In slow motion the events of that day tore at her insides. As she told Ethan of the ordeal it shamed her that she hadn’t fought back. Anna had always prided herself on being a bright woman and she couldn’t believe how long it had taken her to realize she’d been lured to the theater by a madman. The Colt in her side had told her as much.
“Mon cher, all ya have to do is follow orders,” Gator Graves said in a gruff voice, fringed with his heavy Cajun accent. “I jest need ya to do a job and no harm will come to ya, cher.”
She challenged him by reminding him that she wasn’t his dear anything, which made him even madder, so he threatened that if she didn’t shut up and do what she was told, he’d shoot her right then and there.
The loathsome piece of hogwash demanded that she escort him to her father’s bank. It soon became crystal clear to her that she was about to step right into the midst of a bank heist . . . of her family’s bank!
And that being the case, it wasn’t going to happen—not if she had anything to do with it. Her father, as did his father before him, worked endlessly to make certain the town’s largest and most fiscally sound bank was successful. Through the war. Through reconstruction. Through a fire. They’d never been robbed or even, to her knowledge, threatened. She’d lay her life on the line to see that it didn’t happen now. Not as long as she had a breath left in her.
Belligerently, she placed her hands on her hips, while her handbag precariously dangled in the crook of her elbow. “Give me one reason I should help you.”
His hot, sour breath slid down her neck as he hissed, “So, ya wanna reason, girl?”
Suddenly, the stage lights came up and illuminated the blackened room. The brilliance blinded her, hurting her eyes. Savannah was so surprised that she whirled toward the stage without giving thought to the fact that her sudden movement could have resulted in a bullet in her back.
At first she couldn’t make out the figure sitting center stage in a ladder-back chair, only that the shadow was of a rather slim person. She blinked but it didn’t clear her blurry vision. She closed her eyes tightly, then opened them slowly and focused intently on the figure.
Her chest constricted; bile clamored up into her throat.
She saw clear enough to recognize her fourteen-year-old brother, Charles Parker, sitting in the middle of the stage restrained by ropes. A terrified expression curtained his face.
Swallowing was impossible, and her heart pounded in her ears. Shaking, she closed her eyes again, hoping the light had made the young man only look like her only sibling. It didn’t help.
Then she spied a short, squatty man sporting a duster so long that no doubt he had to be careful not to trip over the hem, and a black hat pulled low over his face. He stepped closer to the prisoner, leveling a shotgun at her brother’s head.
Anna whispered under her breath, “Stay calm, Anna. Stay calm.”
Typically she tried to think things through several times, evaluate the situation and decide what the best course of action might be. But she didn’t have that luxury. She needed to act fast to save her brother. These men wanted to make sure she cooperated and seemingly knew they held captive a person she would fearlessly protect at all costs.
Her heart pounded so hard that she figured the Cajun could hear its beat. A proper Southern lady would never use such a vulgar word as sweat to describe perspiration, but Anna had to admit, at the moment, she was sweating bullets.
She took a long look at the stage and softly asked, “Why my brother?”
“Security, mon cher, to make sure ya do exactly what ya’re told, so nobody will get hurt.”
She nodded an understanding. “Then you’ll let him go?”
He shoved the gun deeper in her side. “Ye got my word.”
A sense of calm came over her, although she knew better than to trust the crook. Anna lifted her head and said, “Just how do you foresee the robbery taking place, Mr. Graves?”
“Everyone has their job, and I’m here to guarantee that ye little brother Charlie there won’t tell ’um anything.”
As quickly as the stage came to full light, it went pitch dark, and in a flash of a firefly’s flutter, the lights shone on Anna, blinding her.
“He’ll say nothing because he now knows you are my hostage and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you, mon cher.”
From that moment on, Savannah had known that if she wanted her family safe she had to cooperate.
Anna now looked across the table at Ethan. Her throat felt parched and she was worn out, although she’d given Ethan only a glimpse of how she’d become involved with the gang.
Taking a sip of cold coffee, she continued to study Ethan.
“So, you see, I didn’t do it because I wanted to be daring or do something exciting. I didn’t even want to rebel. I did it to protect my family.”
Anna wanted to scream at Ethan to say something—anything—just let her know what he was thinking. She continued, “They kept me under their control and forced me to take part in their bank robberies by reminding me how close they could get to my family.”
She never took her gaze off Ethan.
If the expression on his face now was an indicator, he understood the position she had been put in and why she did what she did. But would he still be as sympathetic once he heard the rest of the story?
After an insufferable silence, Ethan asked the question she feared the most. “So, how does Dakota figure into the picture?”
Icy panic twisted around her heart. She forced herself to take a deep breath. “I met him in Amarillo when I went into town to pick up supplies.” Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin, then boldly said, “He didn’t have any place to live, so I brought him back to the dugout.”
“And forgot to take him back?” Ethan asked.
“It wasn’t like I kidnapped him. He needed a place to live. I had plenty of room for him here.”
Anna wanted to run out of the house. Run in the rain. Yet she knew she couldn’t run far enough away to escape the lies that would eventually catch up with her.
Chapter 7
Ethan felt like he’d taken a blow to the gut, realizing how difficult it had been for Anna to relive her nightmare. But something inside his heart warned him that she was trying to cover up fears that went much deeper than a gun stuck in her side or a rampage of bank heists or even taking in a homeless young man.
The lantern burned lower. Light flickered across her face, settling on the adobe walls of the dugout.
More questions were left unanswered than answered. A big one stuck in his craw. Why hadn’t she asked what had happened to Gator Graves and Shorty Duncan? It was as though she already knew, but did she? The outlaws were apprehended after she escaped, so most likely she had no idea they were not still dodging the law. And if she didn’t know about them, was she aware of Arlis Buckley’s death?
With the flooding and no horses, they wouldn’t be getting out of the Palo Duro for several days, so there was no reason to hurry her up.
Ethan had spent enough years watching over his own shoulders and knew from experience what she’d been going through. Maybe it would help if she knew the rest of the gang was no longer a threat to her, or anyone else, for that matter. That should relieve the strain heaped upon her from worrying about what would happen if they caught up with her. He needed her to be focused and honest with him.
He truly wanted to lead into telling her about the rest of the gang in some sort of sensitive, gentle way. Ethan hadn’t been nominated for any kind of do-gooder award and probably wouldn’t now. He began the only way he knew how, most likely too brash, but straight to the point.
“Graves and Duncan are down in the Menardville jail and have pretty much spilled their guts, blaming one another. Even pooled together, they don’t have enough brains to take a pistol apart and clean it properly. And Arlis Buckley is—”
“Dead,” she said bluntly yet with deceptive calmness.
Anna’s eagerness to fill in the blan
k made it clear she didn’t just make a wild guess. Buckley’s demise wouldn’t be something that the law way up in the Panhandle would know or give a rusty rat’s ass about either. She had to have been in their clutches when he was killed; otherwise, she wouldn’t have known he was dead. But then, as far as he knew, little was known about how Buckley died.
Softly Ethan swore to himself for his unwelcome frankness. Enough for tonight. No more questions, he pledged, then simply confirmed, “He’s six feet under.”
“You’re positive they’re still locked up and you’ve seen proof that Arlis is dead?” She paled, then began chewing on her lower lip.
He nodded. “Your family is safe, Anna.”
Anna let out a noticeable sigh of relief. Although a little color returned to her cheeks, she continued to bite on her lip. “Do you want some more coffee?” She spoke softly.
“No, thank you. I’m going to go outside and see if the water in the creek has receded much. Wanna go?” Ethan asked, not expecting her to accept. “A little fresh air will be good for you.”
Thoughtfully, Anna rubbed her neck and jaw before answering, “It might.” She grabbed up a knitted shawl.
Ethan helped her wrap it around her shoulders, and they proceeded out the door.
To their dismay the water neared the entrance to the dugout. They looked at one another in surprise. Down the hill a ways, the lean-to looked like a big hunk of wood floating in the middle of a playa lake.
“This is the third water crossing, so if this branch of the creek is this full, the other two are just as bad,” she said.
Lightning sparked in the west. Another storm was gathering steam to pounce upon the rain-saturated earth.
“I guess you were right. The kid knew what he was doing when he took the horses to higher ground,” Ethan said, hating to admit he was wrong about Dakota. “Are you sure he’s okay?”
“He’s tough, intuitive, and knows how to live off the land.” She pulled the wrap around her tighter. “He’s probably been enjoying roasted prairie chicken in the cave he likes to hide out in.”
“You know where he goes, then?” Since Dakota was just a kid, Ethan didn’t like the idea of leaving him to survive on his own in the wilderness and didn’t mind letting Anna know how he felt either. “I’m still not sure about him being out there by himself.”
“Don’t worry. Dakota looks much younger than he is.”
“How old is he, then?”
“Uh . . .” She hesitated before answering, “I’m not certain, probably eighteen, nineteen. I’m not sure he knows himself.”
Ethan raised a questioning eyebrow. “Is Dakota his first or last name?”
“A nickname. I was told his mama gave birth to him up in the Dakotas and that’s how he got it.”
“Sure glad she didn’t live in Virginia when he was born,” Ethan remarked, trying to take her mind off the flooding. Very much more rain and the dugout could be under water.
Anna smiled meekly, hopefully a sign she appreciated his failed attempt at humor.
“Looks like there’s nothing we can do, so let’s go to bed,” she said.
“Is that an invitation, Savannah?” He winked, trying to let her know he was kidding . . . or was he?
“When bulls fly, Dimples.” She glared at him, then said, “But knowing you, you could probably convince a bull to try.”
She flounced back into the house, and before Ethan cleared the threshold he was hit with a quilt and a pillow that made him think there was a chicken out there somewhere with more feathers than she deserved.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” Ethan laughed, knowing he was riling her up big-time.
“It means pull up a corner of the floor and make yourself at home or swim out to the lean-to, whichever you prefer.” She yanked the curtain closed, separating him from where she stood next to the bed. “Good night, Mr. Kimble.”
A few minutes later, Anna finished changing into a thread-bare gown, long ago missing four tiny pearl buttons that held it together. She combed her hair, without hearing so much as a peep from the man on the other side of the curtain.
Why in the world would he even tease about something as delicate as sharing a bed? He’d destroyed that possibility six years ago when he’d walked away from her without so much as a good-bye to become a Texas Ranger.
She cursed lightly to herself because she didn’t think to bring the candleholder over to her side, so it remained on the table, illuminating Ethan.
From his silhouette, he appeared to be nonchalantly drinking coffee as he sat at the table. It was as if he were waiting for sunrise to announce the beginning of a new day.
Crawling into bed, Anna pulled the quilt up to her chin and wiggled her bottom around a couple of times until she got situated on the thin, worn-out mattress.
“Good night, Savannah,” Ethan said in a rich, virile voice that could easily unlock her heart and soul.
“Sleep tight, Dimples.” She smiled, remembering how his nickname had comforted her and given her quiet strength. Anna closed her eyes. With thoughts of the strapping lawman nearby to protect her, no doubt she’d rest better than she had in a very long time.
But sleep evaded her. She tried unsuccessfully to keep her eyes closed, but Ethan’s every move enchanted her and she found herself watching him through the tissue-thin curtain.
He put his cup in the dishpan before spreading the quilt on the floor exactly in the place where Dakota typically played his game. That amused Anna a little bit.
Ethan leisurely began to remove his clothes, almost as if he knew she was watching. He tossed his shirt on the back of a kitchen chair and stretched, letting out a deep yawn, probably to aggravate her. “Sure is hot in here,” he said.
She flipped over to face the wall without replying, closed her eyes again to remind her that she needed sleep whether Ethan did or not.
“About as hot as a branding iron on a bull’s butt.” He chuckled. “If the cowpokes weren’t holdin’ him down, he’d probably try to fly.”
Ethan Kimble, you will not get to me, she reminded herself over and over.
Soft rain began to fall again, which typically would lull her into sweet dreams, but not tonight.
One at a time his boots hit the hard dirt floor with a firm thud.
Turning back on her side, Anna watched as Ethan unbuckled his gun belt and hung it over the chair, along with his pants. With the exception of a pair of sit-down-upons that fit him like a second skin, he was totally naked.
Refusing to watch any more of Ethan’s shenanigans, which she had little doubt were for her benefit, she rolled to her back and focused on the wall where a single nail was precariously holding up one end of the rickety clothesline. The curtain seemed to bow lower by the minute.
Dern it, why hadn’t she gone ahead and repaired the hole when she had noticed the moisture collecting earlier in the day?
The room did feel humid, exceptionally hot and somewhat stifling, but she wondered how much was due to the weather and how much was due to her own body heat rising from thinking about Ethan nearly naked in the same room as her.
Sagging even lower, the curtain caught Anna’s eye again. Something had to be done or the clothesline would definitely fall down, exposing her to the lusty, two-fisted lawman.
As quiet as a whispering pine, she threw back her covers and eased a nearby ladder-back chair under the wobbly line. With the intention of pushing the nail back into the wall, she stretched as far as she possibly could and tried to reach the stubborn thing. She couldn’t quite get to it, so why not use the chair for the purpose its name implied—a ladder?
The rickety chair groaned with rebellion about the time she stepped back down, realizing the rungs weren’t sturdy enough to hold her weight.
Without warning, the cane bottom gave way, setting the whole dang thing in motion, tilting on one leg, then another until it could no longer stay balanced. She grabbed for the first thing she could find, pulling hard on a fistful of
fabric. The curtain snarled around her legs causing her feet to slip out from under her.
In one fluid motion, the nail tore free, causing the line to snap and sending material whipping across her face and obscuring her sight. Twisting one way and then the other, she fought being trapped in the fabric, eventually sending her head over teakettle toward the floor . . . right into Ethan’s arms.
One moment Ethan had been thinking about hitting the hay, and the next thing he knew, his arms were full of a sassy redhead. He didn’t even have time to realize what a pickle she’d gotten herself into before she landed right in his lap.
Every inch of her soft, sensuous body melted onto him like freshly churned butter on a hot day. She wiggled and heaved upward trying to get untangled.
As much as Ethan enjoyed her exquisite body against his, he tried to grab one edge of the curtain to pull it over her head and hopefully release her. In the process, he not only gathered the thread-bare fabric with one hand but managed to snag the hem of Anna’s gown. He eased the edge upward toward her waist, not knowing what weighted it down.
Suddenly he touched silky smooth skin, as luscious as velvet. The scoundrel in him kept his hand on her shapely thigh before letting his fingers wander upward a bit. The second he realized he’d explored a little higher than he knew he should have, Ethan jerked the cloth over her hips and rolled over, straddling her.
Anna managed to free one hand and slapped at him, keeping Ethan moving until he got off her.
Although he enjoyed the feel of her smooth skin against him, her hot breath, and the signals her body sent to his as she tumbled and twirled, he resisted taking advantage of the situation, but barely.
Muffled, she continued to jerk and curl, tightening the fabric with each turn, entrapping herself like a mummy.
“Hold still, Savannah,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “You’re only making things worse by moving so much.”
Loud mumbling came from beneath the swaddling. He couldn’t make out the words and didn’t waste time trying to either. Even though her tone was muffled he didn’t miss the string of silken threats coming from her mouth. He heard at least one hellfire and brimstone and another couple of not so ladylike words he didn’t think she even knew.
Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy Page 19
