Bounty Hunter

by Donna Kauffman

  “Little sun,” he whispered, his tone rough. “Don’t waste that precious energy on me. I’ve taken care of myself for so long, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

  A sad smile lit the corners of her mouth. “That’s right, the man with the empty soul. Your black mu’gua. If there was ever a soul worth caring about, it is yours, Eyes of the Hawk.”

  Kane’s control snapped like a fine wire tightened past all endurance. Her solemn avowal unleashed a response in him that was elemental, primitive. He untangled one hand from hers, barely registering the tremors in his fingers as he threaded them into her tangle of curls until he could grip her head.

  Slowly, so slowly he could feel each complete second tick by, he tilted her head back. Spending his last shred of sanity, he searched her eyes for … what? Uncertainty? Fear? Yes, anything to keep him from answering the need that had spiraled out of control the moment she’d spoken his Shoshone name.

  It wasn’t there.

  All he found, amazingly, impossibly, was a need that matched his own. He lowered his head, the blood rushing through his veins, becoming a tangible feeling. He watched the pulse under the soft skin of her temple match his own internal rhythm.

  “Stop me.” His lips touched hers.

  “No.” And she lifted her mouth to his.

  The first taste of her sweet, warm breath stilled him for the space of a heartbeat. Then she ran the tip of her tongue over his lower lip, and he lost it.

  With a rumbling sound that originated deep in his chest, he wrapped his arm around her waist. He slid his other hand down to her nape as he shifted his mouth and deepened the kiss.

  She tasted better, sweeter, wilder than even his most tortured fantasies. He pushed his tongue past her soft, wet lips, seeking her tongue, twining with it, drinking from it. The pleasure was so intense, it was almost painful. Then she touched him, framed his face with her hands, slid her fingers into his hair. She slowly worked her fingers against his scalp, she pushed the leather strip holding his hair downward then off. His sanity followed the same path.

  “Little sun,” he said against her cheek as he pulled in air. No longer consciously guiding his actions, he trailed his lips across her cheek, then down the side of her neck.

  “Yes,” she responded, arching into him.

  His hips bucked forward, his action completely instinctive. He trailed his mouth over the hot surface of her skin, testing the softness of her earlobe with his teeth. He rimmed her ear with his tongue, whispering to her in his own language, knowing from her immediate response that even that was no barrier to how completely she understood him.

  She let her hands drop to his shoulders, clinging there for a minute, the sweet bite of her short nails through his T-shirt, making him feel alive. Wildly alive.

  He pulled her shirt loose, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to feel her bare skin under his hand. He let his fingers climb the ridge of her spine, memorizing each and every deceptively fragile bone, until the bunching of her shirt prevented him from going farther.

  Consumed by the need to explore, frustrated at this flimsy obstruction, he acted on instinct. With a quick yank the woven fabric gave, and he pulled until the shirt split in two as cleanly as if he’d unzipped it.

  He heard her gasp as the air touched her bare back. He swiftly moved his lips from her ear and swallowed the soft sound into his mouth. He kissed her deeply, relentlessly, while his hands took their time mapping the fine muscles that flexed underneath her skin as she writhed in his embrace.

  The sound of fabric ripping and the air hitting his own suddenly bare back hit him like a cold shock. But instead of dousing the fire, it fanned it to a white heat. It quickly became a contest to see who could rip the clothes from the other first.

  Her shirt flew seconds before his, and when the burgeoning tips of her breasts kissed his chest, he lost any and all capacity to breathe. He stilled completely, wanting to savor this heady rush, to freeze the sensation in time until it was forever a part of his sensory memory.

  He heard nothing beyond the pounding of his heart and the harsh gasp of their combined efforts to draw in much-needed air. In that moment, their gazes locked again. Kane felt an instant of fear at the sudden tidal wave of feelings that crashed against his heart.

  He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. He didn’t care. She took one of his hands in hers and raised it to her lips. She turned it over then lowered her gaze to study it. She dipped her head and brushed a light kiss over one knuckle, then another, and another. Then she found each scar, and he knew there were many, and kissed them too. Only when she’d found and healed with her own fiery brand every visible scar, did she take his hand and lower it, laying it against her heart. She held it tightly as if in fear he might yank it back.

  And it took will he’d never dreamed he still possessed not to do so. Her gift to him was unbearable—and incredibly, wrenchingly unacceptable.

  He’d thought nothing could penetrate the haze of desire he’d been in, nothing except burying himself to the hilt inside her until stopping no longer mattered.

  A strange burning made him press his eyelids shut, breaking the formidable bond she’d tried to forge. “You can’t do this.” His voice was so hoarse, it was barely intelligible.

  “I did. I would again.”

  “It’s wrong.” He barely swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Of all the deceptions, this lie to himself became the harshest to endure.

  “Look at me.”

  He obeyed her soft plea instantly. This was his punishment, he thought. Looking into her eyes, eyes that pledged things he never dared hoped for.

  Even now. Especially now.

  “This isn’t … It’s the hardest … thing …” He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her against his chest, steeling himself for the further punishment of enduring the feel of her bare torso pressed to his. He buried his face in her hair, having to spare himself the torture of looking at her while he spoke, knowing it was cowardly.

  “I’d give anything … anything to make things different.”

  “Different? Than what?”

  He dragged air into his lungs and forced the words out. “Than this, than—”

  “I know the timing is horrible,” she broke in, her words raspy. “I wish it were different too.”

  “That’s only part of it, Annie.” He paused for a moment. “You don’t love him anymore, you told me that.”

  He felt her tense and damned himself for thrusting the ugly specter of Sam Perkins between them, but there was no help for it.

  “I don’t.” She tilted her head back, and he looked down into her worried gaze. “There is nothing left for me there.”

  “You’re running scared, Annie. And rightfully so.” He stared hard at her, willing her to understand, to accept what he was trying to tell her. “But I’m not your answer.”

  Color washed into her cheeks, and she tried to pull away from him, flailing one arm out to grope for at least a remnant of her shirt as if her nakedness had suddenly become a point of shame.

  Anger flared in him at her obvious misinterpretation, anger at himself for being so callous, anger at her for not having a stronger sense of self-worth. And a rage that was palpable for the bastard who had robbed her of that.

  He pulled her around, held her arms tightly in his hands. “You … are … everything … Everything any man could want, little sun. Never doubt that.”

  Her shoulders straightened as she locked her gaze with his. “Any man? I don’t want any man.” She wrenched her arms from his grasp and grabbed at her shirt. She yanked it on so the rip was in the front, swiftly tying it into a knot below her breasts.

  Kane couldn’t have moved if she’d thrown a lit stick of dynamite at him. She was magnificent. A true glimpse of the fiery nature that lay beneath the shell of fear and doubt that she’d been forced to adopt in order to survive.

  “You say my doubts about myself aren’t warranted. Did it ever occur to you that your doubts abo
ut yourself aren’t either?”

  Kane shot to his feet in one fluid motion. He was so close, a deep breath would have caused his chest to touch hers. “I know what I have to offer you, Annie. Nothing. Less than nothing. Certainly not what you deserve.”

  “Since when did I lose the right to be my own judge?”

  “Since the night you discovered your husband is a racist,” he shot back, hating himself for his harshness. “When you get out of this, when you can put this—him—behind you, then you can be your own judge. But I know that when you finally have that choice, that your choice will not be me.”

  The fist she’d pressed against her lips during his speech dropped away. Kane had expected tears, yelling, screaming, at the very least an argument. So he was totally unprepared for her choked sound of relief, much less the tentative smile that curved her lips.

  She shifted forward, closing the yawning quarter-inch gap between them. “Is that what this is all about? I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out. It’s my fault, I suppose, for not making it clear.”

  She’d caught him so off guard, he could almost ignore the tiny electric shocks the brush of her body against his had ignited. Almost. She looked … confident. That’s what you wanted, right? his inner voice taunted him. Yeah, right. He swallowed hard. Twice. “Mak—” He cleared his throat. “Making what clear?”

  “Let me ask you something?”

  Giving up completely any hope of regaining control of the conversation, he responded on a pained note. “Sure, why the hell not?”

  “If I was free to choose any man I wanted …”

  Uh-oh. “Yes?” was all he managed to get out.

  “Would you at least give me—us—a chance?” She faltered for a brief moment, and he wondered if his reaction was so obvious. “If I chose you?” she finished on a whisper.

  Why was she doing this? “It’s a moot point, Annie.”

  She placed her fingertips on his lips and shook her head. “Hawk, I was engaged. But I’m not—and never have been—married.”

  “That can’t be … Sam—”

  “Was my fiancé,” she finished.

  “You … lived together?”

  He looked shell-shocked. Given what he’d believed, she shouldn’t be surprised. But there was something else under the surface of confusion: A trace more disbelief than she’d thought to see.

  “Yes. He sort of swept me off my feet, he can be very focused when he wants something.” Like her, dead. She shuddered. Shaking that off, she added, “But it was sort of overwhelming and … I won’t lie and say I wasn’t flattered or influenced by all the attention. By his seeming sincerity.” She felt her skin burn. “But I wouldn’t commit to a wedding date right away. I could barely breathe, much less … Anyway, about three months before this happened, Sam finally convinced me to move in with him. He was pushing me to quit my job too. He wanted to give me the chance to see how the house staff was run. Let me learn the ropes, so to speak, of what’s expected of a bank president’s wife.”

  She saw the question in his eyes. Part of her felt relieved that he wasn’t demanding to know the gritty details, that he respected her past as being her business and not part of what was between them.

  There was another part of her, though, the part that had seen how vulnerable this tough man was, how little he trusted others with even the smallest piece of himself. She suspected she’d been given more than most. That part of her wanted to tell him, show him, how special a man he was. And not stop until he believed it.

  The choice was taken from her when a high-piercing whinny ripped through the peaceful late-afternoon air.

  NINE

  Before Elizabeth could so much as jump, she was facedown on the ground, held there by a firm hand at her back. Oddly, her first thought was that this wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined him flattening her. She craned her neck awkwardly and saw Kane in a half crouch over her, using the scraggly shrubs that lined the edge of the ledge for cover as he scanned the grounds below them.

  Not for the first time she wondered exactly what he’d done over the years to instill such a strong awareness of his surroundings. She’d chalked it up to his background, the instinctive responses and intuitiveness possibly due to his early years on the reservation. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  She pushed that aside as well. The bottom line was that no matter his past, no matter how unwise it was, she’d entrusted him with her safety. Her life. Judging from the strain radiating from his every pore and the echo of that horrible single scream from Sky Dancer still ringing in her ears, she suspected she just might be putting that faith to the test very soon.

  “Kane?” she whispered as softly as she could.

  He immediately bent low, pressing his lips to her ear. “Nothing. I don’t know what spooked her. I can’t see her from here.”

  Elizabeth tensed. “Is she—?”

  “I’m not sure. She could be behind the barn. The paddock she was in is partially blocked.” He took his hand from her back, but remained almost prone beside her. “Stay here until I signal you to come down.”

  “But—”

  “Do it, Annie.” He paused, then a harsh whisper filled her ear. “You said earlier you couldn’t afford to worry for me.” Another short pause. “I can’t for you either. Promise me that you’ll stay here until I come back or signal.”

  Stunned by the fierceness of his plea, she was slow to answer.

  “Promise me!”

  She shifted slightly until she could look him square in the face. “Okay! But I’m not helpless.” She swallowed against the denial that shone in his eyes. “This is my life in jeopardy, you can’t expect me not to take an active part in protecting it.”

  He shook his head, his expression one of supreme frustration. “Just keep your word, we’ll discuss the rest later.”

  In a silent second, he disappeared back down the path. Elizabeth pounded the dirt with her fist, then scooted as close as she dared to the overlook. He hadn’t made her promise not to keep watch over him.

  Kane moved swiftly, finding it harder than usual to keep his mind singularly on the task at hand.

  I’m not married. Her words rang over and over through his mind as he picked his way closer to the cover of the barn. He searched his soul desperately for the relief that should have accompanied such an announcement. After all, wasn’t that what he’d wanted? Dreamed of? Fantasized about? Beholdened to no one? Free to come to him?

  He slipped silently through the opening in the back of the barn where he’d removed several rotting boards. He bit back an oath. The answer was yes. But he was a truly selfish bastard because he wanted more. So much more. For her. For himself. The bitter truth of just how brutally honest he’d been when he’d said he had nothing to offer her burned his throat like acid. There would be no relief, no celebration. Because the outcome hadn’t changed. He was a wanderer. A bounty hunter. They had no future.

  His eyes quickly adapted to the pre-evening light that cast the barn in deep shadows. He was alone.

  Yeah. He was that all right.

  Shoving all thoughts from his mind save making sure the grounds were clear and that Annie was safe, he pressed against the front door, then slid outside. He kept his back to the weathered planking as he moved slowly toward the paddock. In the next instant, all hell broke loose.

  Another equine scream rent the air, and as swiftly as he covered the remaining space, he was still too late. Bucking and writhing under her rider, Sky Dancer tried desperately to unseat the stranger.

  Kane slid his knife from the sheath on his belt, wishing he had the rifle that was in the bunkhouse. Holding the blade, he balanced the weight in his fingers and waited for the exact moment to let it fly. Unseat him and disable him, but keep him alive for questioning. The mental strategy was automatic. The rider wore baggy clothes and a dusty hat crammed low on his head. Kane couldn’t make much of an ID, other than that he was tall and slender as Kane had predicted. But he’d bet his life it was the s
ame mercenary who had tailed him out of Boise.

  Kane shifted his weight, preparing to throw, but just then the rider brought a stick down hard on Sky Dancer’s flanks and the mare shot forward.

  With a bloodcurdling whoop, Kane left his cover, fury at the mistreatment of his horse, changing the aim of his throwing arm to dead center. Even as the mare wildly charged the fence at the opposite end of the paddock, her rider turned and leveled a gun on Kane.

  Kane crouched just as the report echoed across the ground, then ducked through the rails into the paddock. As he took aim, the horse and rider cleared the fence and went racing across the side field toward a dense stand of trees.

  Kane quickly changed course, knowing he had no hope of catching them on foot, but praying that in her frenzy, Sky Dancer would stick with the familiar and take the trail to the stream that lay in the direction they’d fled.

  He skirted the front of the house and let loose a string of curses. The truck’s tires had been slashed. With pursuit no longer an option, he switched his mind instinctively back to his immediate surroundings. He hadn’t had the time to check for additional prints, but he couldn’t risk that the stranger had returned alone. He quickly scouted the perimeter of the house, then the interior, before moving to the bunkhouse.

  “Dammit!” He sheathed his knife and scooped up his now-empty saddlebag from the corner where he’d stashed it. Some of the contents were strewn across the dusty planked floor, but he didn’t bother searching through it. It was obvious the rifle was gone. He flung the bags hard against the opposite wall. The sun was on its descent, there was no way off the mountain, and the only thing he had to keep them safe was a seven-inch knife and his wits.

  He swore again. About the only damn thing in the world he had to be thankful for right now was that Annie had stayed out of the line of fire.

  That and the fact that she’d had the good sense not to marry the son of a bitch who was trying to kill her.