Montana Wildfire

by Rebecca Sinclair

  She sighed in resignation. "All right, Mr. Chandler," she said slowly, cautiously, "I'm listening. What do you want?" Glancing to the side, she saw a sly grin curl over his lips. His steely gaze darkened with innuendo. Her stomach sank. She sucked in a shaky breath and quickly looked back out over the water. "What I mean is, what do you want to talk to me about?"

  Jake plucked a long stalk of grass from the ground. He took his time clamping it between his teeth, rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue, knowing he was prolonging her agony.

  The grass tasted crisp and sweet. His gaze settled on Amanda Lennox's lips, and he wondered if her mouth would taste as good. He knew it would. Her lips would be soft and honey-sweet, her gasps of surrender hot and airy. The inside of her mouth would be warm and moist and tasty; a flavor that was to die for. Jake could already feel a sliver of his soul die with the need to prove the theory.

  His voice turned gruff. "Did I say I wanted to talk?"

  "Yes, you—" Amanda's mouth snapped closed. No, now that he mentioned it, he'd said he wanted to "settle" something between them. He'd never said he wanted to do it verbally. She'd simply assumed...

  Amanda detoured her thoughts onto a safer path. She concentrated on the ankle that was throbbing mightily, on the pounding in her temples that refused to dull. She was exhausted, every muscle in her body ached. The nearly empty pan she clutched tightly in her fist reminded her of her previous goal: a hot sponge bath and a good night's sleep. She did not want to sit here exchanging riddles with this man all night. Perhaps a determined glare would make him explain himself more clearly?

  It didn't. Instead, Jake cushioned his elbows atop the shelf of his rock-solid thighs and leaned slightly toward her.

  Amanda did not notice the way his shoulder muscles flexed with the movement. Nor did she see the stretch of smooth copper skin hugging his chest, arms, and taut, taut belly. It took effort, but she ignored the sinewy thighs on which his upper body weight was balanced. Of course she did. A properly bred young lady like herself would never notice such things.

  She tore her gaze from him, but her attention wasn't allowed to waver long. The crook of his index finger hooked beneath her chin, and dragged it right back.

  Jake turned his head and spit out the stalk of grass. His gaze never left her huge green eyes. "You've got two choices, princess. Either we get this over with, end the suspense here and now, or I'll be gone come morning. Without you."

  "Are you threatening me? Might I remind you, sir, that I'm paying you very good money for your—er—services."

  "Go ahead. Then I'll remind you that I don't have any of that 'good money' warming my pocket yet, do I?" He leaned forward. Just another inch. Just enough to put his chest into searing contact with her shoulder. "Know what I think?" She shook her head. "I think there's a reason for that. In fact, I'm starting to think that maybe you don't have any money to pay me with."

  "I do!"

  His grip on her chin turned inward. His hot palm scorched her neck. His fingers didn't tighten around the base of her throat, but Amanda had the uneasy feeling that was only because he was leashing the impulse.

  "Prove it. Show me the money."

  "I can't," she snapped, her mind churning. "Don't look at me like that. I wasn't about to carry a bulky saddlebag down to the river with me. I had enough trouble getting here myself as it was. I assure you, Mr. Chandler, the money is safe."

  Oh, God, what was she saying? There was money in her saddlebag, but not much. Only enough to get to Pony. There would be more once Roger was found and returned to his father, of course. A lot more. Mentally she'd already set aside a large chunk of her salary to pay Jake. Unfortunately, if she admitted that to him, she would also have to explain why she didn't have the money she claimed to have in her possession. He would want to know why she was getting money from Edward Bannister, and somewhere in there, she would have to tell him who Roger was.

  Amanda was still convinced that was a bad idea. Her earlier assessment of this man stood firm. Jake was arrogant, dangerous, and highly untrustworthy. Until he proved otherwise, lying seemed a lesser risk than telling him the truth.

  While that was all well and good, it didn't tell her how to prevent Jake from deserting her. She'd been lost before they'd joined forces. Without him, she'd be lost again come dawn. She was clever, but her skills were domestic, not the sort needed to survive in the wilderness alone. Since she was unable to find Roger without help, and since Jake was the only help available, it stood to reason she couldn't, under any circumstances, let him desert her.

  Jake dropped his hand from her neck. He uncoiled his lanky frame and straightened. The restraining hand Amanda wrapped around his wrist stopped him when he would have walked away.

  The tendons beneath her fingertips pulled taut. She might have been able to deal with that, had it been all she felt. It wasn't. A jolt of awareness shot up her arm. Her blood seared with the heat of it. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice unaccountably husky. Had she just felt him shiver?

  "To ransack your saddlebag. Where else?"

  "But we aren't done here."

  Jake glanced down, his expression guarded. "We're not?"

  "No. You said there was something you want settled between us. Or were you referring to the money? If so..." She paused. "Excuse my bluntness, Mr. Chandler, but exactly how did you plan to settle the question of the money's existence without talking about it?"

  Jake's gaze narrowed, dipped, dragged over her lips. His mouth went dry, his throat tight. "I planned to ask you about that after..."

  "What?" she pressed. "After what?" Amanda wasn't sure she wanted an answer. She'd asked the question only to stall for time, hoping he would forget about the money entirely. The way his gaze darkened, stroking lustily over her mouth, suggested her plan had worked. Perhaps a bit too well.

  Jake knew that the smart thing to do right now would be to turn his back and walk away. And to keep walking. To hell with the money. Even if she did have it, he didn't need it that badly. What he did need—so badly he ached!—was something he could never get from a prissy white lady like Amanda Lennox.

  He didn't leave.

  Instead, Jake stood rooted to the spot, his gaze caressing her face. He recognized that as a mistake the instant he saw the tip of her tongue dart out to moisten suddenly parched lips. Again, he wondered how she would taste. Smooth and sweet, like whiskey and honey. It was an odd combination to be sure, but an appropriate one. A damn tempting one. His tongue made a frustrated sweep over the back of his teeth. Hell, he could taste her already. His gut kicked. The air rushed from his lungs, and all thoughts of walking anywhere melted clean away.

  Dammit! Before he committed himself to stay with her for longer than tonight, they really did have something to settle between them. Something that did not involve talking. Something that had been eating at him—and, he suspected, eating at her—all day. Something hot. Something inevitable. Something that damn well couldn't wait.

  He glanced down, and saw that her fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. His pulse drummed a savage beat against her thumb. Her hand looked pale, the fingers long and slender as they rested against the native darkness of his arm. That sight—flawless white against dark copper—should have been enough to break the spell. And it might have been, had he not felt a tremor skate through her fingers... and a reciprocal vibration shimmy like a bolt of fire up his arm.

  It was all the invitation Jake needed; all the invitation he required. He grabbed her wrist, and tugged her to her feet. His arm snaked around her waist, catching her close when she stumbled against him. Her cheeks went ghost-white. Jake heard her gasp, saw her wince. Only then did he remember her injured ankle.

  Indulging in sympathy wasn't one of Jake Chandler's virtues. In fact, he didn't recognize or acknowledge the emotion, even when it sluiced through him. Cursing under his breath, he bent at the waist, scooped her up in his arms, and strutted back toward their camp.

/>   The pan dropped from Amanda's abruptly slack fingers. It clinked against the side of a rock, but Jake didn't bother to stop and retrieve it. He'd fetch it later, when he came back for his things. Right now, he had more important matters to attend to.

  Chapter 5

  I insist you put me down." Amanda was striving for a tone that sounded neutral but demanding. Rational would have been nice; pity she couldn't manage it . The last thing she wanted was for Jake to know how his strong arms cradling her—his warm, bare flesh touching her—made her feel.

  "Insist all you want, princess. Won't do you any good."

  "And if I were to tell you I can walk?"

  She felt his shrug. "I'd say that's just dandy. Walk all you want... tomorrow. Tonight, you stay off that ankle."

  Amanda gritted her teeth. Lord, the man was stubborn! How did he think she'd gotten down to the river in the first place? Hired coach? "You aren't going to put me down, are you?"

  "What do you think?" he asked, and kept right on walking.

  And that, Amanda decided, was exactly the problem. She couldn't think when Jake touched her. And when he held her close, as he was doing now... well, she didn't want to think, she wanted only to feel. Strange, new, and exciting sensations spiraled through her. Was it possible to feel hot and cold at the same time? It must be, because that was how she felt. Warm and tingly, insanely alive and yet... just as cold and insanely empty. Yes, that was it. She felt empty.

  Amanda scowled. Was she, Amanda Louise Van Simmons Lennox, feeling lonely? No, it couldn't be! Or could it? She didn't know, and her confusion served only to confuse her still more.

  Sinking into a pensive silence, Amanda tried to ignore how wonderful Jake's arms felt as he cradled her to his chest. She tried to ignore the way his clean, earthy scent lent a sensuous tang to the brisk night air. Tried, and failed. The man wasn't easily ignored. Even harder to ignore was the way mere thoughts of him created that odd, empty ache inside her... and the way mere thoughts of him also served to semi-smooth that ache away.

  The walk down to the river hadn't seemed long. The trip back took forever. That might have been because, somewhere between when Jake had picked her up, and when they neared the clearing, Amanda's once rigid body had begun to melt into him. It wasn't a conscious thing. She didn't relax all at once, but rather, muscle by weary muscle gradually uncoiled and loosened.

  By the time she heard the whicker of their tethered horses, she'd relaxed considerably. Her hands were no longer clenched in her lap, but had at some point inched up the smooth, warm expanse of Jake's chest. Her arms were now wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangled in fistfuls of his silky black hair. Keeping space between them had proved too taxing an effort; she'd quickly found she had no energy for it. Her cheek was cushioned against his shoulder. The sculpted firmness of him felt good and natural, as if that part of him had been carved just for her. The fit was warm and perfect.

  Jake stepped into the moonswept clearing where they'd set up camp. No, make that where he'd presumed a camp should be. From the look of things, Amanda Lennox hadn't lifted one perfectly manicured finger the entire time he'd been gone. The wood was still scattered dead center of the small, oval expanse of grass—exactly where he'd left it. No fire had been lit.

  The second he made the observation, Jake wondered why he'd bothered. The woman snuggled so nicely in his arms was, after all, a pampered white princess. She wouldn't have the skill to get a fire started, even if she possessed the knowledge to do it. How she'd managed to stay alive out here this long was beyond him. Luck, most likely, and a lot of it.

  He bent and deposited her roughly atop the hard-packed earth, his patience frayed. "Thought I told you to light a fire?"

  "I was out of matches," Amanda sniffed. Ignoring him as best she could, she lifted her skirt to inspect her ankle. The discolored swelling was no worse, nor was it better. The whole area still hurt mightily. She flicked the skirt back into place, and glared up at him. "Don't look at me like that. I did try, but it wouldn't catch. I think the wood you collected is damp."

  "Like hell." Jake swaggered over to the pile and lifted a knobby stick. Holding it at waist level, he snapped it neatly in two. The sound of wood splintering made Amanda's spine go rigid. She watched as a few brittle chunks of bark rained to the ground, peppering the toes of Jake's bare feet.

  "All right, so maybe that one was dry," she conceded grudgingly, and glanced away. "But the rest were—"

  Another stick snapped. Another. The night echoed with the sound of dry wood cracking.

  Amanda's eyes narrowed. Slowly, her gaze swept back to Jake. He looked quite pleased with himself, she noticed—and in the same instant thought she would gladly slap that condescending glare right off of his handsome face, were he within easy reach. As luck would have it, he was not.

  "Do you want me to try again?" Her tone was as sweet as her smile. Only the way she pushed each word through clenched teeth suggested her irritation with this man.

  Jake crossed his arms over his chest. One corner of his mouth quirked up, and a dark brow cocked high. His steely gaze sparkled with a challenging light that was enhanced by the play of moonlight and shadow.

  Amanda's heartbeat kicked into double time. The small act of a smile—a genuine one this time—transformed his features from merely attractive to breathtakingly good-looking. Maybe it had something to do with the way his white teeth flashed against the rich copper of his face? Whatever the reason, she was learning to appreciate his rare, fleeting smiles.

  Jake's right hand came away from the corded forearm it was pillowed atop. With an open palm, he indicated the wood. "Yeah, I think I would like that. I've always wondered how a society princess lights a fire."

  Her lips thinned. "Is that a fact? Funny, I've always wondered how an Indian does it."

  An angry glint turned the color of his eyes from silver to midnight grey. The muscle in his cheek throbbed. "All right, Miss Lennox, let me put this in terms you'll understand. I'll use small words... it'll be easier for you to follow. I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm tired." He counted each complaint off on his fingers, his gaze never leaving her. His eyes were bright with the innuendo that threaded his voice with husky promise. "If you don't get off that cute little butt of yours and get a fire started soon, I'm going to be forced to find some other way to keep myself warm tonight. If that happens, I give you my word... come morning there'll be one less white lady wondering how this Indian does anything."

  He was dead serious. Amanda decided it would be in her best interest to give lighting the fire another try. Not wanting to put unnecessary weight on her ankle, she used her hands and good leg to push herself over the few feet of grass separating her from the wood. She kept her shoulders squared and her spine straight and proud, although she had to admit that hauling herself clumsily over the ground the way she was doing made it difficult to appear ladylike.

  Her fingers, she was pleased to note, didn't tremble too much when she selected the two sticks she'd used earlier. One piece already had the proper-sized hole gouged in the center; she laid that one flat on the ground. Inserting the tip of the thinner, longer stick into the hole, Amanda flattened her palms on either side of it. Her skin was chafed from her previous attempt to get the fire started. She had tried, dammit! She disregarded the sting of bark against her tender flesh—at least she tried to disregard it, but it made her movements awkward.

  She paused long enough to suck in a steadying breath, then began rubbing the stick back and forth. Her motions were self-conscious and stiff. The stick flipped from her fingers more times than not, but she doggedly snatched it back and tried again. She would get this fire started or she would die trying!

  Amanda was vaguely aware of when Jake swaggered to the opposite side of the pile. He hunkered down in the ankle-high grass, and although she could feel his gaze smolder over her, she was too busy—mentally commanding the sticks to combust in a fiery display that would knock a certain conceited half-breed on his ear—to pay
him much attention.

  Until he laughed.

  His rich, deep, oddly pleasant laughter cut through the night and sliced through Amanda like a knife. The sound won her undivided—not to mention furious-attention. Her hands paused in mid-rub. Her gaze snapped up. The crease furrowing her brow was a good indication of her fury. "You think this is funny?" she demanded.

  Jake nodded. It took effort to trap his laughter in his throat. The amusement in his eyes didn't fade a bit. "Yeah, princess, I think it's hilarious. Don't you?"

  Her gaze flared with indignation. "I most certainly do not. For your information, Mr. Chandler, I happen to be trying my best to get this fire started."

  "Is that a fact? Well, for your information, Miss Lennox, you'll never do it the way you're going about it." His attention plunged to the stick she sandwiched between her stinging palms. "Want some help?"

  "If it wouldn't put too much of a strain on you."

  "Okay, listen up." His gaze volleyed between her eyes and the stick. "Think of it as..."

  One golden brow slanted curiously high. Now what, Amanda wondered, had doused his laughter so quickly? And why did his expression suddenly look tight and strained? The muscle in his jaw had stopped ticking. Why? What sordid thought had crossed his mind? Whatever it was, it must have been a good one to have that sobering an effect on a man that nothing seemed to bother.

  "What, Mr. Chandler? Think of it as... what?"

  His gaze shifted, grazing the swell of her breasts before lifting. The corners of his mouth kicked up in a wicked grin as their gazes meshed. "Think of it as like... making love," he said slowly, suggestively. He heard her gasp, but ignored it. "You've got to rub the stick harder. Faster. Get enough friction going to make a spark. Then you've got to... Well, hell, princess, let me show you."

  Amanda squirmed. Her heart fluttered when she saw Jake push to his feet. He sauntered around the pile of wood, and only once he'd breached the barrier did she realize it had made a wall between them. She felt his heat seep into her back and hips before she actually felt him—in all the same places. Was it possible to breathe when one found oneself in a situation like this? Apparently not. At least she couldn't!