened his grip one inch. There he set her roughly on her feet.
The instant he released her, she started to run back to the safety of the desert, only to be brought up short by hard fingers that dug into the soft flesh of her shoulders and pulled back against the solid wall of his chest.
"Let me go!" she hissed violently.
"Lost, huh?" he mocked harshly against her ear. "Or do you have some friends on the other side of the hill?"
"No," Brandy protested with genuine confusion, "I told you I was lost. No one's with me, I swear."
Too late she realized that she had made a mistake. If he had thought someone was waiting for her nearby, he might have been reluctant to harm her. Now he had no reason for caution.
Terror gave her a fresh surge of strength to renew her flight to escape. Using her elbows and heels, she struck out at him. At the same time, she twisted and writhed to break the bruising grip of his hands. Her breath came in panting sobs of desperation.
"I'm not going to put up with these hysterics much longer," he growled.
Somehow she managed to hook her foot behind his leg and knock him off balance. His hold lessened but he still managed to drag her to the ground with him. Before she could roll free, he was on top of her, the crushing weight of his body holding her down. With a muffled cry, Brandy tried to gouge at his glittering dark eyes with her fingernails, but they never got close to their target.
In a flash both arms were stretched out on the ground above her head, her wrists pinned by his hands. Helplessly trapped, she continued trying to twist from beneath the male length of him. He was too heavy and too strong.
"Are you going to stop this?" he snapped. "You're only proving what a little fool you are!"
She paused to catch her breath. Her head was twisted as far to the side as it could go, her eyes tightly closed. Yet she could feel the burning warmth of his breath against her cheek. Every inch of her body was a captive of the muscled power of his. Each grasping breath of air she took inhaled deeper his potent male scent until she felt suffocated by it.
"Get away from me!" The words rushed in a desperate whisper through her clenched teeth. "I don't want you to touch me!"
"No?" His low voice laughed at her silently. "I ought to make love to you. It's what a hellcat like you deserves."
Her mind cried out in alarm, although not a sound escaped her lips. She had been so afraid for her life that she hadn't even considered the possibility that he might molest her. Lashes opening, her turquoise green eyes rounded with fear as she jerked her head to plead openly for him not to harm her.
The sudden action brought her lips against his mouth, warm and firm and as motionless as her own. Paralyzed by the unexpected contact, she could only lie there beneath him, unmoving and not daring to breathe. Any second she expected to feel the brutal possession of his kiss, and the thought burned like a fire through her veins.
"Please," she whispered when nothing happened. "Please let me go. I swear, I swear I won't tell the police."
The movement of her lips against his seemed to break the spell, but Brandy didn't know which direction he was going to take. A coiled tension seemed to take charge of him as his dark eyes raked her face.
In the struggles, his hat had come off. Brandy's eyes were drawn almost unwillingly to the dark, nearly black hair that grew thickly away from his forehead, its unkemptness like the rest of his appearance. A charged second went by before he replied.
"What won't you tell the police?" There was a watchful narrowing of his dark pupils as he moved a fraction of an inch away from her mouth.
"I . . . I won't tell them I saw you," she promised shakily. "I mean . . . I didn't actually see you stealing any cattle, so that would be the truth. I promise I won't say anything about meeting you."
His mouth thinned into a smile. "So you guessed why I'm out here?"
Hesitantly she nodded, wondering if she should have said nothing about rustling cattle. Maybe it would only make him more determined that she shouldn't get away.
With unbelievable swiftness for a man so large, he rolled away from her and on to his feet in one fluid movement. He towered above her prone figure, his hands lightly balanced on his hips.
"And you promise to keep my little secret?" he questioned with a definite undertone of mocking amusement.
"If you let me go," Brandy qualified the promise hastily.
Slowly she inched into a sitting position, afraid to take her eyes off the man watching her so intently. For the first time she noticed the rips in her blouse, the white material showing dots of red blood where the thorns must have scratched as well as torn her blouse. She tried her best to make certain she was still decently covered without drawing attention to her actions.
"If . . . if you could give me directions . . ." she faltered nervously.
"Where do you live?" he interrupted.
"At the Ames house—my father is Stewart Ames. It's only about fifteen miles east of Saguarro Ranch headquarters, up on the ridge," Brandy explained as quietly as she could, as the fear slowly lessened its grip on her throat.
He stood for a minute, then shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the place. I vaguely remember that there is a house on that graveled road, but just where it is from here I couldn't tell you. And I especially couldn't give you specific enough directions for you to make it in the dark."
Brandy believed him. She didn't know why exactly, but something in his tone of voice said he was telling the truth. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the opening of her blouse together in one hand. Even standing in front of him, she still had to look up into his face.
"All I need is a general direction to take," she assured him quickly. "Once I'm in more familiar territory, I can find my own way home."
"Will your parents be looking for you?" The man refused to let her pleading blue-green eyes fall under the force of his piercing gaze.
This time she debated silently whether she should lie or tell him the truth: the truth had kept her safe thus far, she decided.
"I don't know for sure whether they are or not," she answered honestly, "they went out this evening. It all depends on whether they check to see if I'm home or not when they come back."
"In other words, they may not miss you until morning," he insisted on making her meaning clearer.
Brandy looked down at her feet. "That's right."
He seemed to consider her answer very thoroughly. "As much as I would like to be rid of you," he said finally, "I can't send you back into the desert to stumble around in the dark. Maybe you'd make it home and maybe not. With my luck, you'd fall and break a leg, then someone would backtrack you to my camp and I'd get blamed." He turned away from her toward the fire, rubbing the rough beard on his chin with his hand. "That kind of trouble I don't need!"
"But—" Brandy started to protest.
"No arguments." His hand was raised in a halting gesture. "You'll stay here for the night. Tomorrow I'll take you back.
"But I can't stay here with you." The denial was out before she could check it.
He glanced over his shoulder, a wolfish gleam appearing in his eyes. "What's the matter? Are you afraid to trust a cattle rustler?"
Brandy swallowed and clutched her blouse tighter together. "Should I trust you?" she asked with false boldness.
"The only thing we'll be sharing tonight is the warmth from this fire," he told her in no uncertain terms. "Of course, standing clear over there, you're not going to get much benefit from it."
Fear and her subsequent struggles had made Brandy impervious to the cool temperature of the desert night, but at his words, it penetrated the thin material of her blouse with shivering intensity. Suppressing a shudder, she walked to the promised warmth of the fire, keeping a couple of steps between herself and the man. Uncertain as to how far she could trust him, it was a cautious truce as she watched him with a w
ary eye.
The radiating heat from the small fire was blessedly welcome, and her lashes started to flutter down in silent gratitude when she saw the movement of the man's hand to his side. She stiffened at the sight of the leather sheath attached to the man's belt and the knife that he removed from it. Again the firelight flashed menacingly off the steel blade and the old fear came racing back.
The man didn't seem to notice the hasty step Brandy took backward. "Are you hungry?" He moved to the opposite side of the fire from her, and knelt beside some sticks that made an improvised roasting spit.
"Yes," she admitted in a low voice as she saw the cooked animal skewered by the stick. Cutting off a portion of the meat, he handed it to her. Her fingers closed gingerly around the bone that jutted out of the cooked meat. "What is it?" she asked, lowering herself to a cross-legged position beside the fire.
"Jackrabbit." He didn't glance up as he sliced off another leg. "It probably will be a little tough, but it's food."
Biting into it, Brandy discovered that the meat was a little stringy, but she was too hungry to care. The bone was nearly cleaned before a thought occurred to her.
"Did you shoot this?" she asked.
"Yes," he nodded.
"One shot?"
Her persistence brought his curious gaze to her face. "Yes. Why?"
A faint smile curved her lips. "It was a rifle shot I heard around sundown that made my horse bolt and left me out here."
"So I'm to blame after all, is that what you're saying?'' he said with challenging softness.
"No." She shook her head, honey-gold curls dancing briefly. "I was so busy watching the sunset that I didn't bother to ground-tie him. It was a foolish mistake."
"Yes," he agreed dryly.
Tearing off another chunk of rabbit meat, Brandy chewed it quietly and wished the man hadn't been so quick to agree. It wasn't as if she had been trying to blame him for driving off her horse, not even subconsciously. At least she had more right to be riding in this area of the desert than he did! He was nothing but a common thief.
