by Jill Gregory
“How long has she been getting dressed?”
“Oh, I’d say a quarter of an hour, mebbe,” Zeke answered, tapping the face of his pocket watch.
“Half an hour or I’m a mule,” Ray countered, bristling.
“You’re wrong, Ray. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s only been—”
“Will you both shut up?” Cal stalked furiously around the clearing. “I just don’t know. How long does it take a woman to... get dressed and all and make herself presentable?”
“Beats me. Long time, I reckon, based on what I remember from that wife I used to have—”
“Ray, you were never home long enough to know how long it took her to get dressed,” Zeke pointed out disgustedly, then broke off upon seeing the wrath etched across Cal’s usually calm face. “Don’t you know, Cal?”
“I don’t know a damned thing about women, or I wouldn’t be asking the pair of you,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the spot where Melora had disappeared with her bags. “But I’m getting suspicious of our little Miss Deane.”
“You mean she might have tried to get away?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Cal paced back and forth again, his scowl deepening as several crows circled over the clearing, cawing loudly in the heavy gray sky. The horses whickered, a damp wind sent tumbleweed rolling, and still there was no sign of Melora.
“I’ll wring her damned neck.” Cal started toward the trees.
“She wouldn’t...” Zeke protested doubtfully. “Naw, how could she hope to get away?”
“She’s gone!” Cal shouted through the trees. Zeke and Ray gazed at each other in horror and then dodged after him.
As Cal neared the brass trunk and carpetbag left abandoned near the stream, he caught a fleeting glimpse of green cloth disappearing within the wood up ahead. A muscle in his jaw tensed as he sprang forward.
This is what 1 get for giving her privacy, for trusting her at all, he thought as he bolted in pursuit of the slender fleeing figure, which he could just barely keep in sight as it darted through the tight maze of trees. Well, from now on, it’ll be a whole different story, he vowed. Red-hot anger churned through him as he shouldered past branches and whipping leaves. He’d keep her in sight every minute; he wouldn’t give her another chance to do something so foolhardy and troublesome as to try to escape—on foot—in the middle of the wilderness, without so much as a cabin or an outpost for at least thirty miles.
Behind him he could hear Zeke and Ray scrambling to follow, but he didn’t bother looking back. His legs were long and powerful; he was faster than she was, and he was gaining on her. It was loco for her to think she could get away for long. When he caught up with her, he’d teach her not to try.
Melora plunged frantically through the trees and brush, heedless of the branches slapping at her face and clothes. She could hear Cal crashing after her and risked one precious second to glance wildly back at him. He was catching up!
Fear leaped like a flame within her. She fired a warning gunshot over her shoulder, then kept running, frantic as a hare being ruthlessly hunted down by a hawk.
Her breath came in short, heaving gasps, her lungs ached with the effort of running, but she kept on, plummeting ahead with a wild, delirious need to escape, to be free, to somehow magically rescue herself and return to the way things were yesterday. To the happiness of her wedding day, and the company of her sister, and the comfort and security of home... and Wyatt’s arms.
She gave a half sob. Cal was gaining on her.
Thighs aching, she ran faster, her hands out before her as if in supplication to the land to swallow her up.
But suddenly, just as she half turned to fire again, a huge weight hit her and knocked her to the ground. She toppled with an anguished cry.
Cal broke her fall with his own body, twisting in midair so that she landed half atop him. But they didn’t stay in that position for long. Swiftly he rolled her over, wrenched the gun away, and pinioned her beneath him, catching her arms above her head in a viselike grip.
“Just what in hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “I’m damned if I have time for these stupid tricks!”
“Let me up!”
“No chance, lady. You’re in a lot of trouble.”
Desperately Mel tried to buck, to twist and wrench and somehow squirm free, but her spirits sank as she realized the futility of it. He was far larger and stronger than she, and like it or not, she didn’t have much choice but to lie there beneath him and wait for him to decide what to do with her next.
She went perfectly still.
Cal shifted slightly, pinning her all the more securely. The hardness of his body pressed against hers sent a strange tight heat through her belly.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she cried at last, wishing she could wipe the faint sheen of perspiration from her face or somehow toss aside the heavy coils of her hair, which had fallen across her cheeks in her struggle and were now dangling before her eyes and twisted around her nose and jaw. But she couldn’t move.
“Go ahead and get on with it!” she continued, biting her lip. “Aren’t you going to hog-tie me again or shoot me with my own gun or—”
“I’d like to take you over my knee.”
At this, panic set in, and she started struggling again. “Don’t you try it, you greasy, disgusting saddle tramp, you... kidnapper, you thief! I’ll make you sorry you were ever born!”
With his jaw set, Cal watched her lovely face twist and contort with the hopeless effort of trying to free herself. She was a spunky little hellion—he had to admit that, and he could almost admire it—but he was wondering just what it would take to intimidate her.
Maybe a herd of stampeding buffalo. Or a charging cavalry regiment. Then again, maybe not.
She went still again, exhausted and breathing hard. Her hair drifted in tangled skeins across her face.
Releasing one of her hands, Cal reached down and shifted the heavy golden tendrils aside, laying bare once more the finely chiseled features, which were so dainty and so feminine, the straight, firm nose, the lush lips the color of baby roses, and the alluring eyes that blazed at him from beneath slim, gracefully arced brows. Whew. He felt his breath choking deep inside his lungs.
She was something all right. An enchantress. Her magnificent hair slid through his hands like the finest silk. The finest, most richly textured, unbelievably soft silk, and despite all of the hardships she’d endured since last night, those lush curls still smelled faintly of lavender.
And so did she.
No doubt Miss Melora Deane of the great Weeping Willow Ranch bathed in perfumed water with flower-scented soap, he thought harshly. No doubt she was accustomed to the finer things in life, to being petted and indulged, and to getting her own way. He’d seen that plain enough; she was obviously as spoiled and headstrong as they came.
Well, now she’d just have to get accustomed to a rougher life—at least for a while.
And that was that.
Grimly he stared down at her defiant face as she lay beneath him, her skin damp with sweat, her wide-set eyes fixed on him with a mixture of hatred and apprehension, and suddenly, unexpectedly, pity stirred.
She was putting on a good front, game as could be, but he’d have bet every gold piece he owned—which was not too many, unfortunately—that beneath it all, right at this very moment, she was scared to death. He could feel her softness, all the delicate curves and hollows of her body, and her ultimate feminine vulnerability touched his conscience. She probably was wondering right about now if he meant to rape her, Cal realized abruptly. He adjusted his weight so as not to crush her, and—he admitted to himself—to lessen the risk of growing even further aroused in case she decided to start once again with those enticing, wriggling movements. Yet he kept her securely pinned, his long frame heavy upon her. He had no intention of letting her up until they had a few things straight between them.
“I order you to get off me right now!” She tried agai
n, clearly desperate.
Cal shook his head. “Calm down and listen to me, Melora,” he said, surprising himself and her by the use of her given name. But at that moment Zeke and Ray rushed up, panting and sweating like a pair of flogged pigs.
“Need any help, Cal?” Zeke rasped out, corning to a halt a few feet from where Cal and Melora were lying on the ground.
“Does he look like he needs any help?” Ray snapped in exasperation. He yanked his hat off and began fanning his face. Sweat droplets glistened in his yellow whiskers. “Since when would- Cal need help with a mite of a female like this? Zeke, you’re a damned fool.”
“Miss Deane and I are about to come to an understanding.” Cal spoke roughly, his eyes still riveted upon Melora’s. “You two go back and finish packing up the camp. We’re riding out the moment we get back.”
“D-don’t go,” Melora called out feebly, turning her head to gaze imploringly at the other two men. “He’s going to strike me. Beat me. Please save me...”
They stopped in their tracks, taken aback, and threw uncertain glances at Cal.
“I threatened to spank her,” he said impatiently. “It was just a warning, not an intention—so far,” he added meaningfully, fixing her with a scowl.
To her dismay, both Zeke and Ray nodded, grinning at each other, for once in agreement.
“Sure, reckon we know you better than to think you’d strike a woman, Cal,” Zeke said respectfully.
“No, he’d just kidnap one,” Melora retorted.
Ray shook his head, staring down at her sorrowfully. “Cal here is a fine person, miss. Fine as they come. And I can tell you he’s got more patience than half the men in this territory all put together. But he’s hell when he’s crossed. My advice to you is: Don’t cross him.”
“Yep, behave yourself,” Zeke advised her anxiously. “Do what you’re told. And when Cal’s through with this here plan of his, he’ll take you home safe and sound.”
Cal flicked an amused glance between the two of them. ‘`I reckon I couldn’t have said it better myself, boys.” He grinned. “And now, let me straighten out a few things with the lady so we can make tracks before sundown.”
Melora waited apprehensively as Zeke and Ray tramped away. Once again she found herself alone in the woods with Cal, alone but for a squirrel nibbling a nut in the tree branches high above.
“Are you ready to listen to reason?”
I’m ready to spit in your eye, she thought, her chest swelling with indignation at being treated in this manner, but she remembered in time and with great bitterness that it wasn’t always wise to speak one’s mind, so instead she gave him a stiff nod.
“Then get up and listen to me,” Cal said shortly. He shifted off her and got to his feet, scooping up her Colt and pocketing it in one deft motion. Immediately Melora pushed herself up to a sitting position, rebellion simmering in her eyes.
Cal noticed how her fingers were splayed in the dirt below; he half expected her to grab a handful of it and fling it in his face. Or try to.
But she didn’t. She took deep breaths, obviously trying to keep a lid on her temper.
“Let me explain a few things to you before we ride out. It’ll make things easier on all of us.”
“I’m listening.”
“Believe it or not, Melora, I don’t want to hurt you. None of us do. But you’re not getting away, and you’re not going back home until I say so.”
“And when will that be?”
“When I’ve accomplished what I’ve set out to do. Maybe a few weeks from now.”
“A few weeks from now?” she cried, surging to her feet and confronting him with her hands on her hips. “Today is my wedding day, you ignorant jackass!”
“No, ma’am, it’s not.”
“Well, it’s supposed to be!”
“That’s the point,” he said softly, a gleam entering his eyes.
Melora stared at him as he hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and looked smug. “You’re not doing this to hurt me,” she said slowly, her face paling as the truth hit her. “You’re doing it to hurt Wyatt. Why?”
Cal regarded her in silence a moment. Then he shrugged, but not before she’d seen the taut anger register in his face at the mention of Wyatt’s name. “That doesn’t concern you.”
“Doesn’t concern me? What in hell are you talking about?” Unconsciously she repeated her father’s often used phrase. “You drag me off from my home, from my little sister, from my wedding—and you say it doesn’t concern me?”
“My reasons are my own business,” he rejoined coolly, and pushed his hat farther back on his head. “The only thing you need to remember is that if you cooperate, don’t make any trouble, and don’t try any more stupid attempts to escape, you’ll be fine. But let me ask you a question.”
“Can I stop you?”
He ignored this and stepped closer, watching her face. “Do you think your father will set up a search party for you, or will he leave it to Wyatt? Or will they join together?”
All the color drained from Melora’s face. Her lips were dry. Suddenly she remembered that odd comment he’d made last night at the ranch, about not disturbing her father while he was smuggling her out of the house.
“My father is dead,” she whispered.
Now it was Cal’s turn to stare, to go still and white as a statue. “Craig Deane? He’s dead?”
She saw the shock register, saw his sharp intake of breath.
“I swear I didn’t know,” he muttered, and paced away from her, then hurried back. “I thought you were... living under his roof, that you—do you mean you’re running that ranch by yourself?”
“More or less. And I’m also responsible for taking care of my little sister,” she informed him bitingly. Still, she was puzzled by his reaction. He looked stunned. And upset. “What difference does it make to you?” she asked stiffly.
“Maybe if I’d known you were living at the ranch all alone, without any male protection, I wouldn’t have taken you.” He shook his head ruefully. “Despite what you think, I’m not the kind of bully who goes around picking on lone women. But I thought—Oh, hell, it doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes, it does. Because you can still make things right—by letting me go.”
“No. Sorry, but I can’t do that.” His expression was grim. “Now that this thing is started, I’ve got to see it through to the end. I reckon there’s no turning back, Melora, not for either of us.”
He took her arm. “Come on. Time to break camp.”
“I can walk back myself if you don’t mind.” She shook off his hand. “But I’m not going anywhere until you tell me exactly and in detail what this is all about.” Sticking out her chin, she kicked at the dirt for emphasis and smiled tightly when some of it landed on his boot. “I won’t give you any peace until you tell me why you kidnapped me and what you have against Wyatt, so you might as well do it now rather than later. You see, it runs in the Deane blood never to give up.”
His scowl told her he was losing patience. Good, she decided. The sooner he lost patience, the sooner he’d just give in and tell her what she needed to know. She’d learned long ago that with her indomitable will most people found it easier to placate her than to oppose her. She estimated that this idiotic Cal with whatever lame-brained scheme against Wyatt he was hatching would do the same.
“My fiancé happens to be one of the finest men I’ve ever known”—she went on, tossing her head—“and if you think I’m just going to stand by and let you continue with whatever low-down, dirty plan you have in mind for him, you’re dead wrong! I won’t let you use me to hurt Wyatt. I’ll stop you dead in your tracks.”
To judge by the icy mask of his features and the glitter in his eyes, she’d touched a nerve. And when he spoke, his voice held a distinctly unpleasant edge that further confirmed it. “Don’t bet your ranch on it, Miss Deane.”
“I would bet my ranch on it. I’d stake everything on it. And if you won’t tell me what you�
�re up to, we can just stand here all day because I’m not going anywhere until you—ohhh!”
Before she realized what was happening, he suddenly seized her and with a low grunt tossed her like a sack of grain over his shoulder.
“What are you doing? Set me down this minute!”
Ignoring her, he stomped back through the trees toward the stream.
“Set me down! You obnoxious, arrogant, insufferable snake, you stop and set me down right this very minute! I’m perfectly capable of walking! I demand—”
“Shut up.” He ignored her ineffective attempts to land blows upon his broad back and continued to stride past rocks and shrub. “You are by far the most spoiled, insufferable, irritating woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t have either the time or the stomach for your tantrums,” he said grimly. “Now behave yourself, or when we reach the stream, instead of letting you retrieve your bags, I’ll throw you and them into the water.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Try me.”
Melora stopped struggling. She bit her lower lip furiously and closed her eyes tight as her teeth clacked in her mouth at the jostling movements. She tried very hard to picture Cal dead in a coffin on Boot Hill.
Her demeaning and uncomfortable posture only heightened her already severe loathing for this man. Right now she should be at the church, twirling about in her wedding dress; instead she was stranded in the wild with a pair of no-good saddle tramps and with Cal no-last-name, who was by far the most detestable man ever to breathe air.
Wait. Wait for the right moment, she told herself, her eyes sparking with vengeful designs. Then you’ll show him he can’t do this to Mel Deane and get away with it.
When at last he lowered her down beside her bags, he set her on her feet with a thump that rattled her teeth.
“Hurry up. If you want those bags to come along with you, pick ‘em up and bring ‘em,” Cal instructed coolly.
“Let me close this one first.” Melora flung out the words between gritted teeth, but instead of closing her trunk, she dipped her hand inside in one quick movement, shoved aside her jewelry pouch, and yanked out her derringer.
