Each Time We Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  Contemptuously Savanna threw down her weapon. "It had better be all! And I'm still not riding on a horse with you."

  "What about Jeremy?" Micajah persisted , not certain how he had lost the advantage. "Will you ride with him? It's only until we reach the Sabine—you know I've got more horses and supplies waiting for us there." Some of Micajah's bravado was returning with every second, but he wasn't yet ready to make another attempt to bully her into submission. The defeat, however, left a bitter taste in his mouth; she had shamed him, made him lose face in front of Jeremy, but for the present he forced himself to be content with promising himself viciously that his time would come and when it did, Savanna was going to pay and pay dearly for this little scene.

  At the mention of his name, Jeremy, who had watched the confrontation with openmouthed astonishment, averted his eyes from Micajah's sullen face and muttered nervously, "I don't want that devil-witch riding with me! Let them ride together!"

  Savanna's mouth opened to protest such a solution, but she realized that she had fought her way into a corner. She'd made it plain she wasn't riding with Micajah; Jeremy had made it equally plain he wasn't riding with her; that left only...

  She glanced over at the prisoner and felt her temper rise when she caught sight of the cynical smile on his hard mouth.

  "Anything to please a lady," Adam murmured, aware of her predicament.

  "Oh, shut up!" she snapped and aimed a halfhearted kick in his direction.

  The ugly incident was over, but it had left Savanna shaken and trembling inside, yet she dared not reveal how very vulnerable and frightened she felt. It had been a dangerous gamble to confront Micajah, but she hadn't seen that there had been any other choice. Ever since she'd woken up and found herself Micajah's prisoner, Savanna's emotions had been stretched and twisted to their limit. There wasn't a moment that she could relax her guard, not a second that she wasn't aware of the danger of her position. Fear stalked her every waking and sleeping moment: the fear of Micajah's careless brutality, the unrelenting fear of rape, the gnawing fear that he would expose her mother's life for what it had been and fear of what lay ahead.

  By refusing to let him order where or what she would ride, she had reminded him that he wasn't going to find her easy prey. But Savanna wondered sickly how long she could hold him at bay.

  Outwardly she might appear calm and unruffled by the confrontation with Micajah, but inwardly she was subdued as she moved about the camp, packing the meager utensils and supplies they had brought with them. The Sabine River was still a few days off, she thought dispiritedly; perhaps an answer to her dilemma would occur to her before then. Escape, while longed for, wouldn't put an end to her problems—Micajah could still carry out the threat to harm her mother.

  Savanna's gaze slid to Micajah as he saddled his horse, and her full mouth tightened. As long as Micajah was alive, neither she nor her mother would ever be truly safe. There was only one way to ensure that the outlaw would never bother them again, and her eyes darkened as she realized precisely what she had to do... she'd have to kill him. That was the only way to be certain that her mother would be safe.

  The decision to kill Micajah wasn't an easy one for Savanna to make. In a temper, in a fight, to protect herself from his brutal attentions, she could kill him without a quiver, but to cold-bloodedly plan his death was difficult. It also occurred to her, that if she killed Micajah, she'd be no better than the man who had murdered her father. The motives might be different, but the act would still be the same and she and the prisoner would share a vile bond—they both would have taken the life of a fellow man.

  Grim-faced, she stared at the object of her thoughts, and her heart gave a funny little hop when she discovered that he was watching her, the expression in his hard blue eyes impossible to discern. His life was forfeit, too, she thought. Once he had told them where the gold was, there was no doubt that Micajah would kill him, and despite knowing that he deserved to die for killing Davalos, Savanna was surprised at how depressed she felt at the thought of that long, lean body lying cold and moldering in some forgotten grave, of those fascinating features dull and lifeless, the infuriatingly mocking light gone forever from those glittering sapphire-blue eyes.

  Giving herself a shake, she wrenched her gaze away from him. It didn't matter. It was his own damn fault! And she was not going to feel sorry for him—why should she? He had killed her father, ruined her life, and she hated him—that was all she needed to remember.

  During the next hour, Savanna found it impossible to decide which one she hated the most—Micajah Yates or the black-haired devil with whom she shared a mount. Once she'd gotten in the saddle, the prisoner had mounted behind her, and with ill-concealed malice Micajah had anchored the wretched creature's hands to the saddle horn; Savanna had been effectively encircled by a pair of unyielding, steel-muscled arms. Worse was to follow as she discovered how very intimate riding double could be—it was bad enough that his arms embraced her, but the hard wall of his chest was at her back and his warm breath blew softly against the hair near her ear; his long legs brushed continually against hers, and with every passing mile it became apparent that he was doing nothing to prevent their bodies from touching. She strongly suspected that he was enjoying himself and she wished that she had thought faster and demanded that he ride with someone else. Staring fixedly at the long-fingered, finely shaped hands secured to the saddle horn, Savanna wondered viciously if perhaps she hadn't made a mistake in not riding with Micajah. She glanced over to where Micajah rode next to her, but just thinking about putting her arms around him made her shiver with distaste. Telling herself that she had chosen the lesser of two evils, she concentrated grimly on Micajah, which wasn't difficult—she might have the reins to her mount these days, but Micajah was taking no chances and had added a lead rope to her horse's bridle and kept it firmly in his grasp as they traveled steadily through the wilderness.

  Under different circumstances, Adam would have enjoyed himself immensely; after all, his arms were around a beautiful young woman and they were riding through untamed, seldom traveled land. But lessening his pleasure considerably was the disagreeable knowledge that, given the opportunity, the young woman would have cheerfully skewered him, and as for their two other companions... His eyes hardened. The two men had every intention of torturing and then murdering him—not a pleasant prospect. There was little Adam could do about his situation at present, but while one part of his brain weighed various methods of escape, the other part took a connoisseur's interest in the tempting body of the lovely, hot-tempered shrew who shared the horse with him.

  Under any circumstances, Adam admitted reluctantly, she would be hard to ignore, but since he'd felt her foot in his ribs, she had made a painful impact on him that no other woman could claim, and while he had a sensuous appreciation of the soft curves so near his own, there was an undeniably hostile cast to his thoughts about her. She wasn't at all happy to be partnered with him, and there was a decidedly diabolical twist to his mouth as he deliberately brought their bodies into close contact time and again during the long day. There was, he concluded wryly, only one little problem with taunting her that way—he spent the remaining hours in a state of painful arousal, and his thoughts were no kinder toward her when Micajah called a halt and they made camp for the night.

  From the way Savanna shot off the horse once Micajah had untied Adam's hands from the saddle horn and she was free of his embrace, it was obvious that she had not found being in such proximity to him all day to her liking, and Adam wondered idly if he was insulted. Probably not, he decided sourly; after all, she did believe that he had killed her father.

  Through slitted lids he watched as she moved around the meager camp. After the day they had just spent, he was achingly familiar with every lush curve covered by that ugly brown gown, and there was a speculative gleam in his dark blue eyes as they rested on the tempting thrust of her bosom. He found it incredible that she was the daughter of Bias Davalos, and it was
even more unbelievable to him that he had been kidnapped in order to reveal the location of Jason's Aztec treasure. It was also, he conceded somberly, entirely possible that unless fate were kind, he was going to be tortured to death in about forty-eight hours.

  It could not be said that Adam slept well, nor could it be said, when he was awakened the next morning by the painful prod of Savanna's foot in his ribs, that any solution had occurred to him. Nor during the long day that followed were his thoughts any kinder toward his captors, particularly the woman who once again shared a horse with him.

  Savanna had not slept well that night either—notwithstanding her ever-present fears about the future, she had been unable to forget how it felt to have the warm, muscular body of that sapphire-eyed devil cradled so intimately against hers. Despite telling herself that she hated him, that he was a murdering scoundrel who deserved whatever Micajah gave him, she hadn't been able to stop her rebellious flesh from responding in an unnerving manner to that wretched creature's nearness. Every time he'd brushed against her, she had felt a giddy sensation deep in her belly, and when his breath had caressed her ear, to her horror, her nipples had swelled and tightened. She couldn't understand why she was suddenly being beset by reactions she had never experienced previously, and she was furious and disgusted that the man who had aroused these unwanted emotions was her father's killer. She'd spent a great part of the night twisting on the hard ground, considering several painful methods for the demise of the mocking-mouthed monster who was the cause of all her problems.

  The next morning there was no escape from the previous day's riding arrangements and, stony-faced, she mounted her horse and waited stoically as Micajah anchored the prisoner's hands to the saddle horn. Today, however, she wasn't about to put up with his provoking antics, and every time he pressed against her, whether accidentally or not, she gave him a jab in the ribs, putting all her strength behind the movement of her elbow. After she had jabbed him a few times, she noticed with grim satisfaction that he had lost his enthusiasm for that particular game, but she wasn't about to let up. He had made her life miserable yesterday; today he could suffer.

  Adam did. By the time they stopped to make camp the second night, his ribs ached incessantly and he seriously wondered if she had cracked one. Her tall, supple body no longer held the slightest appeal to him, and if his fingers itched when she came near him, it was to strangle her.

  His thoughts were grim that second night as he lay staring at the black sky. Micajah had pushed them at a brutal pace, and sometime tomorrow they would cross the Sabine River. Time was rapidly running out. So far there had been no opportunity to escape. When not riding, Adam was always tightly bound, his feet as well as his hands, and his trio of captors was always present. Micajah, he knew, was the most lethal of the group, and while two against one wasn't a very good wager, he'd be willing to risk it—if the two were Jeremy and Savanna.

  In a vile frame of mind when dawn finally broke, Adam was in no mood to be a passive victim, and when Savanna approached to wake him in her usual manner, he was ready for her. Her foot swung forward aiming for his ribs, but with incredible speed, even with his hands bound, he caught her foot and twisted it violently, smiling with savage pleasure when with an astonished shriek she tumbled to the ground.

  She lay there glaring at him and he glared right back, sapphire eyes hard and cold. He grinned unpleasantly at her and said, "I suggest that in the future you think of another way to wake me."

  Savanna leaped to her feet, and from the furious expression on her face, Adam suspected that she would like to launch a very painful attack on him. But she controlled her temper and her fists clenched at her sides, muttered fiercely, "Since this is probably the last morning you'll ever see, I don't think there's any point."

  She spun on her heels and proudly stalked away. Her shuttered expression did not reveal how depressing she had found her own words. Micajah was certain they would cross the Sabine River sometime today, and Savanna knew that once they made camp that night, he had every intention of questioning their prisoner... and killing him after he had gotten the information he wanted. A lump rose in her throat and her stomach sank. It shouldn't matter to her that Micajah was going to kill her father's killer, but oddly enough it did; reminding herself stonily that it was only what the wretched creature deserved didn't help to lessen or change the intensity of her emotions.

  An odd truce existed between Savanna and Adam that day. He made no attempt to taunt her with the closeness of his body, and she left off her tactics of the previous day. There had never been much conversation between them, but they were unduly silent as the small cavalcade wound steadily through the pine forests, each mile bringing them nearer to the Sabine River, each mile shortening the brief time that Adam had allotted himself to escape.

  Adam's features were etched in harsh lines when they finally crossed the Sabine River late that afternoon, and it occurred darkly to him that Jason and the family would never know what had happened to him. His disappearance would be forever a mystery. He was saddened to think of the anguish the others would feel, never knowing what had befallen him, always wondering if he were alive somewhere, always hoping that eventually he would return home. He smiled without joy. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him—in a matter of hours he was going to suffer the cruel, barbaric ministrations of Micajah, and he could only hope that he would die well.

  Part Two

  The Adversaries

  Giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel,

  That goddess blind,

  That stands upon the rolling restless stone.

  William Shakespeare

  King Henry V

  Chapter 7

  Savanna was unusually silent and her features somber as she moved about the campsite that Micajah selected for the night. It was late afternoon when they finally stopped, and under different circumstances she might have found the area delightful—a stream ran nearby and the pungent scent of the pine trees mingled with the sweet fragrance of the coral honeysuckle curling around the trunks of the trees. Dogwood, magnolias and azaleas were interspersed amongst the tall, straight pines, and here and there the brilliant pink blossoms of the trailing phlox could be glimpsed.

  But Savanna was barely aware of her surroundings, as she grappled with the knowledge that they had crossed the Sabine River and that later, Micajah would take out that long, lethal blade of his and use it on their prisoner. She swallowed with difficulty.

  It wasn't that she was squeamish—she could gut a deer, clean a rabbit or dispatch a chicken without thinking about it—and it wasn't that she wasn't capable of shooting or even killing a man, but torture...

  Torture was on Adam's mind, too, and he was determined to bear whatever Micajah inflicted upon him without betraying any sign of pain. He would die like a man and never give Micajah the satisfaction of breaking him. The prospect for escape did not look any better right now than it had since he had woken up as Micajah's prisoner three days ago, and now that time had run out for him, he was prepared to take whatever desperate measures might be necessary—no matter how slim the margin might be for success.

  Adam had tested his bonds over the days of his captivity, but they were as secure as they had been in the beginning. Until this evening. Lying at the edge of the camp, his body dappled by the shadows made by the fading sunlight that filtered through the forest, Adam's hands were bound in front of him as tightly as ever, but he experienced a thrill of elation when,testing the bonds on his feet, he felt a slight give in the rawhide that held him captive. Micajah had grown careless.

  Keeping his feet in the shadows, Adam lay there, apparently resigned to his fate, but all the while he was continually, with barely discernible movements, struggling to free his feet. It was tedious work, and every time Savanna or one of the others glanced in his direction, he froze and his heart seemed to stop beating.

  Concentrating on his task, Adam wasn't aware of the conversation going on around him until Micajah walked
over to one of the horses, swung up into the saddle, and said, "'I'll be damned if I'm settling for corn mush one more night. We passed some recent deer tracks not far back, and I could have sworn I heard a turkey gobble a bit before that. I'm going to get us some fresh meat."

  Sending a glance at Jeremy, Micajah growled, "Keep your eyes and ears open and don't trust no one. There could be some renegades in this area—don't be slow in shooting first." To Savanna, he said sourly, "As for you, stack up plenty of firewood, but don't wander far from camp—the men you might meet up with won't be as tolerant as I have been."

  Jerking his horse around, he flashed a look at Adam and with an ugly smile on his face he murmured, "Yeah, find lots of firewood... we've got work to do tonight."

  As Micajah rode away, it was all Adam could do to suppress the silly smile he knew hovered about his mouth. For the first time ever, Micajah had left him alone in the camp with only Jeremy and Savanna, and Adam was exultant—even more so when Micajah disappeared from view and, with one last, furtive movement, his feet were free!

  Surreptitiously Adam eyed the other two, noting with interest the taut set of Savanna's shoulders before his gaze slid lower, lingering on the tempting thrust of her buttocks as she bent over to gather up pieces of fallen wood. Angered by both his momentary distraction and his body's instant response, he fixed his gaze on Jeremy, considering his next move.

  Jeremy was extremely nervous about the situation. His small eyes constantly darting from Savanna to Adam and back again, as if he could not make up his mind which one of them was the most threatening. Adam smiled unpleasantly. Jeremy was already rattled, and after having observed him these past days, Adam was certain that in a crisis Jeremy would prove to be an unstable link. Which left only Savanna....