Montana Wildfire

by Rebecca Sinclair

  Cautiously, Fat Cal's hand inched toward his pants pocket. He made it only halfway before Jake's words stopped him cold.

  "The woman's mine. She can't be bought."

  The swamp-green eyes widened. "Yours?"

  "Mine," Jake growled, angling his head until their noses almost touched. Fat Cal's breaths rushed past his parted lips, blasting over Jake; the feel was hot, the smell stomach-rolling sour. "And make no mistake, I protect what's mine."

  "I... well, yeah, I can see that ya do, b-but—"

  Jake found that yanking Fat Cal away from the wall by his collar, then slamming him back against it hard, shut him up fast. "Damn straight I do. Want to know something else, Cal?"

  "N-no." If he hadn't been trembling before, the furious glint in the steely eyes glaring at him, and the steady, capable fist curled around that knife, would have set Fat Cal shaking in his boots.

  "I swear," Jake said, his tone low and edgy, "I'll kill any man who lays so much as his rancid breath on my woman. You dare touch her, you dare to so much as look at her again, and I'll kill you. Very slowly, very painfully. Do you understand me, Cal? Do you?"

  "Y-yes. Oh, God, yes!"

  "Good. Now, get the hell out of here." With a shove, Jake sent Fat Cal stumbling clumsily down the hall. The man's tattered boots collided with his friend's prone body, but that didn't stop the fat man from hurrying toward the stairwell.

  Jake plowed his hand through his hair and watched the man's meaty back disappear around the corner. Then he turned, his gaze fixing on the door. Or, more accurately, on the woman who stood framed in it. He was just in time to see Amanda tuck the pistol into the pocket of her skirt.

  He'd sensed her presence there for a while now. In fact, Amanda Lennox was the only reason he'd spared Fat Cal's life. He would rather have killed the slimy bastard, but he didn't want Amanda to see him kill a man. He didn't want her to think any worse of him than she all ready did. And he didn't want to know why that was so.

  His gaze slid upward, locking with shock-widened green. Her cheeks were pasty. Her lower lip trembled. So did the arms she'd wrapped tightly around her waist.

  "Jake?"

  "Don't say it," he sneered, slashing the hand wielding the knife through dead air. "Just... Jesus, lady, don't say it."

  "But—"

  With jerky motions, Jake wiped the blade down his thigh. A thread of blood marred the denim when he returned the knife to its sheath. His gaze was trained on the unconscious Thin Billy. "Pack your gear. We're leaving Junction. Now. Tonight."

  He expected a fight, yet he wasn't entirely surprised when Amanda turned and walked back into the room. He heard the shuffling sounds of her doing what he'd ordered her to do.

  What Jake hadn't expected, hadn't prepared for, was the after-shock of vibrations now shivering through his body. Fury had burned away all residue of the bourbon. His mind was working now, and it was working overtime. He was capable of thinking only one thought, and he thought it over and over. Like a chant he didn't know how to stop, he thought, My woman... my woman... my woman.

  The hell of it was, that was exactly what Amanda Lennox was. His. Jake may have been able to deny it before, but he couldn't deny it any longer. Whether Amanda realized it or not, whether she wanted it or not, she was his. Body and soul.

  And Jacob Blackhawk Chandler kept what was his, even if he had to pay for it with his life.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Amanda bending over her saddlebag, stuffing something inside of it. Yeah, Jake thought, it just might kill him to keep her by his side. But it was a price he was seriously considering paying.

  Chapter 18

  Jake's words echoed in Amanda's mind as she crammed her belongings into the saddlebag. There wasn't much to pack. If she'd been in the mood to reflect, she would have thought it sad that a woman who'd once had so much, now had so little.

  My woman...

  Amanda drew in a shaky breath as she rolled up her only other dress and shoved it into the saddlebag. Had Jake meant to say that, she wondered, or had they been meaningless words, said to scare off her would-be attackers? Did he even realize what he'd called her, or that she'd heard him? Did he know how very much hearing those words on his lips had meant to her? How deeply it had affected her? Even now her reaction was staggering.

  She'd placed the gun atop the bed. It wasn't until she reached for it that something else occurred to Amanda. Something every bit as shocking. Something even more alarming.

  The butt of the gun felt cool in her hand, hard and deadly. Knowing that there were five fresh bullets inside made her handle it with extra care. She lifted the pistol slowly, letting it lay on her open palm, her gaze riveted on the blue-cast barrel.

  Stunned, her heart racing madly, she thought, I would have killed for him. If it had come down to it, I wouldn't have hesitated. I would have killed for him!

  Her hand trembled as the impact of that realization hit her. Her fingers curled around the gun before it could tumble onto the bed. She felt Jake's gaze on her, and her spine stiffened. Slowly, her head came around.

  He was standing in the doorway, his left shoulder leaning negligently against the frame. His arms were laced over his chest, his ankles were crossed. His lazy stance in no way suggested he was a man who had just come dangerously close to ending two lives.

  The orange lamplight danced off his head, making his long, sleek hair glisten a rich shade of blue-black. Shadows played over his face, sculpting the hollows beneath his cheeks, making the already hard line of his jaw look even harder.

  Their gazes met and held. Neither spoke, yet volumes of unspoken words hovered in the air between them.

  Amanda was the first to glance away. She looked down at the gun. Then, with trembling fingers, she tucked it into her saddlebag.

  And that was when it hit her.

  Her saddlebag!

  It had been lying in the corner of Little Bear and Gail's cabin when she and Jake had made love. When she'd awoke—no, when Jake had woken her—it had not been in the corner where she'd left it. Scowling, Amanda forced her mind to pick out frayed memories that were now three days old.

  She distinctly remembered picking the saddlebag up off the chair. She remembered thinking at the time that something wasn't quite right about that. But Jake had been so furious with her... and all she'd been able to concentrate on was stilling her panic and finding out what had caused his anger.

  Now she knew, at least she thought she did, and... dear God, she wished she didn't!

  You'll get your cousin back if it kills me. And I'll get...

  What? What will you get, Jake?

  My money. Every last cent of it.

  Amanda closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. She held it until her lungs burned. She didn't realize she'd fisted handfuls of the saddlebag until she felt the worn leather crinkle in her grip.

  The money. He'd found out about the money and...

  She opened her eyes and glared down at the saddlebag. With trembling fingers, she rummaged through her belongings. Though she searched frantically, it took only a second for her to realize that what she was looking for wasn't there.

  "Finally figured it out, did you? Took you long enough." Jake's voice was low and deadly; his ridicule cut into her as sharply as one of his knives.

  Her shoulders sagged, and her head lowered until her chin rested atop her collarbone. Her voice, when it came, sounded low and defeated. "Jake, I can explain..."

  "Save it. I don't want to hear any more of your lies."

  Oh, that hurt! But, since she knew she deserved it, Amanda only winced inwardly. "I wasn't going to lie."

  "Yeah, I'll just bet you weren't."

  "I wasn't! I was going to tell you the truth. All of it."

  "Uh-uh. Pity the truth according to Amanda Lennox is never the truth at all. It's just one big pack of lies. Little white lies which, I suppose when told to a stupid half-breed, don't count." His pause was short, riddled with tension. "Pack up, Miss Lennox
. Like I said, we're heading out tonight."

  "But—"

  "Pack!"

  "No!" As tempting as it was to back down, to take the coward's way out, Amanda's conscience refused to allow it. For once in her life, she was determined to fight for something important; she was going to fight for Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. Her chin lifted a notch. Even that minute gesture made her feel braver. The difference in attitude was reflected in her tone. "I'm not going anywhere until you've given me a chance to explain why I did what I did. I have reasons, Jake. Good reasons."

  When he made no reply, she glanced at him. He'd moved, his tread as silent and graceful as a cat's. He was standing a mere foot away from her. She hadn't heard him ease the door closed, but he must have done so at some point, because it was closed now. He towered over her, his size and fury dwarfing the room—dwarfing her—until everything but him faded to insignificance.

  Amanda felt cornered, trapped and desperate. That surge of innate cowardice crowded in on her again, but she steadfastly pushed it aside. It was time—past time—that Jake learned the truth. Her back rigid, she clasped her hands tightly in front of her and nodded to the chair next to the window. "Have a seat, Mr. Chandler," she said, her prim Bostonian accent locked firmly in place. "This could take a while."

  She expected him to argue. She expected him to spin on his heel and walk out. She expected anything, except what he did.

  Jake retrieved the chair and dragged it close to the bed. Turning it backward, he straddled it so that he was sitting facing her. By accident or intent, the back of the chair acted as a shield between them.

  His smokey gaze sharpened on her. A thousand times Jake told himself not to listen. A thousand times he told himself to get up and leave, to get on his horse and ride the hell out of Junction—to get as far away from Amanda Lennox as he could. To run and never, never look back.

  And then his traitorous body flooded with a thousand and one soft, sweet reasons to stay. To listen. To hope that once, just once, she would trust him enough to tell him the truth. In the end, it was his body that won out.

  When it came to Amanda Lennox, didn't it always?

  Gritting his teeth, and calling himself all sorts of a fool, he slanted a dark brow at her. "Say it and say it quick, princess. I want to be out of this hellhole before dawn."

  Amanda nodded and, before her knees could embarrass her by buckling, walked over to the side of the bed and perched on the edge of it. Jake was close—close enough to reach out and touch, close enough for her to smell the earthy tang of him in the air, interlaced with the potent fumes of liquor.

  Her hand lifted from her lap, her fingertips tingling with the need to make contact with him, to draw from his seemingly bottomless well of strength and control. His gaze darkened and glared her hand back to her lap.

  Amanda swallowed hard, her attention straying down to the hands she now clenched tightly in her lap. "Where do I start?"

  "The beginning is always a good place." Leave, Chandler. Get up and leave, now, while you still have the chance. The advice Jake's mind dictated was sound. Pity his body refused to listen. He was glued to that chair, and nothing on heaven or earth was going to budge him until he'd heard Amanda's story. Until he had the truth.

  "The beginning," she murmured. "No, in this case I don't think that would be appropriate. Why don't I start with Roger?"

  Jake shrugged. "Your story, princess. Start where you want."

  His tone was less than encouraging, Amanda noticed, even as she nodded. "He isn't my cousin."

  "Nope."

  Her chin snapped up, and a flicker of anger sparked in her blood. "There's no need to be sarcastic, Jake. I know you found the letter from Edward Bannister in my saddlebag. I know you know who Roger's father is."

  Jake had crossed his arms atop the chair's back rest. He now lifted his left hand, and pointed an accusing finger at her. "What I don't know—but what you are going to tell me—is why the hell you lied to me about that."

  "I had to."

  "I don't think so."

  "Well I do!" In a burst of restless energy, Amanda pushed from the bed and started pacing the room. She needed some space, some fresh air, some... No, what she needed was Jake's understanding, that was what she needed. Desperately.

  The skirt whipped around her ankles as she spun on her heel and stalked a path toward the door. Her heels clicked atop the bare flooring. "What was I supposed to do, Jake? Can you tell me that? Roger and I had been lost in," she cringed, "Idaho?... for weeks before you came along. And then I got stuck in that damn river, and Roger was kidnapped, and I knew the only way I was going to get him back was with your help."

  "So you hired me on, even though you didn't trust me as far as you could spit," he growled when she hesitated. "And then you lied to me. Repeatedly. About Roger, about the money you said you'd pay me, even about not knowing anything about who took the kid." Jake gritted his teeth and plowed his fingers through his hair. The fury was building in him again, and the fury said he should have listened earlier and left when he'd had the chance. "Everything, lady. You lied to me about every goddamn thing!"

  Amanda whirled around to face him. Any fear or alarm she might have felt before fled; replaced by a sharp stab of defensiveness. "What did you expect me to do? You said yourself you aren't a very nice person. And how could I be expected to trust a man who blackmailed me into telling him who I was just to get some help getting out of that river? I couldn't. I simply could not risk telling you who Roger is. How was I supposed to know you wouldn't kidnap him and hold him for ransom?"

  Jake's eyes narrowed to dangerous silver slits. "Are you serious? Do you really think that little of me?"

  Amanda sucked in a steadying breath and tried to control her temper. Her tone matched the leashed, controlled pitch of his. "Not any more. But you have to remember that I didn't know you very well then. At the time, I didn't know what to think of you. You... you weren't exactly like any man I'd ever met before."

  "Meaning...?"

  "Meaning no Bostonian gentleman of my acquaintance would have quoted me such an outrageous price to help me find Roger. The second you did that, I knew you needed money. Since I was in the same situation myself—needing money—I knew how desperate a person could get. That's when I decided it would be better if you thought Roger was my cousin."

  "And is he?"

  Amanda shook her head and resumed her pacing, her gait only a little slower than before. "I just told you he isn't. Didn't you wonder why I wasn't too concerned over his disappearance?"

  "I didn't lose any sleep over it," he shrugged, "but now that you mention it...?"

  "I can't stand the boy, Jake. That's not to say I'm not worried about him, because I am, but... well, quite frankly, Roger Thornton Bannister III is a spoiled, malicious little brat. He makes it very hard for a person to worry about him. If it weren't for the money—"

  "Lie number two," Jake cut in with a sneer. "The money. Rather, the lack of it."

  Amanda tripped over the hem of her skirt. "I was going to pay you."

  "Were you, princess? With what?"

  It was his deceptively lazy drawl that alerted her to his burgeoning anger. Hoisting her skirt out of the way, she went back to the bed and sat down. "You have the letter, right? You know how much Edward Bannister is going to pay me when I deliver his son to Pony. I was going to pay you with my earnings."

  "You were going to pay me three quarters of your salary?" His grin was quick and cold and fleeting. The sight of it sent a chill down Amanda's spine. "I don't know, princess, but for some reason I find that real hard to swallow. More likely you figured you'd use me to get the kid back, collect your money, then, with any luck, ditch the stupid breed the first chance you got."

  Amanda's head snapped back as though she'd been slapped. And she had, only with words instead of a hand, and that made it sting all the more. "The stupid breed," she repeated flatly under her breath. Her tone belied the turmoil within her. It took every ounce o
f courage she possessed to lift her gaze, and to meet his. "So, we're back to that again, are we? I guess it's my turn to ask. Do you really think so little of me?"

  Jake studied her long and hard. Her green eyes glistened with unshed tears, while at the same time her posture remained rigid and proud. Contrasts, he thought. Amanda Lennox was chock-full of intriguing little contrasts that both excited and annoyed him.

  It would be easy—so damn easy!—to let himself get lost in this woman. She'd already burrowed under his skin and carved a place for herself so damn close to his heart it was scary.

  Did he think badly of her still? God knows he should! But he didn't. He couldn't. Dammit! No matter how many lies she'd told him, no matter how little trust she put in him, he still wanted her, so badly he ached inside just looking at her. The hell of it was, the need coursing through him wasn't merely physical any more. Oh, yeah, he still wanted her writhing beneath him, still wanted to be buried deeply inside her warm, tight heat... but he also wanted more. So damn much more!

  What he wanted, as always, was impossible. He wanted Amanda Lennox, the one thing in his life that he knew damn well he couldn't have. Not for long. Not forever. Not a man like him.

  "You're silence is condemning," Amanda said, and commended herself for keeping her voice low and even. If he only knew how badly she was shaking on the inside, how much his silence hurt! He could slash her flesh to ribbons with one of his knives, but she doubted it would hurt nearly as much as this did.

  Smoothing trembling fingers down her skirt, Amanda stood. She closed the saddlebag, then hoisted it over her shoulder. Her gaze fell on Jake, and something he'd said earlier tickled the back of her mind. She scowled and asked, "What did you mean when you said I'd lied about knowing who took Roger?"

  "Exactly what I said." Jake stood and, with a flick of his wrist, sent the chair careening across the room. It slammed into the wall, then clattered to the floor. "The tracks are leading to Pony, Miss Lennox. And what's more... there are no longer two sets of prints, there are three."