If someone would even care. Although she’d gotten plenty of attention from Adair, she hadn’t noticed Lucky’s looking back to see how she was doing, and they were three-quarters of the way back to the ranch. As a matter of fact, he and Adair were so far ahead now that they were small figures in the distance.
“I’ll go with you,” Rocky volunteered as she started to turn Spitfire.
She stopped the mare. “No need,” she assured him, thinking about his tender bottom. The man would be sore enough without riding a couple of extra miles. “You go ahead and catch up with Paula. The sooner you get back, the sooner you eat,” she said, giving him a graceful way out of the offer.
“You sure?”
“Go on. I can find my way back.”
“Okay.”
Glancing up at the sky, JoJo noted that more clouds had moved in. Rain was on its way. If she moved fast, however, she could probably get back to the ranch before the first splatter.
After making certain Rocky was all right—he was quickly catching up to Paula, boldly flapping his arms and legs to make Apache go faster—JoJo urged Spitfire into a canter, quickening the pace, yet keeping it easy enough so that she didn’t wear out her mount.
Again they crossed the stone-lined arroyo, and this time JoJo realized the potential danger of a heavy rain. The now-dry basin would undoubtedly fill fast with rushing water that would be difficult and perhaps even unsafe to cross. She’d be back before that rain began, JoJo vowed, signaling Spitfire to get a move on.
When she came within sight of the town, she brought the mare back down to a walk to cool out, even though the wind was picking up and the sky was turning a truculent gray.
She dismounted in front of the jail, its hitching post closest to the stable.
Once inside, she headed straight for the ladder, replaying in her mind every nuance of the wrestling match with Lucky, the event undoubtedly prompting her wallet to go astray. Even now, thinking about his body over hers left her a little light-headed. And she needed her full concentration, for this time, she had no light to guide her up to the hayloft. The sky had darkened ominously.
Forcing thoughts of Lucky to the back of her mind, she practically took two rungs at a time and, once on the upper level, crawled around on hands and knees, blindly digging through straw, raising enough hay dust to give her a sneezing fit. Settling on her haunches, waiting for the itching in her nose to subside, JoJo could hardly believe her ears when she heard the first drops of rain pat-pat against the stable’s roof.
Frantic to get out of Rimrock before she was caught here for who knew how long, she ripped through the straw, holding her breath against inhaling more of the fine particles until finally her hand hit leather.
“Ta-da!”
Triumphantly, she retrieved the wallet even as lightning lit the loft. A roll of thunder followed, and after that came an instant deluge.
“Damn!”
The view out the window was of a solid wet curtain. Shoving the wallet into her back pocket, JoJo wondered what she was supposed to do now. She couldn’t start out in the blinding rain—she’d never find her way back. She’d just have to sit it out and wait for a break in the weather. Then they could hightail it out of there.
Rain drove inside her shelter, and JoJo moved to shut the awkward moldering doors on their creaky hinges. The rain was so heavy she couldn’t see down to the street.
Even so, that Spitfire was being drenched occurred to JoJo, and part of her thought to rescue and bring the poor horse into the dry stable. But then they would both be soaking wet, and what would that accomplish?
Besides, if they were back at the ranch, Spitfire would be pastured, with only a small lean-to acting as a puny half shelter against the rain for all the horses. Being wet wouldn’t hurt the mare, so in the end, JoJo decided to stay put and make it up to Spitfire later with a nice rubdown and a few carrots or whatever else she could find for a treat.
Not having worn a watch, JoJo had no idea of how long she waited for the storm to diminish. A half hour? An hour? An eternity had passed before the sound of driving rain abated and the sky lightened marginally. She was able to see as much through the large crack between the hayloft doors since they no longer matched properly.
JoJo scrambled down the ladder and rushed through the stable and into the street. Mud sucked at her new leather boots as she hotfooted it toward the jail to retrieve Spitfire.
Suddenly she stopped, frozen, her heart lurching.
No horse.
JoJo tried to still the rising panic threatening to swallow her whole.
Chapter Seven
“Spitfire!” JoJo yelled.
Though she hoped the mare was within hearing distance, she received no answering whinny. Surely Spitfire wouldn’t have wandered very far in that downpour. She spotted a piece of leather in the mud beneath the hitching post—the mare had pulled the reins free, no doubt to find shelter. JoJo ran, slid and slipped through the sandy muck to the back of the buildings, calling and whistling, but saw no flash of a chestnut hide.
No Spitfire.
Now what?
Frantic from quickly building stress, JoJo could hardly think clearly, yet it came to her that, without the mare, she had no choices. If she couldn’t find Spitfire, she was going to have to walk back to the ranch house. Retracing her steps, she searched the ground for any prints not obliterated by the rain. Futile, she thought, until she realized the earth was kicked up in the street in a regular pattern, a messy trail leading out of town.
The mucked-up area was a bit broad to have been made by a single horse. Could there have been two of them, then? A lump the size of a melon grew in her throat as she thought of the implications. For a moment, she couldn’t swallow.
Had someone with harmful intentions followed her back to Rimrock and purposely stolen her horse?
She wanted to believe this was simple misfortune, but instinct told her otherwise. Undoubtedly, this was no accident…not any more than the Bushwhacker incident had been. Nor any more than hearing what sounded like gunshots that first day out with Spitfire had been. Someone was doing more than trying to scare her away from the Macbride Ranch. Someone wanted her hurt.
She couldn’t…wouldn’t…think further than that.
Still, her mount’s doing a disappearing act didn’t make sense, for how could an unpleasant walk hurt her?
Perhaps not the walk…but someone waiting to ambush her along the way…
Heart beating to a weird rhythm, JoJo followed the mucky trail that eventually disappeared on the gravel road outside of town. Senses heightened by fear and fighting panic, she was aware of every sound, every movement, every nuance of her surroundings as she backtracked. She hurried, power-walking as best she could in the new boots, feeling the still-stiff leather rub through her socks against her heels and toes, knowing she would suffer later. She concentrated on what those feet were doing, putting one down before the other, finding a safe path, so she wouldn’t have to think.
Wouldn’t have to wonder if, even now, someone were watching, plotting against her.
Wouldn’t have time to be paranoid.
Wouldn’t go out of her mind.
JoJo recognized the welling panic, that same horrible sensation filling her as it had the day of the wedding when she’d thought she’d spotted Lester Perkins in the crowd. But chances were she had seen him, since he’d escaped from his psychiatric ward that very morning.
And he was still on the loose.
Not that Lester knew where she was, JoJo assured herself. He’d have no way of finding her.
Who, then, had been messing with her mind?
Don’t mess with a Donatelli, Lucky had warned her in the hayloft. We give as good as we get.
He’d been teasing, though. She was certain of it. She didn’t want to believe that Lucky could have spirited Spitfire away.
But someone in the seemingly friendly group must have, she thought. Unless…
Caroline hadn’t come al
ong, and JoJo was aware of what Lucky’s sister thought of her. Caroline Donatelli probably knew the area like the back of her hand, since she’d been coming to the ranch for years. Could she have ridden out after the group, taking a slightly different route, just waiting for her chance to play a nasty trick on JoJo?
Renewed rain cut through JoJo’s speculation. She was soaked in a minute, before she could even look around for shelter. Not that she knew of any. She didn’t remember seeing a single overhang on her ride out.
No choice but to keep going.
Head down, she pressed through the torrent, her one motivating thought the safety of the ranch house, where she would have lots of company. Where she wouldn’t be alone and afraid. That she probably had a two-hour walk ahead of her didn’t daunt JoJo in and of itself. As a dancer, she was in great physical shape. Her body could take the exercise. And her boots even seemed to be cooperating—softening as they grew wetter, the leather molding around her feet.
But two hours was a long time to be an easy target.
Unable to see more than a few yards in any direction, she started jogging at an effortless pace. She couldn’t keep this up all the way home, but she could alternate between jogging and walking, thereby cutting down the time that she would be isolated and vulnerable.
Cutting down the time she would be wet and cold.
Despite her quickened pace, JoJo was shivering. She rubbed her arms. Hugged herself closer. Concentrated so hard on thinking warm that she missed the drop in the ground until her feet met air.
Suddenly, JoJo went flying. She threw her arms out for balance and by good fortune managed to land right side up, one knee in soft, sucking sand. Quickly, she rose, then stood stock-still for a moment, legs shaking, her boot tips mere inches from surging water.
The arroyo.
Dear Lord, the very thing Lucky had warned them all about.
No longer a dry wash, the arroyo had become a miniriver, its current fast and treacherous. She could see bits of trees and other plants rushing by.
What now?
Not knowing any other route home, she would have to cut across here. She gazed up to the top of the bank and realized the wash had only half filled, maybe three feet or so. Waist-high water wasn’t impossible to cross, even with a current. She could do it, JoJo thought. Though she couldn’t see to the other side, she guessed the distance at barely a dozen yards. Of course she could do it.
She had to do it.
Spotting a tree limb swirling a short distance away, JoJo planted one foot in the ankle-deep water and reached. The limb was a bit too far out and sped past her fast. JoJo plunged a step farther, the water coming to her calf, and grabbed before the limb could get away. Quickly, she balanced the sturdy wood on end before the water could get her. The top came to her shoulder, exactly the right height for a staff.
Unwilling to wait any longer, for already the water was swelling, JoJo used the staff to check the wash’s bottom several feet farther out. It seemed solid enough. Taking a big breath and offering up an even bigger prayer, she took a step forward. Not too bad. Here the water still swirled around her calves. Another few steps took her knee-deep.
Only twenty feet to go.
JoJo moved the staff, saw it plunge deeper this time. A thrill shooting through her stomach, she forced her legs to follow. Thigh deep now, she drove the staff forward, then her legs, repeating the movements until water swirled around her waist and the current buffeted her.
Not quite halfway, JoJo focused on the other bank, which she could barely see through the steady downpour. The next set of steps took her even deeper, however. Water rushed around her breasts, the current sucking, pulling at her. Her heart thundered, and she tried not to give in to panic.
Realizing she’d misjudged the depth, JoJo wrapped both hands around the tree limb and inched her way forward, at the same time working with the insistent current, allowing it to coax her downstream even as she drew closer to the other bank. Somehow, no matter how much progress she made, she was barely staying ahead of the rapidly rising water.
And in the distance, a roaring sound alerted her to added danger.
Exhaustion called for rest, but stopping even for a moment could be fatal. Instead, JoJo mustered her reserves and pushed her way several more yards toward shore. Her reward was waist-deep water. Adrenaline surging, she kept going, stumbling when she got to the far side of the wash.
Caught in the current, her staff sped off too quickly for her to react.
And the rushing sound loomed closer.
Fevered with the need to get away from the wash, JoJo pushed herself upright and began the rock-strewn climb that seemed much higher than she remembered. Or perhaps it was just the spot where she’d landed. But every time she took a step, she slid back. Rather than feet, she ascended in inches. Halfway up, she paused for just a moment, panting for her breath, listening to the rushing sound that was quickly becoming a roar. And she heard something else. A human voice.
“JoJo!”
The voice was faint—some distance away—but familiar. Lucky. She opened her mouth to answer, then froze. What if he was responsible for her being on foot? What if he’d come back to finish her off?
Clenching her jaw with determination, she started climbing again, ignoring the repeated echo of her name as his voice drew closer. Her hand found the top of the bank. Her fingers closed around what felt like stable rock. She levered her boot against the slippery soil and pushed upward only to see Lucky stalking her through the torrent, a dangerous, dark shape that fluttered and shifted.
“JoJo!”
“No-o-o!” she cried, frantically trying to gain the bank before he could reach her.
Once more her foot slipped on unstable earth, and everything happened in slow motion. Her body shooting out. Head turning toward the sound of a more imminent threat than Lucky. Eyes widening at the torrent of raging water loosed upon the arroyo as if a dam upstream had burst. Hanging on to the rock with a single hand, she felt as if her arm was about to separate from her shoulder.
Worse, her fingers burned…and began to slip.
Then a hand clamped around her wrist, and she looked up to see Lucky looming over her, yellow slicker flapping around him. “Get some footing if you can!” he yelled.
Too late. Water suddenly rushed around her dangling legs, threatening to swallow her whole. “I can’t!”
Lucky threw himself backward onto the ground, his powerful maneuver thrusting her into the stone-encrusted bank and toward him. Breath knocked out of her at contact, JoJo still had the presence of mind to dig at the pebbled muck with a clawed hand, to fight the menacing water with kicking legs. Then suddenly she was free of nature’s peril behind her, body shaking as she was drawn up against the all-too human threat before her.
Even through the rain, JoJo could see Lucky’s eyes. Stony accusation rather than the warmth she craved acknowledged her. Filled with conflicting emotions, JoJo wondered if she had just traded one perilous risk for another.
LUCKY HEAVED himself to his feet and JoJo with him. He’d wanted her gone, hadn’t figured he’d care how. But letting her drown like a rat hadn’t been part of his plan.
Grabbing hold of her arm, he dragged JoJo toward Silverado. She could hardly move. Only half stopping, he hoisted her up into his arms and kept going, his limp more pronounced by her weight. She was shaking. And though she didn’t protest this time, she was trying to keep herself separate from him. She leaned away from his chest.
And Lucky was assaulted by a multitude of unwelcome and contradictory thoughts, first of which was that he wished she’d move closer, wrap her arms around his neck as if he wasn’t some kind of damn pariah. Then again, hadn’t he wanted her gone one way or the other?
He feared he now had the advantage.
A few yards from where he’d left his horse, he set her feet down, though he kept a steadying arm across her back.
“Think you can stand there while I mount?”
Mutely, s
he nodded her agreement, water pouring from her hat, which she’d managed to keep intact.
At least some part of her body was dry.
Picking up Silverado’s reins that he’d left dangling on the ground so the gelding would stay put, Lucky swung up into the saddle. He held out his hand. JoJo stared at it. And then at him.
“Take it, or I’ll leave you here!” he shouted above a clap of thunder.
Eyes bleak, she placed a hand that felt like ice in his. He removed his left foot from its stirrup so she could use it to mount. He swore he heard her boot squish as she hiked herself up. When she settled behind him, she fisted his rain slicker rather than get too close.
Irritated that she was acting as though he had the plague—and after he’d saved her life—Lucky ordered, “Get a grip, woman, or you’ll fall off.”
Obediently, she slid her arms around his middle and trembled against his back. From cold or fear? Maybe both. Conflicted as he seemed to be every time he was around her, Lucky cursed and signaled Silverado to move off. The ranch house was a good ride away, a half hour or better in this weather, so he sought a closer shelter.
Less than five minutes later, they were under a rocky overhang nestled within minor red sandstone formations. Lucky helped JoJo down, then dismounted himself. Retrieving a waterproof, battery-operated torch from where he’d tied it to his saddle roll, he drew both her and his horse toward an opening in the rock face.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace dry.”
“Why not the ranch?”
The fear and suspicion making her voice quaver should gratify him more than it did.
“Don’t worry, I won’t attack you,” he said truthfully, unable to help adding, “You look like a drowned rat anyway.”
Lucky Devil Page 10
