by Nina Bruhns
"It wasn't Philip."
He blew out a breath. "You're that sure?"
"I dated the man for three months. I trust him."
"You dated me for seven years," he shot back.
And you don't trust me.
She felt as though she'd been struck. The words couldn't have been clearer if they'd been spoken aloud. "That's different."
"Yeah." Roman slashed a hand up at Philip. "Get the hell out of my sight, O'Donnaugh, before I actually check that gun." He started to stalk away, toward the cabin.
"Roman, wait." She rushed after him, determined to show him things were different now. That she did trust him. Which she did.
"No."
Philip's belligerent answer brought them both to a halt.
Roman spun, his features angular and ghostlike in the patchy moonlight. "You want to be arrested?"
"No. But if it's true what you say, and my men are doing something illegal, I need to know about it."
The silence stretched until she could hear the rustle of seedpods in the meadow and the whistle of wind in the peaks high above them. She held her breath for Roman's reply.
"All right," he said at last. "I'll go along with this charade. But not here. I want to get RaeAnne somewhere safe."
"A fine idea," she said, filling her starving lungs. "But first I have to take care of the skeleton."
"Forget it, Rae. It'll be fine for one night."
"But—"
"I'm not giving you a choice."
"I agree, RaeAnne. You're in danger here until we figure out what's going on," Phillip said.
"We?" Roman eyed him suspiciously.
"I'm still Inyo County Sheriff, Santangelo. Like it or not, we're working together."
Terrific. She needed this like she needed more complications in her life. Not. "How about if you two work together and leave me out of it?"
"No," they said in unison.
Well, would wonders never cease? They actually agreed on something. Too bad it was about telling her what to do.
Unfortunately, just then she remembered how terrified she was. "Okay, okay." She gave a gesture of surrender. "But at least let me cover the bones with plastic so they aren't damaged if it rains."
Fifteen minutes later they'd done that, thrown some overnight things into the Jeep and were following the sheriff's cruiser down the mountain.
"Where are we going?" she asked, peering nervously into the black void surrounding them. The Jeep's headlights didn't make a dent in the penetrating darkness. Even the moon had gone into hiding behind one of the massive, looming peaks.
While she'd carefully tucked a tarp around the skeleton, Roman and Philip had stood guard over her like a couple of junkyard dogs—snarling at each other the entire time. They'd argued in intense whispers after Roman told Philip about the possible marijuana cultivation at Tecopa, about Philip's deputies beating him up, about the evidence of long-term illegal poaching activity by someone in the sheriff's office, along with Roman's growing suspicions that they were all somehow connected, which was news to her. What could the sheriff's office's poaching possibly have to do with Pritchett selling marijuana and killing Danforth? And hadn't his beating been the deputies' pathetically misguided attempt to fix their boss' faltering love life?
There was a moment she'd thought they'd actually come to blows when Roman mentioned Philip's own initials being in his father's notes about the poaching. But then Philip had gone dead quiet, set his jaw and just stalked off to his cruiser.
"We're going for a ride," Roman answered, bringing her back to the question of where they were headed.
"No kidding," she remarked, grabbing the Jeep's door frame as he took the turn onto the highway too fast. "But where?"
"No, I really mean for a ride. How far is it to Medicine Wind Stables?"
She stared. "Stables? You're taking me horseback riding?" He nodded. "Now?"
He nodded again. "Got a better idea?"
She gaped at him, then glanced around at the dark forest. "Yeah! How about a hotel?"
He flashed her a grin. "Attractive as that sounds, we need to find Toby."
"It's pitch-black out! We'll be lucky to find the trail!"
"You forget, this tracking stuff is in my blood. I'm an Indian."
"You're a nutcase!" she exclaimed. "And this is crazy. Toby will be back tomorrow."
"Unless they get to him first."
Sudden alarm for the boy rocketed through her. "They? You mean whoever shot at us is after him, too?" That was something she hadn't considered. This was getting downright terrifying.
"Toby's the key, he has to be. I can't take the chance they realize that and try to keep him from talking."
"Who?"
"I wish I knew."
"Does Philip know where we're going?"
Roman shook his head. "O'Donnaugh seemed convincing, that he didn't know about his deputies or the poaching, and that he isn't involved in the marijuana. But I'm not willing to risk the kid's life on any of that."
She fell silent as she contemplated the danger Toby might be facing at this very moment, regardless of who was after them. They had to help him, before it was too late.
It was truly amazing how completely a life could change in virtually a split second.
Not a week ago, she had been living a safe, unexciting existence, digging up her rocks and arrowheads and casually dating a man who was nice if not exactly heart-pounding. Practically in the blink of an eye her life had become a roller coaster. She'd had her artifacts stolen then confiscated, lost her boyfriend, slept with the high school sweetheart she'd vowed never to speak to again, discovered a murder victim, possibly gotten herself pregnant, been shot at and fallen in love with the one man on earth she knew with certainty would break her heart into a million pieces.
How had all this happened in the course of a few short days?
Roman looked over at her, his eyes searching, and asked softly, "You up for it?"
Was she? On any level? Was she brave enough to face the bullets of the present, the heartaches of the past and a future filled with pain and uncertainty?
"I don't know," she answered truthfully, and though trembling inside, gave him her bravest smile. "But I guess we're about to find out."
* * *
Chapter 13
«^»
They'd raised a few brows at the Medicine Wind Stables when they'd shown up asking for horses at an hour most people were settling down with their families in front of the TV. But in the end they'd convinced the owners to rent them a couple of mounts by saying it was urgent they find Toby. Roman hadn't even had to flash his FBI credentials—once again his father's reputation had preceded him.
He swallowed the ever-present distaste the mention of his father produced, and listened carefully as the young cowboy who was saddling up for them mentioned some places they might run into Toby.
Roman didn't let himself think about what they were doing as he and RaeAnne urged their horses onto a narrow mountain trail in the dead of night with nothing to guide them but an old U.S. Geological Survey map and a drugstore compass. Thank goodness she was an archaeologist and knew which end was up among the dotted lines and squiggly contour markings on the puke-green map. Not that they could see anything, either map or landscape, even with a flashlight. They were largely relying on their horses to know where the trail was or wasn't.
He fisted the reins and prayed they'd make it in one piece to the small lake the cowboy had recommended they camp at for the night. The lake was a hub for several side trails, on any one of which they might find Toby.
"I can't believe you talked me into this," RaeAnne grumbled from atop her horse, trodding along behind his.
"I thought you loved to ride," he said in a deliberately cheery voice. No way was he going to let on how uncomfortable he was feeling.
Okay, downright nervous. Yeah, Mr. Tough Guy Undercover Agent, who had nerves of steel and ice in his veins, able to outlast and outwit the nastiest crim
inal the FBI could throw at him. Lord. Ever since that fateful day he'd found RaeAnne tied to a tree he'd had a case of nerves big enough to last him a lifetime. And this Gordian knot of suspicious crimes and coincidences they found themselves in the middle of exponentially increased his worry.
Of course, straddling a thousand pounds of ornery horseflesh didn't help his peace of mind, either.
"I do love to ride," she retorted. "But not in the middle of the night with some maniac out there just itching to use me for target practice."
Roman shifted in his saddle and turned to look at her. "Dammit, RaeAnne, that's not funny."
"Tell me about it."
"Baby, there's no way they can know where we're going."
"Then why are we doing this now and not waiting until morning?"
He turned frontways again and cursed silently. The woman was too smart for her own good. "Because I wanted a good excuse to get you in my sleeping bag, that's why."
She didn't reply and he wondered if she was still frightened or if he'd managed to make her smile. He also wondered what she'd say when she found out he'd only brought one sleeping bag.
"I see you only brought one sleeping bag," she said, managing to make him smile, despite the fear gnawing in his gut.
"Yep," he allowed, and thought about how they'd have to spoon together to fit into it. It had been a long time since he'd made love in a sleeping bag. Over eighteen years, to be exact. The memory of a long-ago, sweet afternoon sifted through him and he felt himself grow hard.
Her saddle creaked. "So, where are you going to sleep?"
"Inside you," he answered before he knew what he was saying.
His horse's hooves plodded to the hard throb of his heart, each hammering beat more powerful than the last.
"I'd like that," she said at last, and he had to stop himself from jumping off the wretched beast and sweeping her into his arms right then and there.
Instead he simply turned and looked at her. He didn't say anything—couldn't say anything that would adequately convey his feelings at hearing those words spoken from her lips with such seriousness. The profound joy, the pure exhilaration, the agonizing desire.
The awful fear that something terrible would once again prevent him from being with her for the rest of his days.
Above him, the wind soughed through the trees, creating a eerie, lonely sound. He tipped his head up, seeking a glimpse of the high country into which they were headed. The crouching mountains yawned around them like a black, forbidding gullet preparing to swallow the two insignificant humans foolish enough to be on the trail at night. He suppressed a shiver. Even bundled up in his leather jacket he was cold, but he knew it wasn't the temperature that was making his spine crawl.
They rode for another two hours before spotting a shimmer of moonlight on water between the trees of a small valley below. The lake. Thank God, they'd made it.
Fifteen minutes later they'd reached the primitive camp on its shore and he'd lit a fire in the iron grill box thoughtfully provided by the Forest Service. An old, blackened coffee can sat atop the grill, so he filled it with lake water and set it to beat for wash water, as no doubt dozens of campers had done before him, and then filled their cook pot with fresh water for tea. By the time RaeAnne had finished taking care of the horses, he had the welcome brew waiting.
"They okay?" he asked, nodding at the two brown giants, freshly brushed and tethered securely to a rail.
"Fine," she said and plopped down next to him on the sleeping bag. "The trick will be getting the saddles back on them tomorrow."
He chuckled, and stretched out his tired legs. "Ever ride bareback?"
"Not horses," she answered, grabbing her tin cup of tea from his hand.
He whipped his eyes to hers, and saw a million stars twinkling in their depths. Slowly he smiled, feeling the weariness in his body magically evaporate. "Long day tomorrow. We should turn in soon."
"Couldn't agree more," she said on a sigh, and leaned her head on his shoulder.
He put his arm around her and held her close as they sipped their tea. The fire crackled and flickered off the canopy of sheltering pines, enveloping them in a cozy, smoke-scented glow.
"It all seems so unreal," she murmured. "Jason Danforth, the poaching, Pritchett and the marijuana, being shot at… It's so peaceful here. How could all that be going on just a few miles down the hill?"
"Mmm-hmm. Hard to believe." How he wished he could snap his fingers and make all the unpleasantness go away. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things he'd like to make go away. Things from the past. Things that were keeping him from the future he wanted—with RaeAnne. "Cara—"
Before he could complete the thought her lips were gently pressing onto his. "Then we'll have to enjoy tonight, before it all catches up to us again." Her mouth was warm and welcoming, until she pulled away. "But first I need to wash my face."
As they got ready for bed he watched her. How beautiful she was! Doing simple things like brushing her teeth in the moonlight, scrubbing her cheeks with soapy fingers, giggling like a teenager when she slipped out of her clothes and huddled shivering in the sleeping bag, waiting for him to join her.
The overwhelming need to rip off his jeans and plunge into her had him sparking with frustration, his body a hot bundle of anticipation. He forced himself to slow down.
With deliberate calm he cleaned up, refilled the coffee can with water for the morning, stoked the fire, rolled her down jacket into a pillow, and removed his clothing, folding each piece neatly and setting them all in a pile on the plastic ground cover.
All the while her eyes were on him, peeking out from the sleeping bag where she lay cocooned. Her body naked. Waiting for his touch. Was she trembling as badly as he was?
When finally, finally, he slid into the sleeping bag with her and zipped it to the top, she gasped. "You're freezing!"
"You're nice and hot," he countered with a kiss, slipping a knee between her kicking legs. "Hot and sexy and— Damn."
He didn't fit. The sleeping bag wouldn't allow her legs to part far enough to let him between them.
She giggled. "Serves you right, ice cube."
He groaned. "This didn't happen to us last time. Must be a smaller sleeping bag."
She wriggled under him. "Or a bigger you."
"I don't recall you complaining about my size back then," he said flipping them over, bag and all. Maybe if he was on the bottom…
"Bigger's good," she assured him, eyebrows waggling, and he felt her lingers slide around him, along with her legs. But not far enough. He still couldn't—
He pulled her hand away. "I want to be in you," he said, low and rough.
Her movements stopped. Even in the darkness he could see the arousal in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, her lips parted with desire. "I want you in me, too. All night. Like you promised."
This was hell. Like being in a straitjacket. He rolled back on top of her. He would not let this stupid bag defeat him. Lifting onto an elbow, he put his hand between them and touched her body. She whimpered, pressing into him, sliding her arms around his neck.
By now the sleeping bag was an inferno. He could feel her nipples, small and hard, poking into his chest. He seized one between his fingers and gently rolled.
She sucked in a breath, her body bucking under his. "Please, you've got to find a way."
He was beginning to enjoy this sweet torture. Being denied the ultimate joining had made his whole body vibrate with acute sensitivity. He'd never been more attuned to RaeAnne's every touch, every hair, every brush of her lips or her fingers on his skin.
He covered her mouth with his and kissed her deeply, letting his tongue roam and explore, until her throat sang a low, constant moan. She urged and reacted to every nuance, enflaming him even more with her heated response.
His fingers drifted over her body, lower, lower, until they met the hot, slick junction of her legs. "Yes," she whispered when he slid them between her honeyed folds,
caressing, probing, encouraging.
He was hard and thick and throbbing with need as his fingers stroked over her, back and forth, around in circles. His arousal ached for completion, but he concentrated instead on hers. The smells of campfire and lake mingled in his nostrils with the scent of male and female and a hint of horse sweat. Never again would he be able to sit at a campfire or be near a horse without thinking of this moment.
Her moans increased in demand. "I want you," she whispered.
"I want you, too," he answered. In every way. He filled his hands with her flesh, filled his mouth with her taste, filled his soul with her love. And beneath him she started to quiver, and quake, then called his name so it echoed through the night.
Before the sound had died, he canted and turned her on her side, brought his torso hard up against her back. Pushing her knees up with his as high as they could go in the bag, he entered her from behind. Two voices, one high and one low, wove together in a duet of pleasure and completion.
"I knew you'd find a way," she sighed breathlessly, moving with him as he thrust deep into her.
The sleeping bag twisted around them like a shroud, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that they were one at last.
His breath came quick and shallow, between the altitude and the frustrating wait. His hands sought her breasts, her mouth, the place of their union. She reached down and grasped his thigh, holding firm, her fingers digging into his muscles as he plunged deeper and deeper into her. He wanted to shout her name over and over, declare his love before God and the watching mountains, claim her as his for all eternity whether they liked it or not.
But he didn't dare. He knew it would break the spell if he spoke of anything deeper than the feel of his body buried in hers. So he contented himself with that. Reveled in his body's mastery of hers, and vowed to have all of her, trust included—even if it took him the next hundred and eighteen years to prove he was worthy of it.
* * *
Roman awoke to the unmistakable sounds and smells of trout grilling over an open fire and the even more unmistakable feel of a woman tangled in his arms. He must have died and gone to heaven.
