by Unknown
“It was your question, lady. One minute, and I’m outta here.”
“No! Wait! Please. Okay, let me think. Okay, I got one. Who’s the one woman you hate most in the world?”
“What the hell kind of question is that? You’re crazy, woman. You know that?”
“Answer the question.”
“Jayla Ross! She’s a lying bitch.” He was fast getting fed up with her game. Besides, he was freezing his balls off standing here.
“Ah-ha. I knew it!”
“You and me both, lady. What lies did she tell on you?”
“Oh…no, you totally misunderstand.”
Wild frowned. She sounded taken aback.
“I meant I know you hate Jayla Ross,” she said, clarifying her statement.
“And what did it prove?”
“That I know you hate her…er…me, and if you hate me, then you’re Wild Remington.”
He cocked a hip, shaking his head. Somewhere in that muddled-ass mess, he was pretty sure she made perfect sense, he just didn’t know where. Trying to puzzle it out, he squinted against the glare on the snow. Shit. It couldn’t be. No way. “Who…are…you?” Caution laced his words. Don’t say it! Don’t do it!
“Jayla Ross.” She peeped over the door at him, waving as if she was his new best friend.
He jerked off his hat and slapped it against his knee. “I knew it! Damn it, I just knew the devil’s daughter has returned to make my life miserable.”
“I didn’t come here to make your life miserable.” She wrapped her fingers over the top of the door and leaned against it. “I need to talk to you.”
Wild jammed his hat back in place. “Oh hell no, I’d rather deal with the bloodsucking reporters than be in the same vicinity as you,” he snapped. “Get the hell off my property!” He whirled and headed to the mare.
“Wait! You can’t just abandon me.”
“Watch me,” he flung over his shoulder.
“My car won’t start. It–it’s all squished up.”
“Then walk. Crawl for all I care, but get outta my sight and off my land, before I do something we’ll both regret.”
“Please, Wild,” she begged, desperate. “I’m in a bad way here. I’m sick.”
He turned and glared at her. Rather, he glared at the top of her dark head since she was resting her face on her forearms on top of the door frame. A muscle throbbed in his jaw.
He didn’t trust her.
He remembered well what a good little actress she was.
Damn it, he still wasn’t in a position where he could see her like he needed. He figured it was safer that way—out of sight, out of range, but hell, he hated wasting a good glare. “Remember who you’re talking to here?” He played it safe by keeping some distance between them. “I’m the one person who knows for sure every word outta your mouth is a lie.” He injected ice into his voice. She couldn’t see his glare, but she’d understand his tone easy enough.
“Wild, wait!”
He thought she looked up, but it was difficult to tell from where he stood.
“I’m telling the truth,” she said. “I’m in a lot of trouble. Bad trouble.”
“And how is that my problem?” He grabbed the reins off the ground and stepped into the stirrup.
“Please? I need protection.”
“Invest in a box of condoms,” he replied.
“You have to help. Wait,” she screamed. “You can’t leave me here! Please! He’ll kill me.”
Wild hesitated. Shit. He knew he’d live to regret this. Jayla Ross. And him? Uh-uh. They mixed like water and oil. Letting go of the reins, he planted his boot back on the ground.
“You’re an idiot, Wild. She’ll tangle you up worse than a baby calf in barbed wired. Somehow, she’ll fuck up your life again, and you can’t wait to jump in with both boots.”
He narrowed his eyes. If he wanted a proper look at her, he’d have to edge closer. He had the feeling it was instinctive for her to stay down out of sight.
“Is that why you’re hiding behind the car door? You think someone wants to kill you? Did you forget I’m your worst enemy?”
She bobbed her head over the top of the car window. “There are enemies…then there’s you.”
Subtly, so he wouldn’t startle her into taking another shot at his hat, Wild changed direction, positioning himself so he was at long last facing her. She flung back her head, tilting her chin in a stubborn challenge he didn’t remember her ever doing before.
She stood there facing him, her face scrunched up with failing courage, and she literally stole his breath away. The reins slid from his numb fingers. He started to take a step closer, but realizing it wasn’t a smart move, he stepped back instead.
Wild trailed his gaze over her face. His heart jerked. Swear to God, his body jumped like a horny mustang rearing to instant life and ready to mount the first filly in its path.
“Down, boy,” he muttered.
And wondered miserably when he’d started talking to his cock.
Grumbling beneath his breath, Wild eyed the woman he considered his nastiest nightmare. Where were the ugly metal braces, the lopped-off, ragged pigtails she’d worn with consistency that summer? The last time he’d seen Jayla Ross, she’d been a teenage girl of fifteen. Before him now, stood a woman, no, not just a woman, an extremely attractive one, even if she lacked blossom in her cheeks. “You aren’t Jayla Ross,” he said with conviction, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him.
“Well…there’s no doubt you’re Wild Remington.” A hint of wry humor rang in her words. She stepped away from the car and flashed him a tentative smile. “I assure you, I’m Jayla.” She held out her arms to her sides as if to say, Here I am, take me or leave me.
Wild swallowed hard. He reckoned his mind and body were stuck on the Take me part. His common sense told him to leave and run as hard and fast as his horse could take him. “Nope. Jayla’s a scrawny, ugly-ass kid with crooked teeth, all eyes, and chopped off hair. You? Huh…you sure don’t have crooked teeth.”
“No? The rest of me crooked?” She lifted a thinly arched brow.
Shaking his head, he slid his gaze over her. “Uh-uh. A couple of hills and some sweet curves, but nothing that doesn’t smooth out nicely that I can see.” His body tightened in a way it hadn’t in years. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Not now. Not her.”
“You say something?” She rubbed a shaky hand across her brow.
“Nah.” Odd. In his opinion, she looked about ready to crash and burn.
Why had she come here?
Why did she have to show up now?
He was already a train wreck. Hadn’t she done enough to ruin him? Break him?
Hell, no, she’d returned to pick the bones.
No matter how pissed it made him, he couldn’t deny the tug of attraction. That was the way of it sometimes. The mind might be disgusted, but the cock wasn’t paying much heed. Wild clenched his jaw. Attraction be damned. There was no way in hell he was going to allow her to burrow beneath his skin. She was a liar and a–a, well, liar worked just fine—more than enough to keep him from ever lowering his emotional guard around her.
Still the way the long strands of her ebony-colored hair streamed behind her back reminded him of soft velvet ribbons caught in a summer breeze, perfection—marred by the unexpected trail of crimson trickling from her temple to her chin. Not the seductive picture she had in mind, he was sure. “You hurt? Let me rephrase that, how bad are you hurt?”
“From the crash?” She leaned heavily against the door and drew a deep breath. “Nothing major.” Her voiced sounded faint, as if she barely found the strength to speak. She slowly exhaled, obviously pacing her breathing. “Some bruises and minor cuts, no broken bones, if that’s what you mean.” She reached inside the car and pulled out a tan trench coat. Holding it against her breasts, she shivered.
“Why do I detect a but in that statement?”
Wild did a swift perusal from her head to the tips of h
er white canvas shoes. A red, long-sleeved sweater clung to her full breasts in all the right places, thin black slacks whipped around her slender legs with the icy wind. Not exactly dressed for a blizzard marching its way from the Rockies to the East coast, but he came to the conclusion if she had anything broken, she wouldn’t be standing there quite so calm.
He dropped his gaze. Her feet had to be getting wet and cold in those thin canvas shoes. Hell, she wasn’t even wearing socks. Wild raised his gaze back to her face and frowned. He didn’t like her color. Rather, he didn’t like her lack of color. She looked much too pale, and though her voice sounded calm, he got the feeling she was burning the candle on borrowed wick and close to sputtering out.
Glancing at the dismal sky, he clenched his jaw. He lifted the collar on his duster. “Damn weather. You might wanna put that coat on,” he suggested. “It’s only gonna get worse.”
“Yeah. I will.”
But she didn’t.
She stood there looking rather helpless and a little lost.
She looked a bit shocky to him.
Did he appear as helpless and lost as she did?
What on earth was she doing here, besides to make his life utterly miserable?
What did she want from him?
No doubt she wanted something, and that something was bound to land him in a heap of trouble. With Jayla, there was always a motive to her madness.
Had she traveled all the way from D.C.? Drove for days? Last account he had of her, she lived somewhere in Virginia. That was a long way from western Montana, and he liked it like that.
“Not much of a coat for this weather,” he pointed out, eyeing the lightweight material of the trench coat. “You trying to freeze to death?”
She hadn’t moved a hair. Had she’d blanked out on him?
“Not really. I left in kind of a hurry.”
“Did you now?”
Her voice grew fainter by the minute.
What the hell was going on with her?
For the umpteenth time, Wild glanced at the sky, worried about the impending disaster headed their way. He didn’t like what he saw. Before too much longer, a white hell was going to descend and block out the world. They needed to get out of here. Now! There was no time to puzzle her out or stand here gabbing with a woman he barely tolerated.
“Yes.” She looked around. “We need to get out of here.”
He couldn’t agree with her more, but for some reason, he didn’t think she was worried about the blizzard. Huh. So no blanking, she just did a damn good job of imitating a statue when the mood hit her? He didn’t like her pretending to be ill or vulnerable just so he’d weaken and help her.
On the other hand, he couldn’t help noticing the way her face looked pinched with pain, the slight tremor of her lips. On the surface, she seemed determined to be brave, but with Jayla Ross, you didn’t always get what you saw.
He knew that better than most.
Shit. He didn’t need this. Why did she pop back in his life now?
Wild took a second to ponder the situation, but the unfortunate truth was he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. His gaze kept returning to her sweet face. Every time it did, his dick jerked a little. He really didn’t need this.
He stared at her mouth and not for the first time in his life wondered how it tasted, how she tasted. Desire punched him in the gut with a two-fisted jab. He barely smothered a groan. Shit. He must be insane. Another time, a different woman, sure, he’d be tempted to steal a kiss from her lovely bow-shaped lips—if she didn’t look quite so much like a zombie about to keel over at his boots.
“I–I…uh…not feeling well.”
Crap! He knew it! He just knew there was more. The storm of the century lurched toward them and he got a sick woman for a prize. He’d be stuck all winter with the one female he detested most, the one woman who’d destroyed him with a big whopping lie—the only woman he’d ever wanted and hadn’t dared touch.
And what the hell had she done?
Wild frowned. Yup, she’d gone and turned into a beautiful swan, a very pallid one, true, but still a beauty that looked frail as a wilted flower.
“I have injuries not related to hitting the tree.” She swayed and slumped against the car with a long breathless sigh.
Wild cursed beneath his breath. Hell, he was going to cave like a big old soft hearted puppy.
Feeling like a fool, he headed toward her, a straight beeline to trouble. Shit. What had he done to deserve this?
Maybe one day he’d have the answers as to why Jayla Ross had always been able to get under his skin. Maybe not.
But here she was.
And here he was.
He couldn’t simply walk away. Not this time.
Why the hell had the good Lord made him such a sucker?
Chapter Three
Man has his will, but woman has her way.
~Holmes
Montana
West side of Dancing Star
February 20, Friday
2:20 p.m.
What kind of dirty trick is this?
Wild clenched his jaw in frustration. How did a man bent on hating a woman deal with a pretty face, a hot mouth, and a female who appeared helpless? He glared at Jayla wishing she’d crawl back inside her crushed car and leave.
He wasn’t ruthless enough to turn and walk away, not like he had that day so long ago. He’d never be able to do that to her again. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he worked his fingers inside the stiff cold leather of his gloves. How dare she look so fragile after nearly blowing off his head? Working up a good anger, he halted a few steps away from her.
She pushed away from the car and brushed a wisp of dark hair from her eyes. “Do you mind giving me a hand, cowboy? I feel a bit wobbly.”
“I’m not coming one step closer ‘til you toss that gun aside.”
“I wouldn’t shoot you,” she declared, sounding offended.
“Uh-huh. Notice I’m still over here? There’s a reason for that. You want my help, toss the gun or I leave.” He didn’t trust her little ‘frail is me’ act.
She hesitated, scanning the woods.
Did she expect someone to jump out shooting?
“I told you I wouldn’t shoot you.” Her attention only half on him, she continued to search the distance.
What the hell? Wild narrowed his eyes and followed her gaze to the line where the woods thickened. Nothing stirred, yet he had the fleeting thought something might. Still, this was so Jayla. Drama queen. Why did he get the sensation that this time she might be a harbinger of trouble?
“No, you just make up tall-tales and spread lies,” he charged, half pissed she was here, and half worried about the impending disaster she’d likely bring down on his head. The last thing he wanted or needed was tangled with Jayla Ross again.
Jayla swept her hair aside and met his gaze head-on. “I didn’t spread lies.” Frustration lined her face.
“I didn’t rape you,” he retorted, unable to keep the accusation from his words.
A put-upon sigh escaped her. “I thought we’d settled all that—put it in the past.”
“You put it in your past. It’s still in my present and will be a part of my future my entire life.” Wild didn’t bother to conceal the distaste he felt for her. He might want her on some stupid level he couldn’t control or deny, but he damn well wanted her to understand he detested her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” He almost choked on the word. “Lady, you ruined my life. The score will never be settled between us.” His body tightened with tension. He looked down, trying to rein in his temper. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.
He couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t help her.
Hell, he’d strangle her. Sorry didn’t cut it for him.
Glancing up, he felt his breath catch on a little hitch. Dang her, she actually smiled, a pleasant, sincere curve to those sexy lips that had the power to make a man’s blood run
hot, but there was something in her eyes that told him she was anything but sweet. Determined? Yeah. Sweet? Not so much.
She plastered a hand on her slender hip wincing as if the action caused her pain.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you injured?”
Wild snorted. Yeah, like a porcupine hurts itself. The smarter question, ‘What was she up to’, would be the wisest to ask, but he doubted he’d get an honest answer.
“I’m fine,” she said on a breathless note, dabbing at the place on her temple. “Almost fine,” she added. Then, “Well, cowboy, if you want revenge, you better make it quick. I might not be here long. There’s an assassin who wants me dead…yesterday.”
“Assassin?” Huh. That was different, even for Jayla. “I think your tall-tales just keep getting taller. Do you even know how to tell the truth?”
“I’m not lying.”
Wild lifted a brow at the indignation in her voice. He doubted she knew the meaning of the word truth.
“You have to believe me.”
“Lady, I don’t have to do anything but pay taxes and die. Where you’re concerned, I not only don’t have to do anything, I don’t wanna do anything. Lying’s your stock and trade. Did you expect me to suddenly believe everything you say?”
“No. I didn’t think very well ahead. I–I guess I didn’t think at all. You’re right, of course. You’re right.” She held up a shaky hand. “I shouldn’t have come to you. I knew better. Just go away.” She waved her fingers toward his mount. “Go on, get back upon your little pony and ride into the sunset.”
Sunset? He cast a quick look at the gray sky. What sun? Hell, didn’t she see the way the clouds were turning grayer by the minute? And his horse was not a pony. Boy, when she got wound up, she went off like an eight-day clock. Underneath that cool exterior, the lady possessed a temper. If she ever let go, she’d flay a man with her tongue. He didn’t want to be the one standing in front of her when it happened.
“Go on,” she repeated. “You’re good at turning your back and walking away,” she accused. “I don’t know what I was thinking to come here.”
