She didn't respond for a second; then she gave a single nod, but she didn't loosen her grip. The corner of Finn's mouth lifted just a little. He gave her a little squeeze and spoke again, his voice gruff. "You're going to have to let go of me, honey. I don't think this will work if you keep holding on."
A weak, muffled response came from the vicinity of his neck. "Don't call me honey."
Finn's expression relaxed into a wry smile. At least she had some fight left in her. That had to be a good sign. Making sure she was sheltered by the horse, he carefully set her down, the wind whipping her long hair across his face. It felt like strands of silk, and another avalanche took off in his chest. He had forgotten how silky a woman's hair could feel.
Avoiding her gaze, he took her hand and tucked it under the cinch so she had something warm and solid to hang on to. Then he went around to the other side of the horse and took two pairs of heavy wool socks, a black wool cap and a heavy scarf out of the saddlebag. The snow was coming down so heavily that he could barely see the trees at the far side of the clearing, and his expression sobered as he latched the buckles back up on the saddlebag. Now the heavy snowfall was a blessing. As long as it continued, that snow was going to provide excellent cover.
The extra clothing in his hand, he rounded the horse again. She was standing with one hand grasping the saddle horn, and she was weaving around like a Saturday night drunk, trying to get one foot into the stirrup. Experiencing a small flicker of amusement, Finn stuffed the gear in his pocket. Then he reached out and steadied her. At least she was aimed in the right direction.
Knowing there was only one way to do this, he stepped beside her, caught her leg and hoisted her up. She grasped the saddle horn and steadied herself, her eyes closed and her face very white, her whole body wracked with shivers.
Shutting down his expression, Finn yanked the socks out of his pockets. Her shoes were very fine leather, and knowing that wet leather was a better insulator than no leather at all, he pulled both pairs of socks over her shoes. The long cuffs of the socks stretched almost to her knees. He finished pulling on the last sock, and he was pulling up the cuff when she whispered, her voice thick. "Thank you."
One hand still resting on her leg, he glanced up at her. She was hanging on to the saddle with both hands, and it was clear that she was fighting with all she had to remain conscious. His gaze narrowing, he took another hard look at her eyes, and Finn experienced a cold feeling deep in his belly. He was no doctor, but he was willing to bet his best horse that she was fighting the effects of heavy-duty drugs. Which put her in even more danger. He experienced another cold sensation. They were both sitting ducks out here in the middle of the clearing.
Catching a glimmer of fear in her expression, he forced a half smile onto his face. "You're welcome." He undid the wool army blanket from the back of his saddle, and tucked it under her arms. Then grasping the reins and horn in one hand, he put his foot in the stirrup and swung up behind her. Gus tossed his head and did a side step in response to their combined weight, and Finn corrected him with a small jerk of the rein and a sharp command to whoa.
Bracing her weight against him, Finn pulled the wool cap over her head, then wound the scarf over the top of that. Shifting her legs so she was sitting sidesaddle, he wrapped the blanket around her, covering her from head to foot.
It was as if his covering her up allowed her to let go, and he felt her sag against him, her head lolling against his shoulder. He would have thought she was out cold, but she grasped the back of his belt, as if she needed something to hang on to.
His face hardening, he shifted her slightly so he could support her weight with one arm, then lifted the reins and clucked to Gus. An ominous feeling—one that slid like cold fingers down the back of his neck—made his jaw harden even more. He felt as if he had a gun pointed at his back. A long time ago, he had learned to respect his gut feelings—and his gut was telling him to get the hell out of that meadow and across the river, where they would be less exposed.
Giving Rooney a quiet command to heel, Finn rode through the clearing, the falling snow sticking to the trunks of the aspens and coating the rocky outcroppings. Visibility was maybe two hundred feet and getting worse by the minute. It was a damned good thing he knew this area. With conditions the way they were, it would be very easy to lose his bearings. And getting lost was the last thing they needed.
The wind gusted, sending the snow swirling in front of him, and Finn squinted against it, the landmarks nearly impossible to see in the near-whiteout conditions. But he wasn't going to complain about that. If landmarks were invisible, so were they. And right now invisibility afforded them the best protection of all.
Another gust of wind flurried around them, pulling some of her hair loose and feathering it across Finn's mouth. Tightening his arm around her, he transferred the reins to that hand, then tucked the blanket more snugly around her head. She muttered something and stirred and Finn pressed her head more firmly against him and spoke, his voice low and gruff. "It's okay. I've got you." He tucked a loose flap of blanket under her head, then spoke again. "It's going to get a little rough here. We have to ford the river, and the banks on either side are pretty steep. So just hang on, okay?"
He felt her hand shift on his belt. "Okay," she whispered, and Finn could feel her tighten her grip and fight to remain conscious, but the fight only lasted seconds, and she went slack in his hold. Locking his jaw against her vulnerability, he scanned the rough terrain through the falling snow, trying to spot the huge boulder that marked the location where he'd forded the river. Now all he had to do was get her from this side of the river to the other, keeping her dry in the process, and they'd be relatively safe.
With the ford hidden under boiling white water, the river provided a formidable natural barrier. No one in his right mind would even consider crossing it. No one, except Finn.
They made it across safely, although Finn got a shot of adrenaline when Gus stumbled once in midstream, and it was all Finn could do to hold on to her. And there was another tense moment going up the other bank, the falling snow, the steepness of the riverbank and the extra weight testing the horse's strength and agility to the limit.
But once in the impenetrable cover of the trees, Finn relaxed a bit, knowing their tracks would be obliterated within minutes. And with the river between them and whoever she was running from, he felt reasonably sure they were safe—at least for the time being.
Finn whistled for the packhorse, hoping that it wouldn't take the animal too long to find him. Finn had been well schooled in the unpredictable treachery of the mountains—especially this time of year—and he always carried spare gear. As far as his own welfare was concerned, he could manage with what he had on. He had dressed for the weather—thermal underwear, heavy wool shirt and an insulated vest, his felt Stetson. But he was going to have to get more clothes on her—and something hot into her, or she could end up in big trouble.
Rooney appeared through the trees, shaking water from his thick coat, his ears pricked. Finn's expression eased a little. The dog was totally pleased with himself, and it almost looked as if he were grinning. The weight in his arms pulled on his shoulder, and Finn focused on his passenger. Shifting her weight so she was more balanced in the saddle, Finn tucked the blanket tighter around her. Now all he had to do was get her back to the line shack.
They had just rounded the bend in the trail when there was a sound of something moving through the bush, then a few seconds later Trouper appeared on the trail behind them. Finn experienced another flicker of humor. It was as if the damned horse knew exactly where they were headed.
The heavy canopy of trees provided some shelter from the falling snow, and now distanced from the sound of the river, it was as if the whole world was enveloped in a peculiar stillness.
Gus stumbled on some loose shale, the sharp movement jarring his passenger to consciousness. She began to struggle weakly, and it dawned on Finn that the snug folds of the blanket wou
ldn't feel a whole lot different from the black hood. Telling Gus to whoa, Finn spoke, his voice calm and quiet. "Hey. It's okay. I've got you. Everything is okay." Shifting his hold, he peeled the blanket away, his insides giving a funny twist when she opened her eyes and stared at him, confusion transfixing her. Needing to reassure her, he managed a lopsided smile. "How are you doing in there?"
She stared at him a second, then as if realizing who he was, she closed her eyes. Then she swallowed hard and looked up at him, her eyes still glazed, her pupils dilated. "I'm fine. But I'm really thirsty," she whispered.
He gave her another half smile. "Tell you what. There's a place just up ahead that's really sheltered. We'll pull up there, and I'll build a fire, then make you something hot to drink."
Her eyes widened and she tried to struggle free, panic claiming her. "No!" she muttered, trying to break loose. "No. "
Gus started to toss his head and sidestep, and Finn gave him a sharp command, aware that if she really started to fight him, they could both end up on the ground. And right now, that was the last place he wanted to be. Letting go of the reins, he locked his arms around her, holding her immobile. "Easy," he said, his voice husky. "Easy. It's okay."
She gripped his arm and hauled in a deep, uneven breath, then opened her eyes again. Staring at him, her gaze dark with fear, she tried to sit up, the black wool hat accentuating her fair skin. "No." She swallowed and abruptly closed her eyes again, as if suddenly very dizzy. Her face noticeably paler, she swallowed again and looked up at him. "No. We can't. If we—if we stop—" She forced in another deep breath and spoke again, her voice shaking. "If we stop, they'll find us."
Snow slid from one of the heavy spruce boughs overhanging the trail, plopping on the ground in front of them, and Gus tossed his head, his bridle jingling.
His expression very thoughtful, Finn stared down at the woman, studying her pale face, considering the pros and cons. Common sense told him to stop, caution warned him to move on. The hat covered her head down to her ears, but her thick, red hair hung past her shoulders, its copper color bright against the dull gray of the blanket. His expression sober, Finn again considered his charge. Then he spoke, his voice quiet. "We still have a good two-hour ride to shelter. And I think it would be a good idea if I got something hot into you."
Her movements very sluggish and her eyes shut, she twisted her head. "No. Please," she beseeched. "If they find you—if they find you with me—they'll kill you too."
His expression fixed, Finn studied her, processing what she had said. He didn't like the sound of that—not one bit. And if that really was the case, he needed to get her as far away as possible from that small meadow. He had a spare mackinaw and a survival blanket packed in the gear on the packhorse, and he debated about getting them. Then he decided against it. With her all wrapped around him, she was plenty warm enough. And she had stopped shivering. Besides, she was so far out of it, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get her back on the horse if she slid off.
Turning her head so her face was against his neck, she let go a soft sigh and went slack again. Affected by that small show of trust, Finn carefully tucked the blanket around her, then made his decision. He never dismissed anyone's fear, and hers was very real. But the fact that she didn't seem to be suffering any serious effects from exposure was the deciding factor. And if they moved out now, they would be at the line shack before darkness settled in.
Satisfied that she was well enough insulated to contain her own body heat, he adjusted his position on the back of the horse. Hoping that Gus was up to carrying double through the rough terrain ahead of them, he picked up the reins and urged his mount forward. Now that she had voiced her fear, there were a dozen questions he wanted answers to. But those questions would have to wait. If he was going to get from Point A to Point B in this kind of country, while trying to hold on to a woman who was half out of it, he'd need to have his wits about him. With the snow coming down the way it was, making it even more treacherous underfoot, he couldn't afford to let his mind wander for even a moment, or they could both end up dead.
And he wasn't about to let that happen.
* * *
Chapter 2
«^»
It took just a little over three hours to get from Point A to Point B. A heavy twilight had settled in by the time Finn reached the narrow, twisting trail leading up to the cabin. The snow had stopped an hour earlier, and it had turned very still, with just a breath of air moving through the dense spruce and pine. It was so still that the branches remained heavily laden, the caps of snow still clinging to even the most fragile branches. The smell of pine hung in the cold, still air, and even in the fading light, Finn could see the tiny prints of blue jays in the unspoiled blanket of snow.
The snow was so thick, so undisturbed, it was as if a white cover had been draped over the entire landscape, the whiteness now tinged with the purple and blue shadows of the encroaching night. It was going to be one of those pitch-black nights, where the heavy cloud cover blocked out even a trace of starlight, and that suited Finn just fine. That kind of darkness would serve them well.
He wasn't too sure what was really going on with the woman sagging heavily in his arms. After periodically coming to, then trying to fight her way out of the constraints of the blankets, she had finally gone quiet. And thank God for that. A couple of times she had put up such a struggle that he'd nearly lost her, and he was feeling the strain in his entire body.
But she had barely moved in the past hour, and the only thing that assured Finn she was still alive was the rise and fall of her chest. He couldn't tell if she'd just given in to whatever was in her system, or if she was genuinely asleep. But one thing for sure was that she was getting damned heavy. His left arm, the one that was bearing most of her weight, felt as if it was being slowly extracted from the socket, and his hand had been numb for at least forty minutes. And on top of all that, he was beginning to feel the cold. He had maybe a hundred yards to go—that was all.
As he guided Gus through the shallow stream adjacent to the cabin, he caught something on the air—something faint—something almost indistinguishable. Reining his mount to a full stop, he went still and turned his head, his expression intent as he listened. His tracker's senses finely tuned, he was finally able to extract a distant sound from the chilled silence. He shifted his head slightly, his expression tightening. A small plane—he narrowed his eyes and stopped breathing, listening intently—no, there were two, the sound far-off and barely discernible. But there were definitely two distinct sounds. And even with the distance distorting the faint stutters, he knew exactly where the planes were. They were flying over the narrow valley where he had found her—his wildcat in the snow.
Two planes indicated a search, which also indicated a downed plane. But until he got some answers from her, he refused to speculate.
Glad for the cover of both the trees and nightfall, Finn twisted around to make sure Trouper was right behind him, then he shifted around and nudged Gus into a walk. He glanced over toward the underbrush and spoke, his tone clipped with command. "Rooney, heel." The dog immediately obeyed, trotting along the path at Gus's shoulder, his ears suddenly pricked.
Shifting his weight to ease the cramp in his back, Finn glanced down at his cargo, the heavy dusk crowding in and obscuring the remaining light. So. Someone had called out a search party to look for her. He didn't like the feeling twisting in his belly. He didn't like it at all.
His expression set, Finn guided his mount through a narrow archway of trees, taking care not to disturb the snow clumped on the low-hanging branches. At least for tonight he could keep her out of harm's way. He'd worry about tomorrow later.
The dark hulking shape of the cabin appeared in the dusk, the tin roof capped with snow, a drift crouching against the single step. Finn walked Gus right up to the low overhang that sheltered the plank door, the weight of his burden pulling painfully at his shoulder. Dropping the reins to ground-tie the horse, he stiffly dismo
unted, using his good arm to hold her in the saddle. He was so damned sore and stiff, he felt as if he'd been thrown and trampled. He waited until his circulation was restored and the cramps in his legs eased; then he gave her a small tug, and she slid into his arms like a sack of oats. Now all he had to do was pack her inside.
It was pitch black in the cabin, and damned cold. In fact, it felt colder inside than out. He had boarded up the windows that morning, and it was as black as a cave inside, and he had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust. Using what little illumination that came from outside, he crossed the small space and carefully laid her on one of the bare wooden bunks, her still form swaddled in the coat and blanket. The inside of the small cabin was planked with roughhewn fir, the wood weathered and dark, aged by years of exposure. Extra supplies hung suspended in dark, green heavy plastic containers from the open pole rafters, the shapes bulky and irregular in the deepening twilight.
Stripping off his gloves, he went to the shelf by the door and found the stash of candles and matches in an old syrup can. He lit one and let liquid paraffin form, then dripped some of the melted wax onto the lid, the faint, wavering light swallowed by the heavy shadows and the dark weathered planking.
Fixing four candles in place, he set the makeshift candleholder on the battered wooden table, then turned back and latched the door, shutting out the cold and the fading dusk. Glancing at the form on the bunk to make sure she was still asleep, he gathered some kindling from the wood box and placed it in the old potbellied stove, then struck another match and put it to the tinder, assessing their situation as he waited for the bark to catch and flare. With the windows boarded up, there would be no light visible from outside, and with the cabin hidden beneath the heavy canopy of trees, it would be practically invisible from the air. But the most critical factor was that the falling snow had covered their tracks, making their trail invisible. And invisibility was exactly what they needed. At least until he knew what in hell was going on.
THE RENEGADE AND THE HEIRESS Page 3