As it turned out, it was sooner than he thought.
Kaylee burst back through the door at six-forty that evening. She dumped her suitcase at the door and tossed her purse on the bed.
Bobby felt a grin split his face as he surged up off the bed. “You’re back!” He reached for her, hauling her into his arms. “Damn, it’s good to see you.” He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. “You know that No-Sex-Until-We-Get-Catherine-Back rule? Well, baby, the minute I get the rest of my strength back, it’s toast.”
It belatedly occurred to him that she wasn’t waxing as enthusiastic as he, and he tilted his chin down to peer into her face. “What happened?” He stiffened. “Oh, shit, not Chains?”
“No. At least I hope not.” Kaylee snuggled into his embrace. “She wasn’t there, Bobby. The bus came, but Cat and the bounty hunter weren’t on it.”
“Why do I get the feeling this doesn’t mean we can head for Vegas now?”
“The driver said he stopped to pick them up like he was instructed, but he left when no one was waiting at the café where he was told he’d find them.”
“And?”
Leaning back in his arms, she raised her gaze to search his face. “And I’m worried, Bobby. Where the hell can she be?”
20
IT HAD NOT been Sam’s intention to fall asleep again, but that was what he’d done. And so had Catherine, he discovered when he awakened to find it well after two o’clock in the afternoon. They were tumbled together in the middle of the mattress like a couple of puppies sleeping off an energetic tussle, and he slowly disengaged himself from her long legs and soft arms. Sitting up, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Then he lowered them to his thighs, where they gradually curled into fists as he stared down at her.
God, he was such a prince. Forget the lodge; he’d be lucky if she didn’t hit him with a mess of legal charges. No sense prettying it up; he’d kidnapped her. Hell, kidnapped her, dragged her around like a piece of ratty luggage, and insulted her time after time.
After time.
Shit.
Flipping a section of the spread over the most distracting of the curves sprawled across the mattress, he got up. A hollow feeling gnawed deep in his gut, and there was no way of knowing if its source was the fact that every bit of sustenance he’d put in his body in the last twenty-four hours had been spewed back out again, or the royal mess he’d made of everything—but he suspected the latter.
Well, it was a done deal; there was no use standing around whining about it. He’d better throw his clothes on and go pick up some food to bring back to the room. Catherine was bound to be hungry when she woke up, even if he doubted he’d ever be able to swallow again past the heavy mass sitting so squarely in the middle of his chest.
Catherine awoke to an empty room.
Chilled, she grabbed for a corner of the spread that spilled to her lap when she sat up, and absentmindedly wrapped it around her. “Sam?” There was no answer, but she wasn’t worried. Wherever he’d gone, he’d be back, and this time he hadn’t left her handcuffed to the bed frame to wait out his arrival. Life was good. She looked out through the crack in the drapery, saw the rain had been reduced to a drizzle, and, stretching beneath her covering, smiled.
She felt great.
He’d called her Catherine. They hadn’t talked after they’d made love—she’d been too limp with amazement to put her feelings into words, and Sam had simply held her quietly and stroked wherever his hands would reach until both of them had drifted off to sleep. But everything was going to be okay now.
He knew once and for all who she was.
She hadn’t expected the knowledge to make him wary as a mongrel expecting a kick, but she saw the minute he came through the door that it had.
He stopped just inside and shook his head like a wet dog. The rainwater beading his dark hair flew in all directions, and one big hand paused in the act of scraping it back as his gaze alighted on her. His eyes were cautious behind their screen of black lashes. “Hey,” he said, his other hand tightening on the aromatic bags that dangled from it. He thrust the bags forward. “I, uh, got you some food.”
“Thanks.” She crossed the room, decently covered once again by his oversize shirt and Kaylee’s red panties. “I’m starved.” She took the packages from him and set them down on the little table in the corner, ripping them open. “What’ve you got here? Not chicken, I bet.”
“Catherine.”
The seriousness of his voice brought her head up. To her amazement, color was creeping up his brown throat and onto the smooth skin of his jaw.
“I, uh, guess I owe you a big apology.” He cleared his throat. “A huge one. You tried to tell me who you were from the very beginning, and I wouldn’t listen.”
Ah, vindication. It was sweet. She observed the flush that colored his cheeks, listened to him stumble for words, and gave herself a big old mental hug. Swallowing back her grin, however, she rounded her eyes at him in a look of faux reproach. After all, she’d earned a little fun at his expense. “You owe me a whole lot more than an apology, McKade.”
Those solemn green eyes hit Sam hard, and he missed seeing the amusement that lurked beneath the surface. “Yeah. I know.” His palms itched to reach for her, and he rubbed them against the seams of his jeans before stuffing them into his front pockets. Hunching his shoulders, he swallowed hard. Against all odds, he’d somehow hoped he wouldn’t have to do this. “I’ll, uh, start making arrangements to send you home right away.”
Catherine choked on the piece of bread she’d just bitten off. Swallowing it barely chewed, she dropped the baguette onto the table. She’d been about to remind him of a certain offer to eat his shorts, but his announcement knocked the words right out of her. If her expression was anywhere near as stupefied as she felt as she stared at him, it must be some sight to behold. “Excuse me?”
“I said I’ll…”
Indignation roared through her veins. “My God. I don’t believe you, Sam!”
“Listen, I know it’s little enough reparation—”
“You consider that reparation? What kind of man are you? If you believe I’m Catherine and not Kaylee, then you must know I’ve also been telling you the truth about Jimmy Chains. The man’s trying to kill me, but you’re going to cut me loose to deal with the problem on my own? Well, sure, why not,” she decided with a bitter twist of her lips. “It’s not like anyone else has ever believed I could use a hand dealing with life’s little messes.”
Poleaxed, Sam stared at her. Amidst the revelation that she wasn’t Kaylee, everything except the thought of how badly he’d handled everything had been knocked clean out of his mind.
He took a step toward her, then stopped. “I forgot. Christ,” he said, shaking his head in self-derision, “I’ve taken you from your home, humiliated you, called you a liar at every turn, seduced you—”
“I rather liked that part,” she said sulkily.
He was so immersed in his own misery that her interruption failed to penetrate. “Then when I discover your bond’s not going to get me Gary’s lodge after all, I offer to leave you alone to deal with the danger I’ve created. You must think I’m such an asshole.” She opened her mouth, but with a harsh laugh he held up a forestalling hand. “No, don’t tell me—you’ve always considered me an asshole.”
Catherine’s good humor was restored. He didn’t need her to revile him; he was doing such an excellent job of it all on his own. The man certainly took his responsibilities very seriously. She wondered if he’d offer to buy her a lodge, too. “Actually, I was going to say you didn’t create the danger. That was strictly a by-product of Kaylee’s being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
His mouth twisted. “That’s very generous of you.”
“Yeah, that’s me, all right, generous to a fault. Sam, tell me something.” She waited until his eyes focused on hers. “You say you forgot about Chains. Did you remember him before you made the offer to return me home?”
“No, but…”
“Then, for God’s sake get over yourself. You take on way too much; not everything in this world is your responsibility. Come on.” She began setting out the food “Let’s eat.”
His expression was priceless. Obviously confused, his automatic response to the emotion was irritation. His big hands stuffed in his pockets, he regarded her with a sullen mouth and wary eyes. He nevertheless stepped forward when she jerked her chin peremptorily at the food she’d set out.
A short while later, she finished blotting her lips and set down her paper napkin. “So, what do we do now?”
She watched Sam swallow the bite he’d just taken. His eyes were still cautious as he looked at her across the small table, but he wiped his mouth with the puny paper napkin clutched in his fist and demanded with his usual arrogance, “Tell me everything you know about Chains.”
She did so and sat back to await his response.
“We definitely have to stick together.” Sam pretended to himself that didn’t give him a huge rush of satisfaction. “I guess the big question is, where do we go next?” He studied her through narrowed lashes. “Do you want me to take you home?”
“No.” The decisiveness with which she shook her head sent several strands of red hair wrapping around her pale throat. He watched as she hooked them with her fingers and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I get the impression Chains doesn’t have a clue about me,” she said, “and frankly, I’d just as soon keep it like that. No way do I want to lead him straight to my door. Besides.” Her green eyes were level as they locked on his. “I’ve been dragged into this now. You’re not getting rid of me until I see how it finally ends up. I’ve earned the right.”
Hey, that worked for him. Planting his feet, he gripped the seat of his chair, and by raising his butt and swiveling, thumped it down a few feet closer to Catherine’s. He wanted to reach out and touch the smoothness of her thigh just below his shirttail, but clenched his fingers around the seat instead. “Fine. As long as you understand I’m the one in charge here.” He’d probably forfeited everything else in this debacle, but he’d be damned if he’d forfeit control. He was responsible for this situation; he’d damn well see it handled right from here on out.
“Why, certainly, Sam,” she replied, and the very mildness of her tone had him narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He should have known it was too good to be true. Hell, he had known, but fool that he was, he’d allowed himself to be sucked in anyway.
“Dammit, Catherine, I’m telling you we can’t afford this,” he said twenty minutes later. He nevertheless found himself striding alongside her toward the town garage, shoulders hunched against the drizzle.
“We can’t afford to do otherwise,” she argued. “Chains is looking for us on the bus. Renting a car will be cheaper in the long run than running into him.” She turned those big green eyes on him. “Trust me. Have I been wrong so far?”
“Damn. The guilt card.” He rolled his shoulders. Then, as graciously as he could manage, conceded, “Ah, what the hell—I suppose you’re right. Gary’s lodge is history anyway.”
“And look on the bright side, Sam. Greyhound’s picking up the tab for last night’s lodging, and you can most likely cash in the remainder of our tickets. That should help defray the cost.” She shot him a glance from under her lashes. “It’s too bad we don’t have camping supplies. You could cut way down on the expense of lodging, then.”
He studied her guileless expression. “You really get a kick out of making me feel cheap, don’t you? I’m not, you know. I simply had a budget and a deadline, and I did my best to stick to both in order to attain my goal.”
That tugged Catherine’s heartstrings. His goal was shot, and he had accepted the knowledge matter-of-factly. Not once had he moaned about it the way she would have been tempted to do.
She also knew he wouldn’t appreciate her appreciation. He was firmly entrenched in his professional mode, his manner remote. She said breezily, “Well, that’s good to hear. Then you won’t mind buying me some clothes of my own, will you?”
She wasn’t sure she appreciated the way his eyes lit up. “Something really loose?” he demanded. “Like that blouse the little guy spilled grape juice on the first day?”
“Yes.”
“Well, all right! But don’t go crazy on me now. I don’t have a huge budget.”
“Oh, sugar, don’t I know it. There must be a Kmart somewhere in this state.”
They found a discount store in Laramie, which was as far as the garage owner was willing to let them take his car. Leaving it with a national car rental agency that had a reciprocal agreement with the man, they rented a slightly roomier vehicle to accommodate two sets of long legs and made the stop to buy Catherine her new clothes. Then they headed out on a secondary highway for the Colorado state line.
An hour and a half later Catherine rested her elbow on the open window ledge, breathed in the aromatic Colorado mountain winds that blew through her tied-back hair, and felt at peace with the world.
A large part of her euphoria stemmed from once again wearing clothes that didn’t cling to every atom of her body. She looked down at her pleated khaki walking shorts, with their roomy cuffs that ended a little below mid-thigh, and the loose, matching T-shirt. The top wasn’t as boxy as most of the items in her wardrobe at home, but then again she didn’t feel as self conscious about her body as she had a week ago.
Life was sweet.
“You goddamn stupid idiot.”
Catherine tore her gaze from the spectacular scenery out her side window and glanced at Sam in surprise. His black eyebrows were gathered over the thrust of his nose and his attention kept jumping between the road that wound up the side of the mountain and the rearview mirror. Glad to know he wasn’t referring to her, she twisted in her seat to see what had caught his regard.
A large silver car was roaring up on their tail. Even as she watched, the distance between the two vehicles narrowed.
“Stupid son of a bitch,” Sam snarled. He spared her a quick glance. “You buckled? Good.” His eyes back on the road, he let up slightly on the gas. “Idiot’s bound to try to pass us, and there’s bugger-all room right here.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when their car was rammed from behind. Catherine screamed, but it emerged as no more than a squeak through paralyzed vocal cords. Sam swore and tightened his grip on the wheel, correcting the swerve the car made toward the dirt shoulder and the rail-free drop-off beyond that.
Once again the car behind them came screaming up and rammed their back bumper. Metal screamed against metal, and the tires on Catherine’s side of the car spewed up a storm of dust and grit as they skidded off the highway onto the shoulder.
“My God, is he drunk? Why is he doing this?” Her demand was breathless, and once again she twisted in her seat to try to see into the other car.
It roared out from behind them and accelerated into the oncoming lane, pulling abreast.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” she whispered. “It’s him, Sam, it’s Jimmy Chains. How did he find us?” She watched the other car pull even with their car and saw Chains raise his arm straight up from his side. “Sam, look out! He’s got a gun!”
Taking advantage of Sam’s divided attention as he tried to both drive and hunch down to provide a smaller target, Chains wrenched his steering wheel toward their car. His heavier vehicle slammed them broadside, shoving them onto the shoulder.
Sam fought to keep the car from getting too close to the brink. Dust boiled up from beneath the spinning tires and he had the front wheels under control when Chains dropped back and rammed their back fender. It spun the still-canted rear end toward the verge. One minute there was hard-packed dirt beneath their back wheels, and the next the tires were spinning in space. For an instant, the car hung suspended over the mountainside. Then, with an attenuated creak, gravity exerted its pull and the front tires lifted off the
ground. A second later the hood was pointing skyward.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Catherine repeated mindlessly as they began sliding backwards. She reached for the dashboard, digging her fingers in and pressing her full weight hard against it, as if by exerting enough pressure she could prevent the car from flipping over backwards and turning end for end in their headlong rush down the mountainside. Sam was hunched as far over the steering wheel as his seat belt would allow.
The car slid and bumped with lightning speed and horrendous noise down the almost-vertical slope. The front wheels left the ground several times, but somehow the vehicle avoided flipping over. Catherine’s stomach, however, felt as if it were turning cartwheels.
As the slope became less vertical, brush and slender branches tore at the painted metal and whipped in and out of Catherine’s open window. Stones bounced with loud, metallic clangs off the car’s underside, and green blurs flashed past the windshield.
Suddenly the car slammed into a boulder with a rending screech, and whipped around as if upon an axis. It teetered just long enough for them to get a clear view of the massive evergreen that sat dead in the middle of their path down the hill, and then slid free. As they hurtled down the steep slope, Catherine said a silent prayer that her death would be a quick and painless one. With the impact of a freight train meeting a brick wall, they hit the tree head-on.
Two airbags exploded out of the dashboard and mashed them back in their seats.
A breath of incredulous laughter exploded out of Catherine’s throat. “Oh my God,” she panted. “Oh, my God, do you believe this? Are you okay? Sam, we’re alive!” She reached out to touch his strong hand, resting on the seat between them and panted, “I completely forgot the car came equipped with these. Oh, God, Sam, we’re alive.” She raised her trembling hand to his jaw. “Alive.”
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