by Nan Ryan
Marietta eagerly shook her head and answered with her eyes.
“Good girl,” Cole praised, untying the bandanna and withdrawing it. He was immediately sorry that he had.
Once the bandanna was out of her mouth, Marietta spat and coughed and carried on as if she was dying. And as soon as she’d swallowed several times and licked her dry lips, she began to scream and curse him once more.
“You’re going to be sorry you ever laid eyes on me, Heflin!” she raged.
“The same could be said for you,” he replied calmly. “If you hadn’t slipped off to have that clandestine lunch with me while—”
“You shut your mouth, you insolent bastard,” she snarled. “None of this is my fault and no one will be blamed for it but you, you cad! You knave! You brute! You beast! You son of a bitch! You devil! You…you…bastard!”
“You’re repeating yourself,” Cole accused, cutting in as he touched the black’s flanks with his moccasined feet and the black went again into motion.
“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” Marietta shouted at him. “The laugh will be on you once Maltese’s men catch up with us.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Cole predicted, further infuriating her.
“Not happen? Why, you arrogant fool!” She raised a hand to slap his insolent face, but just then the black’s sharp hoof struck a rock and sent it sailing over the trail’s edge. The stone skittered and fell, striking solid granite, glancing off, and continuing to plunge downward. It seemed an eternity before the stone finally hit bottom far, far below.
Fear quickly replaced Marietta’s wrath.
Instead of striking Cole as intended, she wrapped a trembling arm around his neck and clung to him as she peered cautiously over his shoulder and down into the deep, darkened chasm. She hadn’t considered, until now, just how much danger they were in. She recalled her very first trip up to Central City and how terrified she had been riding inside the lumbering stagecoach.
But at least on that occasion there had been bright sunshine. Now it was dark and getting darker.
Clouds again obliterated the moon.
Marietta quickly fell silent. She was simply too frightened to speak or move. Her heart pounding, she automatically pressed closer to the broad, solid chest supporting her, her anger forgotten for the moment. Survival her only concern, she clutched Cole’s shirt-front with her free hand, pressing her open palm against his heart. And was amazed to feel a slow, steady beating, as if he was not even nervous.
She peeked up at his dark face. His eyes were keenly alert but revealed no fear. His expression never changed as they wound around the constantly curving trail where one edge was bordered with soaring walls of rock. On the other side of the narrow trail, sheer drops into infinity were mere inches from where the horse’s hooves struck each time it took a step. It would be nothing short of a miracle if they made it safely down. Dear God, she was in the care of a man who didn’t have enough sense to be afraid.
“Nobody but a fool would take this road down at night,” she finally dared to say, whispering past the lump of fear in her throat.
“That’s Mr. Fool to you,” Cole replied with a sardonic grin and continued to guide the stallion down the perilous path.
“You dare to make asinine jokes when any second we may plunge to our deaths?”
“That’s not going to happen. You’re as safe here in my arms as a babe is in her cradle.”
“Safe? Safe! Are you crazy? This road twists and turns every inch of the way down and it’s thirty-five miles to Denver. If the horse stumbles, we’ll fall to our deaths and they’ll find nothing but our mangled bodies.”
“Want to turn back?” he teased.
“Don’t you dare try to turn this beast,” she shrieked, knowing they were at a point where turning would be incredibly dangerous if not impossible. “There isn’t enough room for turning here, you moron.”
“Ah, well, since we can’t turn around, we best keep going. And you’d best hold on tight.”
Marietta didn’t argue. The road was becoming more perilous with every twist and turn. They moved into and out of the pale moonlight and a tense Marietta expected the stallion to step off into oblivion at any minute.
She was so frightened, she could no longer bear to look. She laid her head against Cole’s shoulder and closed her eyes. She could hear the sound of the water gushing over the boulders far below. And the night birds calling from their perches high up in the canyon’s deep crevices. And the steady, reassuring tempo of Cole’s heart beating beneath her ear.
After what seemed a lifetime to Marietta, she felt the ground begin to flatten out beneath the horse’s striking hooves. She tentatively opened her eyes. They had, she realized, reached one of those rare, welcome plateaus along the harrowing route. The valley had widened dramatically and a carpet of soft green grass stretched to the creek’s edge, which was temporarily on the same level as the road.
Cole reined the black off the trail and into a thick sheltering forest of spruce and pine. He scouted until he found a spot where the cloaking trees would conceal them and a small tributary of the creek trickled past. Staying mounted, he carefully looked around, considering how safe and well hidden they would be here.
Confident he’d located a fairly secure citadel, Cole pulled up on the black, swung down and announced, “We’ll camp here for the night.”
“The minute my feet touch the ground, I’ll run away,” Marietta warned him.
“No, you won’t,” he calmly replied. He lifted her down and then turned his back on her.
“Oh yes I will!” she threatened, whirled around and took a few determined steps forward.
A lonesome wolf howled in the distance.
Marietta abruptly stopped.
Furious, but afraid to go off on foot in the darkness, she sighed wearily and turned back. Eyes snapping with anger, she watched as Cole unstrapped a rolled-up blanket from behind the cantle and tossed it to the ground. Without so much as glancing her way, he unsaddled the big black and led it to the nearby shallow vein of the North Clear Creek. The stallion lowered its head and swilled the cold water gratefully.
When the horse was watered and loosely ground tethered so that it could crop the thick, rich grass, Cole sank to his knees and unrolled the blanket. He spread it on the grass and then stretched out across it. While Marietta watched, he covered himself with a second blanket and folded his hands beneath his head.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Marietta demanded, hands on her hips.
“Fixing to get some sleep,” he said. “And I suggest you do the same.” He threw back one side of the covering blanket invitingly. “Won’t you join me?”
“Never! Not in a million years!” she snapped, quick to set him straight.
“Suit yourself,” he said with a yawn. Then he closed his eyes and went peacefully to sleep.
Eleven
Marietta stood there for a long minute staring at Cole, her lips parted in wonderment. She couldn’t believe her eyes and she could hardly contain her excitement. Could it really be true? Had her big, bullying captor actually fallen asleep?
He had.
His eyes were closed and he was softly snoring! It was all Marietta could do to keep from laughing hysterically. The fool had already let down his guard and she would most assuredly take advantage of it.
While she’d been afraid to set out on foot, she wouldn’t hesitate to ride the horse to freedom. She would, she plotted, wait just a few more minutes until she was absolutely certain that the Texan was in a deep, dreamless slumber. Then she would take the black and ride it right back up to Central City.
Taking no chances, Marietta waited patiently for several excruciatingly long, slow minutes to drag by. The man on the ground didn’t stir, didn’t move, slept on. She smiled, turned, lifted her skirts and tiptoed over to where the black was contentedly cropping grass. The stallion saw her coming, lifted its head and neighed to her.
“Shh!”
Marietta whispered, making a mean face at him.
Cole cocked one eye open and said, “Not a chance, Marietta. Give it up and come get some rest.”
“Thunderation!” she muttered.
She felt like crying but didn’t. She would never allow the Texan to witness any weakness on her part. That, she was sure, would be a big mistake. She blinked back the unshed tears and sighed heavily. Dejectedly she turned around, sank onto the grassy ground and hugged her knees to her chest, glaring angrily at Cole.
“Come on over. Let’s keep each other warm,” Cole coaxed.
“I would rather lie down with a six-foot-long rattlesnake,” she haughtily informed him.
“But, baby, I don’t bite,” he said. “I don’t even have fangs.”
“No,” she retorted. “Just horns and a tail.”
Cole chuckled.
Marietta bristled.
And shortly she began to tremble, her teeth chattering. Even in June, nights were cold at this high altitude and her silk, low-cut costume provided little protection against the elements. Chilled, frustrated and sleepy, Marietta finally gave in after swearing to herself that she would not.
She rose to her feet. Cole again threw back one corner of the blanket. She gritted her teeth in resignation, went over and lay down by him, taking great care not to touch him. She turned onto her side, facing away from him, and exhaled with gratitude when the warm, covering blanket settled over her bare shoulders.
But her eyes widened and she stiffened, incensed, when Cole’s long arm came around her. Try as she might to protest, she was rendered speechless when he drew her back against his hard, muscled frame.
Marietta swallowed. She bit her lip. She was alarmed by the way her heart had begun to beat erratically. She hoped against hope that he wouldn’t know her pulse was racing, that she was greatly disturbed by his nearness. She emitted a little shriek of censure when his muscular forearm slid up from her waist and tightened around her midriff, directly below her breasts.
If not for that band of steel imprisoning her, she would have lunged away when he snuggled closer, intimately curving his body around hers, spoon fashion. Eyes wide, she didn’t move and didn’t make a sound. She was not sure how to handle this tricky situation.
She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Cole said softly, “You can stop holding your breath, Marietta, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I was not holding my breath,” she hissed, and then she gasped for air.
“You okay?”
“I would be okay if you’d kindly unhand me,” she snapped.
“Just trying to keep you warm,” he replied and yawned as he took his arm from around her.
He turned over and stretched out on his back, taking his awesome body heat with him. Marietta remained as she was, lying on her side, facing away from him. She stayed in that position for several minutes before cautiously turning to peer over her shoulder and see if he was asleep.
He was.
He lay on his back, one arm flung up and folded beneath his head. Slowly, Marietta turned over so that she was lying on her left side, facing him. She scooted back, moving farther away from him, and felt the nip of the cold night air on her back. No matter. She’d rather freeze than get close to him again. So she lay there at the blanket’s far edge with the cold night air on her back, staring at the dark man stretched out beside her.
Damn him.
He was slumbering like an innocent baby while she was wide awake and miserable. She would, she knew, never sleep. Never. The ground was hard. The air was cold. The night was dark. And she was a helpless captive. Or at least he thought her helpless, but she would show him come morning.
Moments passed and Marietta’s eyelids grew droopy despite all her best efforts to remain awake. She was so cold and she was so sleepy. If she didn’t get some rest she wouldn’t be able to keep her wits about her and make her escape.
He was a sound sleeper. He’d never know it if she scooted over a little closer. Not so close she would touch him, but just close enough to get a little warmer. She was freezing and the covering top blanket wasn’t wide enough.
Marietta very slowly, very carefully, inched a trifle nearer to the slumbering Cole. She stopped just short of actually touching him and was amazed by the warmth emanating from his body. She released a soft breath, closed her eyes, and was beginning to doze, when she felt his strong arms come around her. He drew her close against him, but she was simply too tired and drowsy to put up even a feeble protest.
So she sighed, inhaled deeply of his masculine scent, and fell asleep in the shelter of his arms.
It was nearing 1:00 a.m. when Lightnin’ drew rein and held his hand up for the others to halt. He turned his mount about in a tight semicircle and, speaking low, addressed the men.
“This is the first level plateau on the way down,” he said.
“That mean they’ll be stopping here for the night?” asked Con Burnett.
“No, you fool,” Lightnin’ replied. “You have to outsmart your adversary, Con. You have to think. You should try it sometime.”
“Sorry, Lightnin’,” Con said, shamefaced.
“You can bet that the Texan thinks. And in so doing, he will suppose that we will be expecting them to camp here. Therefore, he won’t do it. He’ll ride on. And so will we.”
Lightnin’ turned his mount around and rode away. The others followed.
Cole and Marietta were awakened by the sound of drumming hoofbeats. Cole automatically covered Marietta’s mouth with his hand and cautioned, “Stay still and quiet.”
She didn’t obey.
She tried to scream, but Cole’s hand was clamped firmly over her mouth, pressing her lips against her teeth. She couldn’t make a sound. She struggled violently against him, bowing her back, pushing on his chest, slamming the toes of her shoes into his shins.
And finally, viciously kneeing him in the groin, the assault instantly bringing tears to his eyes. But he didn’t release her, never loosened his grip on her or made a sound.
Marietta was sure the riders were Maltese’s men, looking for her. All she had to do was let them know where she was. She moaned and frantically strained against the suffering Cole, hoping to be seen or heard as the riders passed within a few short yards. But she was unable to alert them. When they had gone, when she could no longer hear the horses’ hooves striking the ground, she slumped in defeat against Cole, her heart hammering, her breath short.
And was stunned when Cole’s hand abruptly left her mouth and he forcefully flung her away from him. She wound up sprawled on her back, gaping at him.
But she quickly rallied, sat up and said smugly to the grimacing Cole, “Ah, too bad. Did I hurt you? I did, didn’t I? Well, I’m glad. So there.”
Cole thrashed around on the blanket, his hands now cupping his aching groin, his teeth clenched in pain.
When he could speak, he said with no emotion, “Do that again, I’ll see to it you’re sorry, not glad.”
Marietta saw the beads of perspiration on his forehead and the pain etched on his face and believed him. She felt a twinge of remorse for hurting him, but didn’t let on.
Instead, she said, “You won’t get away with kidnapping me, Heflin. They were Maltese’s men and they’ll keep looking until they find me.”
His pain beginning to subside, Cole sat up, took several deep breaths, then rose unsteadily to his feet. He stood just above, looking down at her with a mean expression on his face. She wondered, nervously, if he was going to strike her.
She winced in terror when he reached down and none too gently took her arm, hauling her swiftly to her feet.
He said, “They are not going to find you, Marietta. You’re headed for Grandpa’s house.”
Twelve
“I am not! I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again, you’ll never get me to Texas. Never, never, never. I mean it, I will not go! Let me assure you that it’s only a matter of time before…before—” Marietta sto
pped speaking when Cole took her arm and calmly maneuvered her off the spread blanket. He then stepped off himself, sank to his knees and began rolling up the bedding.
Marietta frowned and asked, “Now what are you doing? Are we to sleep on the hard, cold ground without the blankets?”
“We aren’t going to sleep,” he said. He lifted the rolled blankets, turned and walked toward the stallion.
Marietta followed, puzzled. “Why not? What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to get back on the trail,” he said. He handed her the rolled blankets, picked up the saddle and hoisted it up onto the black’s back.
“Get back on the trail?” she repeated, incredulous. “Maltese’s men just rode past looking for me! They’re chasing us.”
“I know,” Cole said, tightening the saddle’s cinch beneath the stallion’s belly. He put the bit in the black’s mouth and made quick work of buckling the bridle’s jaw strap. He turned, took the blankets from Marietta and placed them behind the cantle. Over his shoulder, he said, “Now we’re going to chase them.”
“Why on earth would we do that?”
“Because they are hunting for us up ahead—they believe that we’re in front of them. They won’t be looking for us behind them.”
Marietta thought it over, knew that he was probably right. She said sarcastically, “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Texan?”
“Smart enough,” was his clipped reply. Cole drew the long leather reins up over the stallion’s back, turned and said, “I’m sure that opera costume isn’t very comfortable.” He lifted the full saddlebags and told her, “I brought some clothes for you. Pants, a shirt, a pair of moccasins. Want to put them on before we ride?”
“I most certainly do not,” she haughtily informed him. “If you think for one minute that I would ever take off one single article of clothing around you, you are sadly mistaken, mister!”
“I’ll turn my back, won’t look.”
“I am not taking off this dress!”
“Fine. It’s entirely up to you,” he said. He draped the saddlebags over the horse’s back and then turned to her. “Come here.”