Outlaw Heart

by Samantha James

  She began digging in her saddlebags for the food, acutely aware of his presence behind her. She knew the exact instant he finished with the horses. A tremor slid down her spine. She sensed his eyes on her back like the prick of a needle. Clenching her fingers, she sensed rather than saw him move soundlessly past her. With an effort, she raised her head. Kane had settled himself across from the fire, his back propped against a stately pine tree. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back.

  Her gaze roved slowly over his face, as if she were searching for... what? A flaw, perhaps? Some hint of ugliness or imperfection? Despite the heavy stubble that darkened his cheek and jaw, his features were not at all displeasing. Clean-shaven, he might even have been quite handsome. His nose was straight and thin, if a bit arrogant, his jaw square and hard. But his mouth was no longer set in harsh, implacable lines. It struck her then—he looked tired. At the thought, she felt the tight knot of uneasiness slip away.

  It wasn't long before the beans were bubbling in the pot she'd brought. She dropped a handful of dried ham into it and stirred, ignoring the man behind her.

  It was the aroma of coffee brewing that eventually roused Kane. Abby dished up a tinful of beans and glanced over her shoulder at Kane to find his eyes were open and fixed on her. Wordlessly she handed him the plate, then turned to fill another for herself. She sat down a short distance away from him, using a small boulder as a stool.

  The sky turned half a dozen shades of purple and gold while they ate. Behind them rose the jutting ridges of the mountains, sharp as a saw blade. To the east the lake sparkled with the waning sunlight. Evening's silence crept across the earth; the only sound was that of the fire hungrily licking at the dry tree branches.

  Abby was the first to finish. Kane had helped himself to another plateful of beans. She rose to fill two tin cups with coffee from the pot, handing one to him on her way back to the tree. He grimaced.

  "I don't suppose you've got anything stronger?"

  Abby straightened. A slender hand came to her hip and she glared down at him. She didn't have to say a word—her disapproval came through loud and clear.

  "You haven't had a blacksmith hammering away inside your head the whole damned day," he grumbled. "And riding like the devil himself hasn't helped any."

  A well-shaped brow rose. "And whose fault is that?" she retorted sweetly. "As I recall, it wasn't me who poured that whiskey down your throat." She turned and, with a swish of her riding skirt, resumed her place on the boulder—and her glare along with it.

  Kane rolled his eyes. Christ, he thought disgustedly. She was undoubtedly a do-gooder, about to deliver a fire-and-brimstone speech on the sins of imbibing too freely. He found himself possessed of a dark, sudden urge to take her down a peg.

  "Oh, well," he said with a shrug. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't need a good healthy shot of whiskey," he added conversationally. "In fact, right about now I think a good, hot-blooded woman just might be able to take my mind off my aches and pains." He propped his elbows on his knees and nodded toward the now-empty pot of beans. "I have to admit, sweetheart, those were mighty tasty. Do you have any other hidden talents?"

  A purely suggestive smile curved his lips. Abby gasped. Surely he wasn't suggesting that she... that they ... The heat of a blush crept up her neck, clear to her hairline. Closer scrutiny revealed his lips now twisted in a smirk.

  Abby wasn't sure if she was more angry or embarrassed. Nor did it help that' he suspected he deliberately wanted to shock her.

  "Oh, yeah," he said softly. "Why don't you show me what those lips and hands can do, sweetheart? I admit, after the taste you gave me last night, I'm mighty curious."

  Abby didn't stop to think. She simply reacted, leaping to her feet, wishing she dared overturn his hot coffee on his head. She heard him laughing softly when she skirted him and marched toward her saddlebags.

  A moment later she stepped up behind him.

  "Kane?" Her tone was dulcet as a softly strummed melody. "I have just the remedy for your headache."

  "What?" He twisted around to stare up at her.

  She dumped the contents of her canteen over his head.

  Kane surged to his feet with a curse that blistered her ears. His face was black as a thundercloud. Too late Abby realized her folly. She instinctively turned to flee but she didn't get more than two steps. He was upon her like a bolt of lightning. She felt herself bodily seized and spun around. The next thing she knew he'd flexed his knees. An arm that felt like steel slid beneath her knees. The world tilted crazily as her feet left the ground. She felt herself borne upward in a surge of power.

  He began to walk, his stride sure-footed and determined.

  "Dear God, st-stop!"

  "God isn't going to help you this time, honey." He spoke through gritted teeth.

  She flung an arm around his shoulders for balance. "Kane! What are you doing?"

  "Sweetheart," he mocked, "I have just the remedy to cool your temper."

  He was heading toward the lake. Abby gleaned his intention in a flash. The brute was going to dump her in the water. The knowledge only fueled her desperation to escape. "Kane, no! I—I have my boots on!" She began to struggle in earnest.

  A vile oath rushed past her ear, but he didn't stop, merely tightened his arms around her like a clamp. "Then, sweetheart, you sure as hell better kick the damned things off."

  "I am not your sweetheart—stop calling me that!"

  "Anything you say, Abigail."

  "Don't call me that, either! No one's ever called me Abigail except Pa." Pa. His name had no sooner passed her lips than her heart squeezed.

  "Well, you don't need to worry," he sneered above her head. "You'll be back in Papa's lap soon enough."

  His voice stabbed at her like a rusty blade. She pounded her fists against him. "I told you before, Kane, he's dead!" Pain as dark as the bloodstain on Pa's chest crowded her heart as she thought of him, now cold and alone in his grave. God, but it hurt to think of him. It hurt even more knowing that he was dead!

  A hot ache scalded her throat. She ducked her head. Her hand slowly uncurled on his chest.

  They'd reached the shoreline, but that wasn't why Kane halted. He instinctively knew the instant something changed, even before her struggles ceased. She lay limply against him, all resistance gone.

  Kane's gaze sharpened. Her head was bent, her expression hidden. But he could see the spiky dampness of her lashes, the tremulous way she tried to steady her mouth. A fleeting voice intruded in his consciousness. Stringer Sam came to the ranch looking for Dillon, but he killed Pa instead.

  He lowered her slowly to the ground, allowing her to stand on her own but not releasing her completely. He kept her anchored before him with the weight of his hands on her shoulders.

  "So it was Stringer Sam." Even to his own ears, his voice was gritty.

  She nodded; he heard as well as felt her ragged inhalation. Low as she spoke, he didn't miss the faint accusation in her tone. "I told you this morning. Didn't you believe me?"

  He hadn't, but he couldn't tell her that. Not now. Something dangerous, something wholly threatening, something he didn't understand, slipped over him. He battled the urge to pull her close and let her cry her heart out, if that was what she wanted.

  He cursed himself viciously for his uncertainty. Why the hell should he care if she was hurting? He didn't know her, and furthermore, he didn't want to know her. She was prickly and uppity, the most difficult female he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. And yet he couldn't deny the tremulous appeal in those wounded blue eyes, those soft, trembling lips ... or was it just a ploy, a ploy to see that she got what she wanted?

  Twice now, he thought furiously, twice now she'd made him feel this way, twice in the same day! He'd be damned if he'd dance to her tune again. And he sure as hell would never let her pull his gun on him again!

  He released her, his features hardening. "You'd better turn in for the night if you want to get an early start in the
morning." The words were as coolly dismissive as his tone. When she said nothing, he quirked a dark brow. "Unless you intend to do the smart thing and head back the way we came, that is."

  Abby's eyes flashed. His sarcasm was almost welcome. For a minute there, she'd had the strangest urge to bury her face in the hard curve of his neck and give way to the bitter tears burning her eyes, uncaring that he witnessed such weakness.

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She didn't know what was behind his abrupt turnabout, but it was foolish to expect compassion from a man like Kane. He couldn't possibly know how deeply Pa's loss wounded her. No, what feelings he had were surely only for himself. If he was helping her, it was only for what money it would bring him in the end.

  Back at the camp, she unrolled her bedroll and lay down, watching as night closed its dark veil over the earth. It wasn't long before she heard Kane return. Neither of them said a word while he spread his bedroll across the fire from her, but the air between them was charged once again.

  She rolled, presenting him with her back. Despite her awareness of the man across from her, the buzz of insects and the sigh of the wind through the trees began to work their magic spell. Her limbs grew heavy. She began to drift, her exhaustion blotting her mind of all thought.

  Chapter 5

  Yellow sunlight dancing against the back of her eyelids roused Abby the next morning. She pried an eyelid open, wincing against the gleaming rays pouring through a gauzy layer of clouds. The events of the last few days poured through her mind like water through a sieve. Had Pa been given a decent funeral? Of course he had. Dorothy and Lucas would have seen to it. Still, Abby couldn't help the niggling twinge of guilt that knifed through her. She should have been there. And Dillon should have been there to see him laid to rest. Abby couldn't help the spurt of anger that shot through her. Instead, Dillon was off chasing outlaws ... and she was off chasing him ... and she couldn't help but be resentful of her brother for putting her in this predicament in the first place.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed for his safety, prayed that Stringer Sam was not yet hot on Dillon's trail..

  And prayed that she and Kane were.

  With a sigh that seemed pulled from some hollow, beaten place deep within her breast, she pushed off the rumpled blanket that covered her. Only then did she note that Kane's bedroll wasn't where he'd left it last night. In fact, the bedroll, like the man himself, was nowhere in sight.

  Her first thought was that he'd deserted her, the beast! She leaped to her feet and nearly tripped over something—his bedroll, she realized, neatly rolled and tied, placed just a few inches from where her head had rested.

  Her insides tightened oddly. It was downright disconcerting knowing that Kane had stood over her while she'd slept, unaware that he was so near . . .

  His horse was gone, and his saddle along with it.

  Where on earth was he?

  Ten minutes later she was fuming, wondering if she'd been right after all. Maybe he had deserted her. Determined not to waste another idle minute, she fumbled around in her saddlebag for the cake of lavender-scented soap she'd brought. She'd been hot and sweaty when they stopped to make camp last night. Though she hated to waste the time, she couldn't resist the thought of a quick wash in the lake. Besides, who knew when they'd be able to camp near fresh water again?

  Her steps quick and purposeful, she strode away from camp. Her gaze trained relentlessly forward, she headed toward the trees that stood sentry along the nearest finger of shoreline. So intent was she on her destination that she nearly ran smack into the side of Kane's horse. The glossy black merely raised his head and glanced at her in lazy speculation, then resumed his grazing of the lush grasses near the shore. She wasn't left long to wonder why the horse was here. A flicker of movement through the trees caught her eye. She glanced up in time to see Kane walk calmly into the water.

  He wore not a single stitch of clothing.

  Abby's heart leaped like a jackrabbit. Oblivious to her presence, Kane waded out further, then cut cleanly through the mirrored surface in a shallow dive. He came up an instant later and stood upright, walking forward several steps until the water lapped at his thighs.

  Water shimmied down his body like a rushing waterfall. He shook his head like a great beast, sending a spray of water everywhere. In some shadowy corner of her mind, she told herself it was curiosity that held her there—not pleasure or awe. Yet she was conscious of only one thought. She couldn't deny that when she looked at him, there was power and strength and proud, blatant beauty she'd never thought to find in any man, most certainly not this man.

  He was all sculpted, rippling muscle sheathed in gleaming, coppery skin. His chest was wide, his abdomen ridged with taut muscles. His hips were narrow, his buttocks hard and round and tight-looking.

  He turned, providing her a startling, unrestricted view of all that made him so different from her ... all that made him a man.

  Abby's throat constricted. Her muscles froze. She wanted to look away but she couldn't. Was that what she'd felt pressed against her belly the night he'd kissed her? Unconsciously she silently gauged and measured ... No. Surely not. Because while the sight was impressive enough to make her eyes widen, the memory of that night was vividly etched in her mind. And that boldly masculine part of him had seemed so much bigger, so much harder and rigid. So much--

  There was a burst of low, vibrating laughter.

  "Why, Miss Abby, don't tell me you like what you see." With a gasp her gaze veered up to his face. His lips were twisted in that arrogant smile she'd begun to associate solely with him, a smile she'd begun to hate.

  Her cheeks flamed. She was mortified beyond belief at having been caught staring at him—staring at him naked yet! She found herself floundering.

  "I didn't know where you were. Your horse was gone, so I thought I'd come down and wash up while I waited"

  Kane laughed, a genuine, if rusty sound that somehow surprised him. Even from this distance, he could see the telltale color creeping down her neck. He wondered if she was blushing all over. It was an interesting possibility, one he wouldn't have minded investigating further. But only if the lady was willing. Unfortunately, that was hardly the case.

  "I thought I'd scout around for any sign of footprints." He placed a jaunty hand on the ridge of one naked hip. "Do I dare hope that's soap you have in your hand? In my haste to leave Laramie, I seem to have left without any."

  His sarcasm was lost on her. He was moving forward again as he spoke. When Abby realized it, she flung the bar of soap at him, the action both instinctive and defensive.

  He caught it neatly, still unabashedly naked and uncaring that he was. "For a married lady, you sure are a shy one," he drawled. "If I didn't know better, I might even think you've never seen a naked man before."

  Abby nearly blurted that she hadn't. Oh, she'd seen Dillon and Pa bare from the waist up, but that was all. In horror she realized she was still staring. Belatedly she spun and darted back the way she'd come.

  "No need to hurry off," he called after her. "This lake's plenty big for the two of us."

  Soft, mocking laughter echoed behind her. Her irritation mounted along with the pace of her steps. Lord, but he was infuriating! And he was crazy if he thought she'd remove so much as a stocking in front of him. She didn't trust him any further than she could see him!

  Her opinion of him sank even further when he returned to camp with his shirt unbuttoned and hanging outside his pants. His manner casually offhand, he proceeded to tuck his shirt in and button his pants, with Abby standing not two feet away. Abby gaped. Why, the man had no decency, no manners whatsoever! She had the feeling he was deliberately trying to embarrass her, but this time she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. Oh, no.

  Kane took one look at the mutinous droop of her mouth and dismissed the notion to ask her assistance in shaving. He didn't like shaving without a mirror, but he wasn't about to put a razor in the lady's hands. She'd likely
cut his throat with a great deal of pleasure right about now!

  He rubbed the raspy hardness of his cheek, then let it fall to his side. Oh, well, he thought with a twist of his Lips. While Abigail MacKenzie certainly was lovely, likable was something she was not. Still, he much preferred her contrary and disagreeable behavior to the way she'd been last night. Her vulnerability stabbed at him. He'd lain awake for hours, guilt gnawing at his gut. He'd felt like dirt that he hadn't said he was sorry about her father, but the words stuck in his craw like a chicken bone.

  Yet why should he show her any kindness? he wondered harshly. She sure as hell didn't expect it from him. It was clear she thought him less than human. He felt like a fool for feeling any softness toward her—for feeling anything at all!

  "As soon as you've eaten—" Her voice was cool as frost. "—I'd like to be on our way."

  His tone matched hers. "That's fine by me."

  Not a word was said while they downed cold biscuits and coffee. They set out again, the atmosphere as frigid as a winter wind blowing across the plains.

  Just as they had yesterday, they rode hard in a northerly direction. Kane slowed every so often, looking for signs of another rider having passed through recently. She was disappointed that he had no more luck than he had that morning.

  The day grew hotter as the sun climbed toward its zenith. The sky was an endless, dazzling blue unbroken by clouds. No hint of breeze stirred the air. Tugging at the bandana around her neck, Abby dabbed the sweat from her brow. More than ever, she longed for a bath.

  It was early afternoon when they stopped to water the horses at a stream. Watching Kane guide his horse to the edge of the water, Abby admitted to a twinge of admiration. She didn't like the man, but he rode like a centaur, as much at home on the back of the animal as a seasoned cowhand. When Kane dismounted, Abby did the same, leading Sonny over to the clear rushing waters where the gelding guzzled noisily.