Outlaw Heart

by Samantha James

  He released her abruptly. "Just leave me the hell alone, do you hear?" His tone was so fierce that Abby stumbled back, retreating instinctively. "Just leave me the hell alone."

  He turned his back and strode away.

  Never in her life had she been so confused.

  One minute Abby was furious at his callousness, the next she was hurt as she'd never been hurt before. It made no sense that he should stir such anger in her. It made no sense that his rejection should wound her so, but Abby couldn't help it. She wanted to run and hide--most of all, forget she'd ever laid eyes on Kane.

  But Kane was her only hope of finding Dillon. And God help her, she wasn't certain if that was a curse or a blessing.

  Once they were back on the trail, Kane rode slightly ahead of her. Abby's nerves were screaming by late that afternoon. So immersed was she in trying to figure a way out of her predicament, it gave her a start when Kane spoke her name, his tone rife with annoyance. Only then did she realize this was the second time he'd called her.

  She tipped her chin. Coolly she met his regard, but he said nothing. Instead he gestured toward the north.

  Abby followed the direction of his finger. The entire horizon, which should have been dominated by craggy mountains, was a thick, oozing mass of dark storm clouds. Even from this distance, they seemed to swirl and swell ominously. Abby sucked in a harsh breath and tugged on Sonny's reins.

  "No sense riding into that mess. We might as well stop for the night right here."

  His statement brought Abby's head whipping around. She watched as he swung down from Midnight. There was nothing the least bit compromising in the profile he presented to her. He appeared as hard and unyielding as the mountains eclipsed by the clouds. Indeed, she observed with mounting indignation, he looked as if he hadn't given a second thought—no, nary a first!—to everything that had transpired between them.

  "It's too early to stop," she disagreed adamantly. "We've got a good four hours of daylight left. No, we keep moving."

  Kane's head came up. From where he'd been about to hobble Midnight to a tree, he fixed on her a long, disbelieving look that implied she was clearly less than rational.

  He stated the obvious. "Unless I miss my guess, that's one hell of a storm."

  Abby saw red. "The wind is from the west." She met his challenge with one of her own. "It'll move on long before we reach it."

  Kane said nothing, merely directed her another burning stare.

  Abby squared her shoulders. "I'm not afraid of a little rain," she said shortly. "I don't know why it should bother you."

  Kane climbed back on Midnight. "Have it your, way," he muttered under his breath. "You will anyway." He dug his spurs into Midnight's flanks. He didn't look back to see if Abby followed.

  An hour passed, maybe more. Abby couldn't be certain. The tension between them was almost more than she could stand.

  In some far distant corner of her mind she realized it couldn't go on... she couldn't go on like this.

  It wasn't long before she realized her mistake. The wind shifted. But now it was no longer from the west. Now it was blasting in from the north. Anxiously she raised her head, scanning the rapidly approaching cloud bank. The sky was a seething mass of black.

  Sonny began to toss his head. He pranced uneasily, then all at once wheeled in a circle. Abby couldn't suppress a startled cry of surprise. Beside her, Kane stretched out a hand to grab Sonny's bridle, but the skittish gelding eluded him. Abby tightened her grip on the reins. With a soft murmur, she leaned forward in an attempt to calm her horse.

  Abby was never quite certain how it happened ... One moment she was running her knuckles up and down Sonny's neck the way he liked; the next thing she knew she was hurtling backwards, earth and sky whirling all around her. She hit the ground with a dull thud.

  The breath jolted from her lungs, it was an instant before she realized she'd been thrown. Kane's face swam above her, his features a blur. Strong hands pulled her upright until she was sitting. Fleetingly she registered Sonny's hooves pawing the air once more. His doe-soft eyes rolled back in his head. He reared wildly once again, his sides heaving. Belatedly it flashed through Abby's mind that something— she didn't know what—had spooked the gelding. Still in a daze, she saw him bolt madly.

  Kane was on his feet, shouting unintelligibly. From the corner of her eye Abby heard him whistle for Midnight. Never in her life would she forget what happened next... Sonny raced wildly across the grassy meadow, straight toward a half-dead tree whose naked limbs lifted heavenward in silent supplication.

  The gelding halted, beneath the tree now. He screamed, an unearthly sound that raised the hair on the back of Abby's neck. The voice fell eerily silent. Beneath the blue-black sky, both tree and horse were outlined in stark silhouette.

  There was a tremendous flash of light. A streak of silver ripped through the sky, as if thrown by the hand of God. Abby couldn't move. The air seemed to hum and sizzle. A thunderous explosion shook the ground on which they stood. Abby squeezed her eyes shut, as if by doing so she could drown out the sound.

  When she opened them, Sonny lay on the ground beneath the tree. An acrid odor burned Abby's nostrils; tendrils of smoke wisped skyward. Abby knew instantly something was very, very wrong. Shakily she rose. She took a single step forward, then another and another. Soon she was running blindly forward, only dimly aware of Kane shouting behind her.

  Her heart ready to burst, she was almost there when she tripped, falling heavily to her knees. She crawled the last few feet to Sonny, who was still screaming—in pain, she realized belatedly. Her tardy mind at last fit the pieces together. The flash had been lightning striking the tree—and Sonny along with it.

  The gelding's legs thrashed wildly. Abby slid her hand over Sonny's shoulder. Her hands were shaking. Beneath her fingertips Sonny's sleek muscles coiled and knotted. A tremendous shudder shook the gelding's body. His legs flailed one last time, then went still. The awful screams fell silent.

  A numbing fear took hold of Abby. Tears scalded her eyelids. She blinked them back. If only this was a dream, she thought desperately. If only she would wake up and it was just a bad dream. But Pa was gone, she recalled chokingly. And now Sonny. And they hadn't found Dillon ... Oh, what if Kane was right? What if Dillon was next? What if he was already dead?

  Her fingers clutched the roughness of Sonny's mane. "No," she whispered brokenly. "No!"

  Behind her, Kane hesitated, uncertain what to do. Her pain was keenly evident. Hard as he tried, he couldn't ignore it. He had to force himself to harden his heart. He glanced at the churning clouds above and back to her.

  "Abby."

  He spoke her name, very low. She heard him. He knew it from the way her shoulders stiffened and squared.

  "Abby, we have to leave." His tone sharpened. "We can't stay here any longer." He laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Her fingers only twined in Sonny's mane all the harder. Kane dropped to his knees beside her. He bit back a curse when he had to pry her fingers loose.

  Abby wrenched herself away and surged upright. Small hands fisted at her side, she faced him defiantly. "I can't leave!" she cried. "Sonny's dead! I can't just leave him lying out here. He needs to be buried!"

  Rain pelted his head. The sky rumbled a warning. "Abby, we can't! It's dangerous to be out here in the open during a storm!"

  "Then go!" she shouted. "But I'm staying right here until I'm finished!"

  "For Christ's sake, woman! There's a shack just over the next hill! As soon as the storm breaks, I'll come back and see that he's buried."

  Fire blazed in her eyes. "He was my horse, Kane! I'll do it myself!"

  "Dammit, Abby, we've got to find shelter—now!" He wrapped steely fingers around her wrist. If he had to tie and gag her, she was leaving with him!

  She tried to jerk free. When his grip merely tightened, she gave a little scream of fury. "No! I can't leave him here for the buzzards and wolves." A blustery flurry of wind whipped
around them. Abby felt as if she had been caught in it as well.

  "Oh, God, don't you see? I—I couldn't stay and see that my pa had a decent burial. I have to see that Sonny has one ... I have to do this, Kane. I have to!" Her voice cracked—and so did she.

  She went wild then, pounding at his chest, clawing at him as she struggled to free herself. Her eyes were glassy, her expression so frenzied he decided grimly she was only half-aware of who he was and what she was doing. He shook her roughly, but that only intensified her efforts. Finally he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her until her eyes flew wide and she gasped for much-needed air. She went limp against him.

  He framed her face in his hands. "Abby," he said urgently, "I'll come back and bury Sonny. Do you hear? I swear I won't let you down." There was no thought of refusal, none whatsoever.

  She gave no sign that she heard him. Kane pressed home his advantage and half-dragged, half-led her to where Midnight stood waiting, his ears pricked high and alert. He lifted her into the saddle, then mounted behind her. She sagged forward, like a flower whose stem had been snapped. Kane muttered under his breath and tightened his hold around her. At a word from him, Midnight sprinted ahead.

  The heavens opened up then. Rain poured down in wind-driven sheets. They were both drenched by the time they arrived outside the shack. Kane gave a silent prayer of thanks that it still stood. He hadn't been certain it would be there. Only later did he realize he couldn't remember the last time a prayer—of thanksgiving or otherwise—had crossed his lips.

  He tethered Midnight near the porch. A moment later, he flung open the door of the shack. He pushed Abby through the opening, then followed her in. He'd figured out the shack was used for hunting. It had never been occupied the few times he'd passed through here. But it was obvious someone stayed here at least several times a year—the interior was just as he remembered. A supply of wood had been laid in, and while the rough plank floor was covered with a layer of dust, it wasn't filthy. The wooden table and chairs were in passable condition, and even the narrow bed in the corner had been neatly made up with a faded brown quilt.

  He slammed the door shut and shouldered his way past Abby to the fireplace. The rain had sent the temperatures plunging, and although the air wasn't cold, he and Abby were both drenched to the skin. With determined efficiency, he soon had a fire roaring in the hearth.

  Abby still hadn't moved. Her listlessness disturbed him. It wasn't like her to be so passive. He pushed her into the nearest chair. "You'd better get those wet clothes off." He pointed to the wool blanket neatly folded on the end of the bed. "You can dry off with that before you change."

  A faint distress crept into her eyes. Kane scowled. "You can do it while I'm gone," he said brusquely. She made no response, but he could see the silent question in her gaze. "I'll be back when I'm through bury—" He broke off as a spasm of pain whitened her lips. "—when I'm through," he finished lamely.

  His steps carried him toward the door. Outside, the storm wind howled fiercely. Rain lashed the windows and walls, but Abby made no effort to prevent him from leaving—not that he'd expected she would. Outside he grabbed a shovel. No, he decided bitterly, concern for his safety would be the last thing on her mind.

  His eyes were watering, his lungs burning when he burst inside a long time later. The storm had abated, but the rain had not. Darkness had invaded the shack. The only light came from where the fire cast its golden halo into the room. His eyes strained to find Abby. She sat on the floor, wrapped in the rough wool blanket, her back propped against the far wall. Her head was bowed low. She appeared to be asleep.

  Kane crossed to stand before the fire. Quickly he stripped, his boots and wet clothing slapping against the floor. Naked, he turned to fumble in his saddlebags. He dragged a shirt over his wet limbs before yanking on another pair of pants. He didn't bother to put on the shirt.

  He turned, inhaling harshly as he realized Abby was awake ... and watching him. She looked like a child, her eyes huge and very blue, her gleaming hair falling softly around her shoulders, small fingers clutching the edge of the blanket as if it were her only link to life itself.

  Their eyes locked for a never-ending moment. A guarded tension rose between them. Abby was the first to break the stifling silence, her voice as thin as threadbare cotton.

  "It's done?" she whispered.

  Kane inclined his head.

  She stared at him through eyes that stung painfully. The blessed numbness that had overtaken her had long since slipped away. A burning ache seared her breast. Kane owed her nothing, yet he'd gone back out into this awful storm to bury Sonny. The least she could do was thank him ... Her mouth opened. Her lips trembled as she struggled to find her voice. And then . . . then she did the very thing she was trying so hard not to do.

  She started to cry.

  Chapter 11

  Kane felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.

  Not once. But over, and over, and over.

  It seemed odd to see this strong, fiery woman in tears. She'd turned away from him, but beneath the blanket, her shoulders were shaking. The sight completely unnerved him.

  Never had she been more vulnerable.

  Never had he resented her more.

  Because tears were the one thing he hadn't expected from her.

  Tears were the one thing he couldn't deal with.

  A voice like a cattle prod reared inside him. Don't just stand there, you fool. Comfort her.

  His insides wound into a knot, coiled tight and hard. I can't, he thought. She thinks I'm a coldhearted bastard.

  She's right, too, jeered the first nagging voice. But she needs someone, Kane. She needs someone now.

  Not me. Christ, I'm the one person she doesn't need.

  Look around, you horse's ass. Do you see anyone else? She's alone, Kane, alone just like you've always been. Her pa's gone, remember? You're the only one here, Kane, the only one who can help her.

  Panic surged within him, panic and some nameless emotion as violent as the storm that raged earlier. He felt like shoving his hand through the wall. He felt like running out into the night, until he could run no further. He clenched his fists, over and over, unable to go to her, unable to leave.

  "Abby." Uncertainty made his voice harsher than he realized. "Abby, stop it."

  Seized by a bone-deep despair, Abby merely wept harder. Utter helplessness welled up in her, a flow she couldn't stem.

  The sound of her weeping tore at Kane's heart, even as it tore at his sanity. He ground out her name, the sound as raw as her sobs. He wondered furiously if this wasn't just another ploy, a woman's trick to get him to knuckle under and do her bidding.

  "Abby ... Jesus ... Don't cry. For heaven's sake, please don't cry."

  Bracing himself inwardly, he knelt down beside her. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he tipped her chin to his. She made no effort to fight him. Tears slid unheeded down her cheeks, pale and glistening. She looked utterly defeated, too beaten to even wipe them away.

  Something caught at his heart. Slowly, as if the movement caused him great pain, he closed his arms around her. She gave a dry, heartbreaking sob and clung. The sound pierced his chest like a rusty blade. All at once Kane found himself struggling with the unlikely position of having to be strong for both of them.

  He didn't want to be. God, but he didn't! He'd been on his own for too many years. He'd lived his life for too long without ties. He didn't want Abby leaning on him for comfort or support—he didn't want the responsibility and he sure as hell didn't need it!

  But her body nestled against his aroused a flood of sensations he didn't want to feel—a feeling of protectiveness, of possessiveness as foreign to him as he suspected tears were to her.

  Scalding tears seeped into the hollow of his throat. "You were right," she wept. "We should have stopped for the night. I shouldn't have insisted we keep going."

  She rocked against him. He eased her face into the notch between his neck and shoulder. "You co
uldn't have known the winds would change. No one could."

  "You did." Abby hated her foolish tears, but she couldn't seem to help it. "God, I should have listened to you. It's my fault Sonny's dead... If I hadn't been so—so stupid, so stubborn and determined to argue with you, Sonny would still be alive."

  It wasn't just the horse. Kane was achingly aware of that. No, her weakness right now wasn't solely because of guilt over Sonny. As she'd already revealed, it was all mixed up with guilt over leaving her dead father. He knew what it felt like to lose a loved one. God, when he'd lost Lorelei, it was as if his heart had been ripped out.

  "Maybe you're right," he whispered, smoothing the rain-washed cloud of hair that tickled his chin. "Maybe it wouldn't have happened if we hadn't gone on. On the other hand, there's every chance the storm would have caught us anyway, even if we had stopped for the night—and maybe Sonny would still be dead."

  With his thumbs he gently wiped away the dirt and dampness from her cheeks. "We can't go back, Abby. We can't change what happened, and so we have to learn to live with it."

  He pulled her onto his lap, settling her against him like a kitten. She melted against him as if she belonged there. He squeezed his eyes closed, aware of a tightness in his chest that was nearly unbearable—part pleasure, part pain.

  He offered no more advice, certainly no wisdom. God knew it wasn't his to impart. But his presence seemed to calm her. Her crying soon ceased.

  Night descended, heavy and thick, while the roll of thunder grew ever more distant. The fire sizzled and hissed. Sparks showered and crackled, sending a blaze of yellow further into the shadows.

  At some point her hands had crept up to his naked chest. The softness of her cheek, still damp with her tears, nestled just above his heart. Her long, ragged sigh stirred the dense mat of hair on his chest.

  Every muscle in Kane's body went rigid. The closeness of warm, feminine flesh, the fragrant, womanly scent of her, her yielding pliancy, the fragile weight of her breasts pressing his chest... The warning signs were abundantly clear.