Her attention trained on the Raffertys, Amanda stepped to Jake's side and squatted beside him. Until now, she'd avoided looking at him, even when she'd felt his gaze on her. Knowing he was alive had been enough to keep her going. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to see what Henry had done. Her grip on courage was tenuous at best. Seeing Jake's familiar copper skin cut and bleeding might have made her slip; it might have been her undoing. It was a risk she hadn't been willing to take.
Until now. Now, she had to look at Jake.
Amanda restricted her gaze to his face, staunchly resisting the morbid urge to look lower. Her glance was brief, probing—she didn't dare take her eyes off the Raffertys for more than a split second. The tension hanging like a thick cloud in the air said they were waiting for any chance to jump her.
Jake gritted his teeth and forced his gaze and expression to remain neutral; a direct contrast to the emotions burning inside of him. Had he ever in his life been as furious with a woman as he was right here, right now, with Amanda Lennox? Hell, no!
The stupid bitch! Here he'd aimed to keep her safe—keep her alive!—by leaving her injunction, and what did she do? She not only followed him—how she'd done that, he'd yet to figure out—but she'd also meandered right into the thick of things, at a time when the situation was at its dangerous worst. Did she know those two idiots would just as soon kill her as spit on her? Did she have any idea how much danger she was in?
Or did she know, and not care?
White women, Jake thought with an inward snort of disgust. Who could figure 'em? Jesus, it seemed like every time Jake thought he had Amanda Lennox pegged, she up and did something that surprised him. Again. And yet again.
His gaze shifted from the pistol to the knife. He wondered how she planned to cut through his ropes, and at the same time train both her gaze and weapon on both Raffertys. A quick glance at her face told him that Amanda was wondering much the same thing.
"Give me the knife," he growled.
Amanda shook her head and frowned, her gaze again fixed on Henry and Tom Rafferty. "I can't. Your hands are tied."
"So what? Give me the goddamn knife!" Jake's words were sharper than he'd intended, but he didn't care. His inner forearm stung like a son of a bitch from where Henry had cut him. And when his body tensed with annoyance—as it usually did when Amanda Lennox was around—the pain was incredible.
After a split second of indecision, Amanda put the knife into the hand not tied to the tree. Jake's fingers curled around the familiar wooden hilt, deftly turning the weapon so the deadly tip pointed downward. He sliced the rope in one smooth stroke, then made short work of the one securing his wrist to the tree.
His relief was instantaneous. The rough hemp had been tied tight enough to make his wrists bleed, but not so tightly that he'd lost all circulation. Of course not. Henry Rafferty hadn't wanted him numb; he'd wanted Jake to feel every torturous second of the pain he'd gleefully inflicted.
A soft crunch of leaves snapped Amanda's attention back to the Raffertys. Her gaze speared into Tom Rafferty who, sensing her and Jake's distraction, had seized the chance to move a few steps closer to his brother.
Amanda swallowed a surge of panic, knowing that every step Tom took lessened her chances of hitting him should she be forced to shoot. Her fingers tightened on the pistol, and she leveled the snubby barrel in what she hoped was the direction of his heart. "Take one more step and I swear to God I'll shoot."
"Uh-huh," Tom muttered. His voice no longer wavered, but was tight and controlled. A cool grin curled over his lips as, his brown eyes meeting Amanda's gaze, he took not one step... but three. "I'll just bet you will, honey. That doesn't mean you're going to hit anything though. Not at this distance."
"I will."
Jake's voice came so closely behind her that Amanda could feel the kiss of his breath on the back of her neck. She hadn't heard him stand, but she knew Jake well enough now to not be surprised by it.
She also knew what that flat, cold tone meant; the threat in his voice was unmistakable.
Amanda wasn't the only one to notice. Tom Rafferty stopped dead in his tracks, his brown eyes fixed on a spot just behind Amanda's back. His gaunt cheeks drained to a ghostly shade of white, and his jaw tightened with indecision. "You'll miss," he said suddenly, but his tone lacked conviction. "Henry cut you good. No way you can throw with your arm sliced up and bloody."
"I'd agree," Jake replied dry, "if your brother had cut into my right arm." His pause was short, and pregnant with tension, his grin cold and sinister. "He didn't, he cut my left."
"Don't listen to him, Tom," Henry said as he pushed to his feet and leaned back heavily against the gritty tree trunk. But, despite his words, even he wasn't sure. He could have sworn he remembered the breed reaching for his knife with his left hand—the reason he'd chosen that arm to skin. But, hell, he could be wrong. Did he dare take that chance? Did he dare not take it?
With more conviction than he felt, Henry repeated, "I'm telling you, Tom, the breed's lying. He throws with his left. I-I'd bet my life on it."
"Glad to hear it, Henry. Because those were exactly the stakes I had in mind." Jake smiled coldly. Pinching the tip of the blade between his index finger and thumb, his right arm lifted.
Chapter 22
Henry pushed away from the tree and stepped to his brother's side. His gaze volleyed between the breed and the knife. Unlike Tom, he could gauge the weight and balance of a knife on sight. And he'd already held that knife once. The thing was meant for hunting, not throwing. In his estimation, the breed's chances of hitting a Rafferty were sketchy at best.
His gaze shifted to the woman. More precisely, he glared at the pistol Amanda Lennox cradled in her hands. As far as he was concerned, any woman aiming a loaded gun was cause for worry. But what really made him nervous was... hell, the prissy little thing didn't know squat about cleaning a gun, let alone firing one! And she was trembling like a leaf. Not a real reassuring sign. Her fear and inexperience were palpable; they made her dangerous.
"Well?" Jake sneered, his gaze locking with Henry's. "What's it going to be? Are the three of us going to ride out of here peacefully, or do I have to kill you and your brother first... then ride out? Either way, the end result's the same."
"Not quite," Tom Rafferty said. He must have guessed the warped path of Henry's thoughts, for his spine stiffened, and his stubble-coated chin tipped up. His brown eyes shimmered with newborn confidence. "The way I see it, you're going to have to hit us—both of us—before you ride anywhere. Can't do that when you're only holding one knife."
Amanda opened her mouth. She was in the process of pointing out how, if the blade did hit a Rafferty, and the remaining brother did try to charge Jake, he'd still have her bullet to contend with. A soft, low groan whispered out from behind her, snatching her attention before she could utter a word. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, her gaze sharpening on Roger. His head bobbed as he struggled to lift his chin.
A gasp lodged in her throat. Big, ugly bruises marred the side of the boy's face; bruises the shadows cloaking him could not conceal. He moaned again, his lashes fluttered. He was only able to pry one dazed blue eye open; the other was swollen shut.
Dear God, what had these two monsters done to the child?
Disgust stabbed at Amanda; disgust aimed at herself for letting Roger be taken in the first place and at the two men who'd done that to the poor boy. A wave of guilt made her stagger back a step. Her blood flowed cold as a wave of shock washed over her. She didn't realize she'd lowered the gun until it was too late.
Neither Rafferty wasted a second.
"Amanda!" Jake shouted when he saw Henry charging her.
Gritting his teeth against a surge of pain, Jake reached for her arm. He'd no more felt her sleeve beneath his fingertips before it was wrenched away. Dammit! A feral growl rumbled in his throat when he saw Henry Rafferty struggling to wrest the gun from her.
Tom Rafferty's shoulder crashed int
o Jake's gut. The air whooshed from Jake's lungs as he was sent hurdling backward. The world tipped, and he lost sight of Amanda. An unfamiliar wave of panic washed through Jake when he realized that there was no way he could help her. Not until he'd taken care of Tom Rafferty.
Amanda fought bravely, not to mention dirtily. She lashed out with her feet, connecting with Henry's meaty thighs and shins more times than not. He grunted in pain, but the fingers coiled around her upper arm didn't loosen. Though he tried diligently to get the gun, he was forced to use his free hand to ward off the fingernails clawing at his cheeks and eyes.
"Give it up, honey," Henry panted. "I'm bigger than you. Like it or not, I'm going to get that gun. And when I do..."
Amanda didn't waste her breath responding. Instead, she redoubled her efforts to fight off both Henry and the panic she felt bubbling inside her. To her right, she heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh. It was followed by a muffled grunt of pain.
Jake's? Tom's? She didn't know. The faster her mind raced, the more her panic grew. Jake was wounded, weak, and he'd lost God knows how much blood. She'd seen Henry remove the knives hidden in Jake's moccasins; Jake now had only one blade to defend himself with. How long could he last before Tom Rafferty wrested the weapon from him? How long could she hold Henry at bay? The answer to both questions were the same. Not long enough.
"You ready to give up yet?" Henry sneered, and gave a tug that threatened to dislocate Amanda's arm from her shoulder. God, how it hurt!
She was struggling to aim the gun at Henry's chest, but he must have known what she was about, because he leaned to the side. Big, strong fingers curled crushingly around her upper arms. Before she could gasp, Amanda felt herself being hauled up against Henry's chest.
A quick glance to the side told her Tom and Jake were wrestling for control of the knife. And Jake did not look to be winning. Dear God, she had to get away from Henry, now, before Tom got his hands on the knife. An image of that steely blade being shoved between Jake's ribs flashed through her mind. Her heart squeezed unbearably tight.
Amanda resumed her struggles with a vengeance. And when Henry's beefy upper arm veered close enough, she sank her teeth into it without compunction.
"You little bitch!" Henry yelped. His fingers went slack around her arms, and he pulled instinctively backward. "I'll kill you for that, honey. Damned if I won't."
"And I'll be damned if I'll let you!" she yelled right back in his face.
If there was any leash on Henry Rafferty's temper, that remark snapped it neatly in two. He sneered and lunged for her.
Amanda made to sidestep him. Her gaze trained on a charging Henry, she didn't see the thick branch curling over the ground. She did, however, feel it slam into her ankle, tipping her off balance. She cried out when she felt herself going down. There was no way to stop the fall, though she shot her free arm out with exactly that intention.
The hard, cold earth crashed into her front just as Henry Rafferty's body slammed onto her back. The air was shoved from her lungs. Amanda reeled from both blows. Her only conscious thought was to keep a tight hold on the gun.
Henry grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. His weight eased only long enough for him to toss her onto her back. Her hips felt like they were being crushed when he settled his weight atop them.
"It's over, honey. Might as well give up." A sinister grin curled over Henry's lips as he lunged for the gun.
Over? Amanda was damned if that was true. She hadn't come this far to give up now. Nor would she until she'd weakened herself so much she no longer had the energy to struggle. She hadn't reached that point yet. Close, but not yet.
Henry's fingers wrapped around her wrist, squeezing tight. She felt her fingers go cold, felt them loosen around the gun.
"No!" With the last of her strength, she shoved at Henry, trying to dislodge him. He didn't budge, but the move did surprise him enough for his grip to loosen. It was only a fleeting weakness, but she took full advantage of it. She yanked the gun up between them and leveled the barrel at Henry's chest. Her fingers felt icy and numb, but she retained enough feeling in them to keep her index finger coiled around the trigger.
"I'm going to enjoy making you suffer for that," Henry snarled. "I'm going to enjoy hearing you beg me to—"
His fingers tightened around her wrist. Her fingers reflexively curled inward. A flex was all it took to slam the trigger home and to halt Henry Rafferty's words forever.
Surprise glinted Henry's eyes, then pain, then nothing at all. The brown orbs glazed over. His big body went limp and fell to the side. He hit the ground with a resounding thud.
"Amanda!" The shot had barely rung out when the name tore from Jake's throat. Tom Rafferty's hands were wrapped around his wrists, tightly, trying to squeeze Jake's fingers from around the hilt of the knife. With his free hand, Jake delivered a blow to Rafferty's shoulder. The result was double-edged; while Rafferty let go of Jake's wrist, Jake's fingers were too numb to retain hold of the knife. The weapon tumbled to the ground, far enough away to be no threat to either of them.
The air still rang with the repeating echo of the gunshot. Jake's heart constricted, and a stab of pain unlike anything he'd ever felt sliced through him. Dear God, he was shaking. The reaction had nothing to do with his wounded arm, or the exertion of struggling with Tom Rafferty. It had everything to do with thinking for one heart-stopping, gut-wrenching minute that Amanda Lennox was dead. And that he, by not getting to her soon enough, had inadvertently killed her.
Amanda heard Jake's voice, but it came from a distance. Her gaze, wide-eyed and horrified, was fixed on Henry Rafferty's lifeless body. Blinking hard, she forced her gaze away from the gaping hole in the big man's chest, a hole that continued to pump blood onto his shirtfront and the ground. Suppressing the shivers that racked her body wasn't possible. She didn't try.
"J-Jake?" she whispered hoarsely. Amanda glanced to the side, and winced when she saw Tom Rafferty's fist make solid contact with Jake's already swollen jaw.
Jake grunted as his head snapped to the side. Alarm coursed through Amanda when she saw how weak his struggles were.
Tom Rafferty landed another stinging blow. Then another. Jake tried to deliver a punch of his own, but missed. Rafferty's aim was more accurate.
A fist connected with Jake's temple hard enough to make stars dance behind his eyes. He blinked them away. Only sheer force of will—and raw fear for Amanda life—kept him conscious. He was panting, and his brow and upper lip were coated in the same sweat that pasted his hair to his scalp and face. His efforts to dislodge his attacker were becoming slow and clumsy. Gritting his teeth against the pain that tore through his arm, he aimed a punch at Tom Rafferty's temple. And missed again.
Tom waited until the fist whizzed past his face, completing an arc that would have knocked free quite a few of his crooked yellow teeth, had it connected. Chuckling evilly, his hands snaked out. Long, thin fingers wrapped around a thick copper throat. And squeezed. Hard.
"You don't look so dangerous now, do you, breed?"
Jake croaked, but didn't—couldn't—respond. He tried clawing at Tom Rafferty's arms, but the pain in his body, combined with lack of air, made his efforts ineffectual.
Tom laughed harder. "That's right," he sneered, "you go ahead and fight. Won't do you any good. Nothing's going to stop me from strangling the life out of your miserable red hide. Or, better yet, maybe I'll let Henry finish skinning you. He'll like that."
Jake's vision was going black and fuzzy around the edges. His lungs burned, and his head and arm throbbed unbearably. It was only a matter of time before he died—dammit, this was not the way he'd intended to go!—but he continued to fight.
His bleary gaze fixed on a spot just behind Tom Rafferty's lanky shoulder. He decided he must be in more dire need of air than he thought, because now he was seeing things. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and squinted, but... damned if the image would go away. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he saw Amanda
Lennox standing a few short feet away, that blasted pistol of hers aimed at Tom Rafferty's back.
Jake told himself it was an illusion, a product of wishful thinking. But he didn't believe it. A part of him needed to believe Amanda was there, needed to believe that the prissy white princess—his prissy white princess, dammit!—was ready and willing to kill for him. It took effort to look past the irony of that thought!
"You hear that, Henry?" Tom Rafferty said, and his grin was pure evil. He scowled, his fingers loosening just a bit when his brother made no reply.
"Henry?"
"Henry's d-dead, Mr. Rafferty. I k-killed him."
Tom's head came up. His gaze narrowed, snapping over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw Amanda Lennox. Amanda Lennox? Now wait just a second! He'd heard a shot, and he'd naturally presumed that Henry had... But if Henry hadn't... His attention shifted to the fire lit spot where he'd last seen his brother struggling with the woman. What he saw now snapped his tenuous hold on sanity.
She'd killed him! That bitch had killed Henry!
And now... dammit, now he was going to kill the only person he figured meant anything to her. He was going to kill the breed. Then he was going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully. Until she begged him to end her life. Just the way Henry would do it. Tom was going to have some fun.
Tom's gaunt cheeks went crimson, and a feral growl issued from somewhere deep in the back of his throat. He bared his teeth like a rabid dog and turned his attention back to the Injun. His fingers squeezed so hard his knuckles hurt.
Amanda was breathing hard and fast through her mouth. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. Her knees were shaking so badly it was a wonder she was still standing. She wasn't too far from Tom Rafferty, she could probably hit him... but not if she didn't bring some of her trembling under control. And what, she wondered frantically, would happen if she did pull the trigger... and missed? What if...
God, what if she hit Jake instead?
It was a risk she would have to take. Because if she did nothing, Jake was going to die. Amanda squinted until her eyes were almost closed. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, turned her head... and pulled the trigger.
Montana Wildfire Page 35
