by Jill Gregory
“You’re just enough of a damned fool to run off again while I’m gone,” he said. He pulled the knot about her ankles tight, and Juliana winced.
“Where are you going?” Panic shone in her face. “You’re not leaving me alone—like this?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Where are you going?” she demanded, trying to shake the wet streaming hair from her eyes. “I insist that you untie me at once.”
But he merely turned his back on her, and stalked out, vanishing through the cave opening and into the violence of the storm.
He’s mad, Juliana thought. She struggled uselessly against the rope. I’ve been trapped in here by a madman —a madman who despises me. He won’t kill me, she told herself, trying to stay calm. But there were other things a man could do to a woman, she knew, things that were worse than murder. Remembering the expression on Cole Rawdon’s face when she’d stolen his horse, Juliana knew he would be capable of anything.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, terror building as to what would happen when he came back. But eventually a new fear took hold: What if he never came back? What if he had just left her to starve to death here in this cave, as revenge for taking his horse? What if lightning had struck him, or he’d tumbled over a cliff or been killed by a falling rock or ... A dozen hair-raising possibilities presented themselves, all of which resulted in the same thing—she would be trapped here, helpless, to face slow, agonizing death.
Juliana fought the urge to scream her terror and frustration at the top of her lungs. She clamped her lips together, bit back sobs, and wrestled against the ropes. Every time lightning zigzagged across the blackness outside, every time the wind tore through the trees, and with each passing minute of drumming rain, Juliana’s fear mounted. She twisted and turned, chafing against the rough rawhide that bound her, but all she succeeded in doing was rubbing her wrists and ankles raw. The ropes stayed taut.
Just when she thought she would go mad with frustration, that she would start to scream and never stop, he returned, stamping through the entrance of the cave with the frightened pinto in tow, and the saddlebag and gear he’d been able to recover from the clearing as well.
Oh. So that’s where he had gone. Relief poured over her, as well as a reluctant sense of admiration for his coolheadedness. She had forgotten all about the horse and the supplies—but then, she’d been the one who’d almost died out there, thanks to Cole Rawdon. She couldn’t be expected to think clearly after something like that.
She ignored the fact that he had also been the one to save her life. If not for him, she never would have been anywhere near the edge of that canyon, Juliana reasoned. Sitting on the floor of the cave, watching him tend to the pinto with quick efficiency, she was struck by how smooth and capable each of his movements were. Dripping wet, no doubt freezing, as she was, he nevertheless saw to the animal with patience and ease, all the while totally ignoring her.
Anger pulsed through her. “Now that you’re back, you can untie these ropes,” she commanded. “I’m certainly not going to run off while you’re here to guard me.”
He didn’t even glance her way. “Lady, you’re loco enough to do just about anything.” He began building a fire with a store of dried twigs and branches Juliana could only surmise he had gathered together before the storm. So, he’d had this all planned out, had he? He’d found this shelter, then waited until the storm had hit, to seize her. And then he’d tried to scare her to death besides, jumping down like that out of nowhere. The man had a mean streak. It gave her little satisfaction that he was as wet as she. He didn’t look one bit uncomfortable, but her teeth were chattering, and she felt as if her skin were coated with ice.
Rawdon built the fire and soon the cave was lit by a golden blaze. Amber tongues of flame leapt up and outward, casting weird shadows on the rough rock walls. Warmth flowed outward from the fire’s crackling center, tantalizing Juliana in her sodden garments. She wriggled as close to the glowing flames as she could. “It would be a great deal easier to get warm without these ropes,” she remarked in an acid tone, wondering in helpless fury if he meant to keep her tied up all night.
“I reckon it would” was all he replied. He sent her one long, nonchalant glance. Then he began to strip off his own wet clothes, first his boots, then his shirt and pants.
Scandalized, Juliana averted her gaze, but not before she had had a glimpse of his huge, dark-furred chest. She had never seen a man’s naked chest before, and she wondered if they were all as broad and powerfully muscled as this one. Even in that brief instant, she had seen the muscles rippling.
Her fascination with his chest was outrageous, she decided—Aunt Katharine would say it was immoral. Yet she had to fight to keep from stealing another glance at him. Enemy or no, he had an undeniable virile beauty, as rugged and dangerous as the mountains themselves. She told herself that by now he was probably naked from the waist down and she certainly didn’t want to see that. So she managed to keep her gaze fixed firmly on the dancing flames, until suddenly she became aware that he was hunkering down across the fire from her, preparing coffee.
He was fully dressed—to an extent. He had donned the blue trousers and flannel shirt she had seen in the saddlebag, but he had left the shirt open to the waist. That rippling, muscled chest was exposed, tapering down to a flat, hard stomach. Juliana swallowed. He was a compelling, infuriating sight—pure masculine power and ease, handsome as sin, and coldly indifferent to her own wretched discomfort.
“I think you’ve proven your point, Mr. Rawdon.” She met his cool gaze over the flames, and there was green fire shimmering in her eyes.
“My point? What point would that be?” He poured steaming coffee into an iron mug and lifted it to his lips. He sighed in pleasure as he tasted it, then reached for the jerky and biscuits in the pack.
“You’ve caught me.” Juliana gritted her teeth. She was utterly miserable, fighting back tears, but she’d be damned if she’d let him see that. “I’m your prisoner,” she managed to say in a calm tone. “You are clearly in charge. That doesn’t mean you have the right to starve me—or let me freeze to death!” It was difficult to get the words out clearly, she was shivering so much, yet she refused to let a pleading note enter her voice. She spoke to him with an air of seething anger, pride preventing her from giving in to the temptation to beg. “Now are you going to untie me and behave in a civilized fashion or are you going to continue to play the role of a barbarian?”
He set down the coffee mug and the food and came around the campfire with the stealthy, catlike grace of an Indian. Juliana didn’t like the look on his face.
With one smooth movement, he pushed her backward onto the rough floor of the cave and held her down with the weight of his body.
“I’ve seen barbarians, sweetheart. I know what they do. You don’t know shit about barbarians.” His hands tangled in her hair, tightening painfully. “If I was a barbarian, you wouldn’t be sitting here with your pretty little dress buttoned up to your throat.” His eyes glittered with iron-blue sparks. She’d never seen such ruthlessness as she saw in his face. He looked dark, wild, cold. It scared the wits out of her.
“If I was a barbarian, you’d be staked out on the ground. You’d be naked. And I’d be punishing you for stealing my horse in a way you’d never forget.”
“Let me go!” No longer was her trembling a result of the cold. Terror beat through her, filling every pore, every muscle of her body. “Please, let me go!”
“Barbarians don’t let their prisoners go,” he snarled. “They don’t show any mercy.”
His face held no emotion except cold indifference. That terrified her more than if he had been furious with her. This was something she didn’t know how to deal with, or to protect herself against. She bit her lip, and tried to blink back the tears that stung her eyes.
“Stealing a horse is a serious crime in this country, lady. Men hang for it. Maybe you think that being a woman, you won
’t get the same kind of justice. You’re wrong. I could string you up right now and no one would say a word against it—a half-dozen witnesses saw what you did.”
“I had to ... get away.”
“You didn’t get away and you’re not going to get away. Do you understand that?”
She was suddenly too weary, too miserable to fight or argue or even worry any longer. She went still, limp as a rag doll beneath him. Her slender form, weak and tired and aching from the rigors of this day, couldn’t take any more. As Cole held her to the ground her pale face looked up at him in bleak despair, empty of fight, of anger, even of fear.
“What is it you want?” she whispered. “What do you plan to do with me?”
For a moment he just stared at her, taking in the dripping golden curls, the fragile, lovely face so weary and drained, the shivers running through her soft form.
He knew what he’d like to do with her. But it was unthinkable. She was his prisoner, completely at his mercy. He couldn’t take advantage of that. Besides, she rightly hated him. She’d probably like to claw his eyes out right now, and he couldn’t really blame her. But if she had been willing, he thought, his eyes darkening as he stared down at her, if circumstances between them had been different ... For a moment, he imagined that she was just a girl who had fainted outside a Denver saloon, and not a thief and a liar and a wanted woman who’d do or say anything to suit her own ends. Thinking of her like that, he knew damned well what he’d like to do with her.
But she wasn’t just any girl, he quickly reminded himself. And he wasn’t a man to let his feelings interfere with a job. A tremor ran through the muscles of his body. He regained control of his thoughts with steely effort.
“Do you understand that you can’t get away?” Deliberately, he kept his tone rough. That you’re going back to Denver to face those charges against you?”
“Yes. I ... understand.”
Cole rolled off her. “That’s better,’ he said, lifting her to a sitting position. “You’re learning.”
He began silently working at her bonds.
Juliana was too tired to say anything. She was also leery of angering him again. When she was free, she rubbed at her wrists and ankles with shaking fingers, then glanced up when Rawdon suddenly dropped the saddle blanket in her lap.
“Get out of those wet clothes and put this on,” he ordered. At her wary look he nodded. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you—unless you try to escape again. Otherwise, I’m not much interested in drowned rats.”
She actually thought she heard him laugh as he turned away and went to the mouth of the cave, staring out at the wild night.
Juliana realized that this was his way of allowing her to remove her clothes in privacy. Saintly of him, she thought bitterly as she faced the rear of the cave and fumbled at her soaked gown. She was too cold and miserable to feel any gratitude at all to Cole Rawdon—and that remark of his about her looking like a drowned rat rankled, despite her shivers. Of course she looked like a drowned rat. She was nearly frozen to death, her hair was streaming into her eyes, and her skin must be blue with cold—and it was all his fault. Moreover, she didn’t give a damn (there, Aunt Katharine!) about how she looked, only about the quickest way to get warm. Still, wet as they were, she couldn’t bring herself to remove her camisole and pantalets, not with a man like Cole Rawdon at such close proximity. She also kept on the pouch tied on a thin ribbon around her waist. Ever since she’d been robbed, she kept her mother’s locket and her other small treasures, as well as her money, in a little silk pouch hidden beneath her dress. Though she’d lost her reticule back in Cedar Gulch, she had her money still. It might come in handy yet, she thought, tossing her sodden dress down beside the fire. The pouch gave her some comfort, and a little more confidence. But she didn’t have enough confidence to try to get those guns of his away from Cole Rawdon—at least, not yet. She realized that was the only way she would be safe—and, of course, the only way she would have a chance to escape. No matter what she had said to him, she was going to get away. She’d rather die of starvation in the mountains or of thirst in the desert than be turned over to John Breen.
She wouldn’t actually shoot Rawdon, of course, once she got his guns, but if she could threaten him ...
She almost smiled, thinking what it would be like when she was the one in control.
Later, maybe, Juliana thought as she pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders. Just now, she needed warmth and rest, and she needed it desperately. She inched to the fire, huddling once more as close as she could get to the flames. Rawdon must have heard her movements, for he turned back into the cave and strode toward her.
“Drink some coffee,” he ordered, stooping to pour some into a mug.
“No, thank you,” Juliana was surprised to hear herself say between chattering teeth. “I don’t like coffee. I prefer tea.”
It wasn’t true, but now that she was dry and getting warm, her spirit was returning as well. Though she desperately wanted coffee, she wanted to defy Cole Rawdon even more. Not enough to get him angry at her again, but enough to annoy him.
Aunt Katharine had always accused her of choosing to be difficult. Juliana decided she was right.
“Too bad, your highness, but my provisions don’t include tea,” Rawdon responded dryly. His eyes were as cold as the granite walls of the cave, doing nothing to dissipate her shivers. “You’ll have to make do.”
“Well, then.” Juliana shrugged. “I don’t need any coff—”
He stepped toward her. “I’m not letting two thousand dollars’ worth of flesh die of exposure because you’re in the mood to be stubborn. Do I have to pour it down your throat? I’d be glad to oblige.”
He would, Juliana realized, staring up at him in alarm. Her eyes flashed with anger, but she knew it would be foolish to try to resist him at this point. Besides, the coffee looked and smelled marvelous. Instead, she responded with all the cool dignity she could muster under the circumstances. She was nearly naked, alone on a storm-tossed mountain with a man who had already killed three people today (that she knew about).
“Fine, Mr. Rawdon, but I require cream and two lumps of sugar.”
That much was true.
“Can’t help you. It’s black.”
“You don’t have ... either of those items?”
“No.”
“Well, then, I don’t believe I care for any ...”
“Drink it!”
Juliana drank. Despite the bitter taste, the searing heat of the coffee penetrated the cold in her blood even more than the blankets and the fire. Sharp warmth burned through her, deliciously comforting. She gasped, sighed, and drank the rest, draining the cup as Cole Rawdon watched impassively, his face lit by the glowing flames.
When the coffee was gone, he handed her some jerky and a biscuit.
“I suppose I ought to thank you.” But Juliana refused to look at him, and instead concentrated on the food. She didn’t care if she wolfed it down like some kind of savage. She was starving. “I’m overwhelmed by your kindness,” she couldn’t help adding between mouthfuls.
“Can’t let my prisoner die. They might withhold the reward.”
She paused and look at him. “Greed is your master, then, Mr. Rawdon? Money is more important to you than truth? Than”—she searched for words—“than justice or the miscarriage of justice?”
“You’ll have a trial, lady. Find your justice there.”
“Not in Denver! You don’t understand ...”
He gave a curt laugh.
“How many times must I tell you? I am not a thief!” His face went flat, still.
“You have a bill of sale for the pinto, I suppose?”
She stopped short. Hot color rushed into her cheeks. “You wouldn’t listen to me,” she pleaded. “I had no choice.”
“Just like you had no choice except to steal five thousand dollars and another damned horse back in Denver. Well, I’ll tell you something, lady, and this is the last
time we’ll discuss it.”
My, he was angry. Cool and controlled this time, but angry. The taut face that made him handsomer than ever, the electric fire in his eyes ... did he hate all thieves so savagely, Juliana wondered, or just her?
He reached down and pulled her to her feet so that she faced him, clutching the blanket about her.
“I don’t give a red-hot damn about any of the fugitives I bring back, and I don’t waste my time listening to them claim their innocence. You know why? Because I don’t care.” His damp hair had fallen into his eyes, giving him an almost satanic look as he continued. “This is my job. I’m not a judge. I’m not even a damned sheriff. I’m a bounty hunter. I make my living bringing criminals back to face trial, and I intend to make a damned good profit bringing you back, sweetheart. If the reward wasn’t so damned high, I wouldn’t bother with you.” His gaze scorched her with its intensity. He gave a rough laugh. “I don’t much care for women, except the kind you meet in a saloon. And something tells me you’re not that kind. I don’t talk much, and I can’t stand a lot of chatter. Or tears. So don’t try any of that.” He shook her. “You’re going back. Unless you can manage to kill me, because that’s what it would take for you to get away again. And I don’t think you’re going to manage to kill me, because others have tried who are a lot more capable of it than you. So forget about telling me you’re innocent, forget about sweet-talking me into letting you go, forget about escape, and save your tears and your begging for the judge. You got that?”
Juliana drew a breath. Rain continued to pour outside the cave, pounding the storm-tossed darkness like a hail of bullets. She gazed up at Cole Rawdon with wide, cool eyes.
“For a man who doesn’t like to talk much,” she remarked, “that was quite a speech.”
His jaw clenched. She thought she heard his teeth gnash.
