by Amber Scott
She began to think he was real. Not a vivid psychological conjuration but also living and breathing, and, outside of her fainting spells, both realms were real.
Maybe the blackouts were what she should be concerned about. What if she were blacking out, making her way from one place to wake in another— something truly, clinically mental?
If it were true, and she really felt like it made sense, then she should warn Jesse by some means. He should know that she might up and leave, putting her life and limb in danger. He should be told so he could stop her, protect her from herself.
How?
When she wasn’t even sure it was true, how was she supposed to break down such a thing?
She inhaled the scent of the woods, earthy and green, into her lungs, trying to calm down. The horses nickered to each other, and Jesse looked back at her again. God, he was gorgeous. In that aching way you read about or hear about, or see in movies. In that detached way, ever since she woke up from what must have been another fainting spell. But she hadn’t left. She hadn’t moved from the bed.
She smiled tightly. He had no idea what he’d gotten himself into with her. She didn’t, either. That didn’t change the fact that she had to tell him something, or risk his thinking the worst.
Or risk never seeing him again.
If he was real ... Well, it wasn’t that she was suddenly hoping for babies and a wedding, not necessarily in either order, but ... if he was real, there were possibilities. Undeniable possibilities.
If he was real, she’d already made an unusual first and second and, come to think of it, third, impression.
As they began to traverse the downward slope, he glanced back again. He winked. Samantha swallowed. The panic rose. She was glad for the silence, the six feet that seemed to create a barrier against conversation. Because she had no idea what to say.
Yet.
Jesse winked again, and his gaze fell past her shoulder. It stayed there. Samantha couldn’t help but follow with her own glance backward, so when her horse bounded forward, she nearly tumbled out of the saddle.
All she could do was turn back around, hold onto the saddle horn with both hands, and hang on for dear life. She skimmed past the trees, and thunder echoed. As the menacing trunk of a particularly large oak seemed to jump her way, she gave a small shriek and closed her eyes.
Jesse didn’t say a word. Not, “hold on” or “hang on” or “trust me.”
Samantha could do little more than wonder what would cause him to so abruptly take off, dragging her with him, but decided he knew what he was doing. She certainly hadn’t seen anything in the seconds she’d looked, although she was no expert.
Only trees. No wildcat. No bear. No person or thing, other than trees and patches of sky.
They reached the bottom of the hill, and Jesse dismounted. Within a breath, he helped her off her horse. Well, he pulled her to the ground, and that counted as help, didn’t it? It’s not as though she would have gotten there on her own, scared stiff as she was.
Her feet hit the ground, and the thump reverberated up her whole body. Her thighs ached a little, feeling strangely empty from straddling the horse. Jesse gripped her hand and pulled her along. Her heart beat nearly as loudly as thunder in her ears, competing with her hard breathing and the crunch of their feet on the forest floor.
He tied the mare to the stallion and swatted the stallion’s rump. As muscle bunched and released, the shiny, black coat rippled. The horses galloped away.
“What’s wrong, Jesse?” her whisper sounded strangled.
He put a finger to her lips, and the warning in his eyes shut her up. Samantha clamped her hand over her mouth and crouched a little lower, watching him level his pistol over the shrubbery and up the hill.
Sitting ducks. She felt like one of two sitting ducks, the kind you shoot at a county fair or toss a beanbag at in a kids’ pizza parlor. Her jeans pinched the backs of her knees. The points of her heels sank into earth. Not exactly dressed for danger.
She kept quiet and still, as she was told. If she was a duck, sitting, squatting, even running for her life, she’d rather be a duck with him.
He’d protected her once, and was by far the best person she could think of to do so now.
She might have peeked above their cover to see for herself what had him so suddenly protective, but she faced the opposite way. So she watched him, instead. Long moments passed, filled with long, shallow breaths and her heartbeat slowing, quieting.
She strained, listening for signs of what he’d seen following them, and approaching them. She heard nothing, and his face began to relax a bit. When he squinted and blinked, his eyes crinkled at the corners. The pupils zoomed and stilled like a camera. His gun veered an inch left, right.
He slowly lowered the pistol. The metal glinted in the sunlight. He uncocked it. The barrel clicked softly and turned, and he holstered it.
She hadn’t noticed the gun before, or the holster. He scanned the area again, but with his shoulders looser and his features less taut. Samantha didn’t dare speak, just in case. She waited for him to break the silence.
He said nothing, but he gazed into her eyes, seeming to search them. For what, she couldn’t fathom. It was almost as if he were looking for an answer from her. The only question, as far as she could see, was what was out there, what had spooked him enough to tear down the hill and hide in the bushes.
She had less of an idea than he must have. She shook her head, telling him as much. She had no clue about what he’d seen, or what they should do about it. That he had looked at her in such a strange way had her nerves bundling right back up.
Samantha drew her eyebrows together, and her fear dissolved into irritation. Jesse kept looking at her, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was accusing her of something. She had the sudden urge to get up and storm away. If she still didn’t have a thread of common sense running through her brain, along with a healthy dose of self-preservation, she might have.
One thing she knew was she had nothing to do with whatever he’d seen. How could she? She didn’t even know where she was, and couldn’t possibly have a reason to bring him any kind of harm. If she’d wanted to, she would have wrought it at his home, not as they left on horseback to some surprise he wanted to show her. Him. Not her.
She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but his gaze went to her lips, and she found herself speechless. Almost breathless. This was crazy. She was crazy. How could a single look immobilize her senses, scatter them, and pull them in so strongly and quickly?
The accusatory look left his chiseled features, and those intense eyes changed. They softened. Samantha waited for him to move, to say something. When he did, a small sense of relief filled her. He leaned in and down. Samantha closed her eyes. Her lips ached to meet his, to know that whatever breach between them had mended, or never existed at all.
His lips were warm and soft and tender. They caressed hers, sweeping over them, barely touching, as though he wanted only a taste. She wanted more than that and pressed up to him, reached for his neck, and curled her fingers into his hair.
His lips became demanding, and hers answered, unwilling to be cowed. A small ache uncurled from her belly and floated downward, changing into need at the very part of her that knew him best.
Jesse broke away, pinning her with his gaze and the accusations read clearly in them. She glared back. How dare he be mad at her kissing him back?
A rustle of leaves, a crunching sound, turned his attention to their former direction. She craned her neck to see.
Her breath caught. A small, spotted fawn, four or five yards away, flicked its ears. Its mama stood nearby, listening, watching the same way they were. Jesse leveled his gun at the pair. Samantha gripped his arm, shook her head.
He smiled at her and winked.
The breath deflated from her chest in a loud, annoyed gasp. She hated being teased like that. Well, almost hated it. In a way, she liked it, too. No one ever need know that.
Espe
cially him.
She liked that he teased her. Loved it, in fact. Love? Uh-oh.
~~~
Chapter Thirteen
As Jesse rolled out the canvas and began to prop up the corners, the fabric smacked the air. A standard military-stock tent, the former occupant a nameless, faceless soldier, dead and gone for a cause that still rankled Jesse. The war. It had left him and Ginny more than orphans. They were without any kin at all.
That was the past, and best not dwelled on. He’d done what he could to extract his vengeance and right the wrongs no one else seemed to care about. Behind him, Samantha was silent. He felt her watching his movements.
That rankled him more than the war. Disconcerted him. Dammed if she’d wriggled her way back under his skin, and now he’d arrived unprepared to see his interrogation through. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it.
By now, she must have suspected he was on to her game. Why else would she have kept so quiet and compliant? Why else would she have returned that kiss—a moment of weakness on his part that wouldn’t be repeated—so thoroughly?
The tent finished, the camp made, and the fire lit. He’d run plumb out of excuses. He turned and faced her.
“This place is beautiful,” Samantha said. “How did your horse know where to go?”
“Training.” He crossed his arms. He wouldn’t draw his gun on her just yet. He’d wait.
“Smart horses.” She laced her fingers in and out. “Jesse, we need to talk.”
He kept his brow smooth. This ought to be interesting.
Samantha looked away, toyed with the loose hem of his shirt she wore. It fit her too damn well. Like it was made to display her shoulders, her collarbone.
“I think there may be something wrong with me. Not a snakebite.” She kept her eyes down. Paused. “My father died recently.”
Jesse ignored the tug of sympathy.
“It was sudden, and we weren’t close at the time. I think it may have traumatized me more than I realized.” Her voice was smooth, even, but the words still sounded bitten off.
What was she trying to do? What could this maneuver gain her?
“I’ve had several blackouts since he died. I fall asleep one place and wake up in another. At first I thought I’d been sleepwalking, then I thought that I was having very vivid and realistic dreams.” Her eyes widened at the word realistic. “I get faint and dizzy, and to be honest, I’m having a hard time making sense of what is real ... and what is a dream.”
Jesse frowned, despite his efforts to remain impassive.
“I wasn’t even going to tell you. To be honest, I thought it might freak you out. If it does, well, then I guess it does. But if I faint again or black out or whatever I do, I think you should know what’s going on. I’m not really sure what happens when I’m out, but I’m afraid ...” She looked up, but not to meet his eyes. Her gaze landed on his chest. “I’m afraid I may hurt myself ... or someone else, unintentionally, unaware of what I’m doing ...”
She spoke each word more softly. Finally, when he didn’t reply, didn’t move or even blink, she made eye contact. What she saw in his face made her flinch, or so he surmised when she jerked her head and shoulders straighter.
At last he slowly, mockingly, began to applaud her. She looked from his clapping hands to his face, and her façade of vulnerability vanished. Anger took its place, along with something else. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was hurt.
But she’d have to be telling the truth for that to be true. Jesse dismissed evaluating what could be only the work of a talented actress.
“Why are you clapping?” she demanded, lips pursed, jaw set.
“A fine performance deserves applause.”
“Performance,” she blustered. “Performance? You think I made that up? I—I—you can’t possibly think that—”
“Save it. And your energy. You’re going to need it.” As the double meaning rang through his body, he felt the flare of heat. He ignored it. He wouldn’t be touching her again. Ever.
One moment of weakness, planned so perfectly on her part, was all she would be getting. His family’s lives depended on it.
“They won’t find us. They’d need a tracker, which they won’t get, because I’m the only one for miles qualified. Handy, that.”
“Who won’t find us?” The edge on her words dulled.
“Your employers, of course.”
“My ... employers? What are you talking about? I don’t have a real job, only a temp position when the local library has extra shifts.”
He didn’t miss the underlying condescension in her words, but he was no idiot. Jesse didn’t answer, he smirked. She was caught, and the more she talked, the closer the noose cinched around her lies.
She only bluffed further. “What employers? I haven’t had a full-time job since last spring, and that ended when I graduated. No one at the law library probably even remembers my name, let alone be looking for me.”
The lies fairly dripped from her tongue now. Perfect. The more flustered he got her, the sooner she would trip up on what looked to be a thoroughly rehearsed role.
As she gasped and put on an affronted look, her cheeks bloomed with color, and her lips flushed pinker. Really. She should have tried to be more subtle.
“Even if they do manage to find you, they won’t leave alive. I promise you that. As long as my sister and her husband are safe when we get back, I won’t turn you over to the sheriff.”
Samantha’s eyebrows shot up. Her mouth fell open. “The sheriff? Are you kidding me?” She laughed, but not out of amusement.
Jesse’s shoulders prickled. He refused to let her duplicity deceive him, to let her act enrage him. He had to keep a level, clear head.
She looked away, shook her head, and looked skyward. “Is this some sort of prank? A joke?” She looked back to Jesse. “If I didn’t know he died of a heart attack, if I hadn’t seen his body myself, I swear I’d be calling your bluff right now and waiting for my dad to come out from hiding, laughing his ass off. But he’s dead, and I may be losing my mind. However, you are definitely nuts.”
She stood up and began walking away from the camp. As he reached for his gun, she swung back around and paced toward him. She wasn’t trying to leave, but the change in her act intrigued him.
What was her angle now?
“Nuts. Out of your gourd. Off to the funny farm. Off your rocker. Crazy.” She paced and gestured like a general. “Or ... I am. Great. Perfect. Soon as I think I’ve got this thing figured out, it up and changes.”
Jesse almost smiled at the comical display. That would only lower his guard, likely what she was after.
Samantha stopped and addressed the sky. “Why, God? Why me? Why this? You give me the most gorgeous man on the planet, who also happens to drive me nuts—in a good way—” She directed the last to Jesse with a pointed glance and wave. “And now he’s nuts, too? I don’t get it.”
She dropped her arms and sat back down, her face cupped in her hands, her head shaking. Jesse frowned deeper. What was she up to? It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting her to confess, and then finding Mick and Joe and making sure they never laid a hand, or even thought of doing so, on his sister or her husband.
He decided to take another approach. He sat next to her, making certain his holstered gun rested on the other side, expecting her to grab for it. Let her believe he bought her act. Let her think he was growing complacent.
“You’re not crazy. Neither am I.”
She looked up, and it startled him to see tears shining in her eyes. “No, I am. Bonkers, loopy, totally whacked. But don’t worry. I’ll manage. I always do.”
A pang barbed his heart. He reached for her hand then pulled back. “Samantha. You don’t have to do this. Whatever they’ve promised you, I can double it.” It was a lie. He’d never pay her good money meant for widows and their children. Not her, not anyone.
*
Samantha scowled a little and peered at him. “Jesse
, no one is paying me anything. I swear to you, I have absolutely no idea who or what you are talking about.”
He stared at her for a long moment. The sincerity in her words, in her eyes, was remarkable. He wondered what kind of person it took to act out a falsehood so convincingly.
The desperate kind, he supposed. Well, desperate or not, she wasn’t going anywhere. That meant, neither was he. So, before the afternoon slipped into evening, he rose and got to cooking the dried beef and beans. Evening to night. Night. Sleep. With her tied to him if need be.
~~~
Chapter Fourteen
Her pulse still raced from the strange conversation, but she didn’t speak and didn’t move. Samantha sat and stared, watching Jesse put a kettle over the fire and begin to fill it.
His words replayed over and again in her mind. To his words, she added Carla’s, then others’, the prior memories, dreams or not. Nothing made sense. Yet something would. She could feel it.
What she’d said about her dad kept popping in and out of her head, too. It was as though she had stumbled across an important idea. It was like trying to remember what you were going to say to someone, forgotten in conversation, but important. Not life and death important, more like “Aha!” important.
Jesse moved like a wolf. He stalked. Even that first night, wherever the hell she’d been and he’d been, she’d noticed it on some level. He moved with wary, ready purpose, sure and tense and graceful at the same time.
She measured his mood, her mind hop-scotching around for conclusions, pulse calming then revving in turns. His jeans were dark and thick. Crisp. They looked even heavier and less worn than the pair she’d borrowed. Hers felt like a can of starch had been punched into the material.
Hop. Turn. Jump.
His shirt was nondescript, buttoning up the front but not at the cuffs. White more a wheat or cream. The tent looked old, used, not ... not ... What was the word exactly?
Modern.
Outhouse. Sheriff.
