Devil's Way Out

by Nika Dixon

  That she wanted to continue with her little outing after what had happened shocked him. “You can’t possibly still want to go.”

  The hope in her eyes faded to resignation, then demure acceptance. “No. I’m sorry. I—I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  With her head lowered, she made her way slowly down the hill, leaving him with a grinch-size rock in his stomach. “Wait.” He took a quick stride toward her, then caught himself before he touched her. He really needed to get a grip and stop with the constant need to have his hands on her. “If you really want to go, I’ll take you.”

  It would be best to make sure she arrived at her destination without any more problems. Her near miss and his near heart attack had nothing to do with anything. He turned his back on her growing smile before the odd warmth racing through his veins got any worse.

  When she started off without him, he snagged a chunk of her hoodie. “Nuh-uh. This way.” He pointed at Castor.

  “Oh no.” She balked, her eyes wide.

  “You want to go? This is how we go.”

  “I don’t know how to ride a horse,” she exclaimed, pronouncing horse as though he’d asked her to sit on top of a dragon. “I’ll walk. I know what to listen for now. I’ll be fine.”

  Leaving him standing there wondering how she’d so quickly forgotten what had happened the last time she’d wandered off on her own, she started up the hill, her eyes on the ground.

  He cursed all city-girl genetics under his breath. Before he could call her back, Castor bumped past him, loping along behind her like a thousand-pound puppy. Marshall jumped to grab the reins, but Castor skittered out of reach. “Damn horse, get back here!”

  Castor nickered and kept going.

  Marshall followed along at the end of the parade, muttering a stream of curses as Kent’s laughter echoed up from the bottom of the hill.

  Great. He was never going to live this down.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Walking to the pond with Marshall, Emma couldn’t stop smiling every time Castor butted his bulk between them. It was like having a very big, very hairy chaperone, which, for the first time in years, she welcomed. But only because it was distracting her from his owner, whom she couldn’t seem to stop staring at.

  She’d met handsome men before. Some of Alan’s business partners were actually very good-looking. But they’d never left her wanting to lock down every last detail about them.

  From Marshall’s worn boots up past the faded jeans to the sun-bleached blue work shirt that complimented his blue eyes, she memorized every inch. It was an image she knew she wouldn’t need to put to paper—it was permanently burned within her, along with the sense and sensation left behind from his touch when he’d saved her from the rattlesnake. The way his arms had enveloped her so completely in an all-encompassing full-body crush, complete with a dose of charged energy that shot straight down to her toes.

  Wrapped in his arms, her slate had been wiped clean. She’d forgotten all about the snake. She’d forgotten about Alan. She’d even forgotten to be afraid. And that was the most confusing part of all. How could something as simple as one man’s hug have that kind of power?

  And would it be the same with any man, or just this one?

  A rock caught her by surprise, tripping her up. Off balance, she stumbled forward. Her flailing arm was caught in a warm grip, pulling her up and around. She spun in the dirt and collided with Marshall, laughing over her clumsiness.

  His laughter joined hers, and for a fanciful moment, nothing existed in her world but him.

  Then their intimate position began to overwhelm her. She was standing up against him, her hand on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. His fingers still gripped her wrist, but the hold had lost its sense of being a temporary save and began to feel more like a permanent placement.

  If there was more to nature’s music than just the sound of the nearby crickets, they would have been dancing.

  And that was something she never did, either.

  Although she really, really wished she could be spinning around the meadow in the arms of a handsome cowboy…

  Why not? It wasn’t as though she couldn’t picture herself doing it. If anything, it felt like a natural progression. Something she’d done a thousand times before. Not just in this place.

  But in this place—with him.

  The thought nearly made her laugh again, but his expression dulled, a hint of surprise and confusion narrowing his eyes.

  Did he sense it, too?

  No, of course not.

  That would be impossible. He didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him. There was nothing to connect them other than the situation.

  The fluttering excitement skittering through her slowed, and she pulled back. He let her escape, body first, but her hand remained in his possession for a second longer. When he finally did move, there was a reluctance in the way his fingers trailed across her palm and off.

  In a flash of panic, she hooked her fingertips on his before his hand could slip free.

  She didn’t want him to let go.

  Threading his fingers with hers, he tugged her slowly back to him. She sucked in a breath and held it, riding the wave of energy that now surrounded them both.

  Before she could even daydream what might be coming next, Castor bumped his nose between them like a spoilsport…and sneezed.

  Emma spun away with a gasp and a giggle, trying to get away from the hairy beast, but Marshall hadn’t let go of her hand, so she managed only to duck and twist.

  Marshall shoved the horse back. “Gee, thanks, buddy.”

  She stared down at her clothes, hoping not to find any sticky horse snot. Thankfully, there was nothing shiny or mucky clumped to her front or sides.

  “Idiot,” Marshall grumped, rolling his eyes at the beast.

  Castor bobbed his head up and down like he was laughing at his own joke.

  Marshall grabbed the reins, and with her hand still in his, they resumed their trek.

  “Why is his name Castor?” she asked.

  “He was a mess, this one. Clumsiest thing on four legs you’d ever seen. Kept sticking his head in everything and getting it stuck. The fence. The water bucket. One morning Kent came down to the barn and found dumb ass here with his head jammed in an old wooden crate we used to sit on. The side of the crate had the name ‘Castor Oil’ printed on it, and that was that. Castor was named.”

  The picture was so clear in her mind of the young horse with his head stuck in a box, she couldn’t help but laugh.

  Marshall’s laughter joined hers. “Thankfully he grew out of that phase. Now he’s surest foot of any we have,” he said proudly.

  As they continued across the field, the land dipped then rose like rolling waves of grass and meadow flowers.

  “You know, it would have been a lot faster if we’d ridden,” he told her as they walked up yet another small hill.

  Riding would certainly have been faster, but with two riders and one horse, the only viable option would have been to share. And that was something she was not prepared to do. Doubled up with either her arms around him, or his arms around her? Absolutely not. Daydreaming about it was one thing. Getting up there and actually giving it a go?

  Nope.

  She pointed to the green tower of leaves easily visible over the other trees around it. “That’s the tree Lucy said to use for a landmark, right?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Then we’re almost there.”

  When they finally came into view of the water, she stopped, shocked. “Oh, Lucy, you and I have a very different opinion of what a pond is.”

  Marshall looped Castor’s reins around a chunk of deadfall. “Hey, what’s wrong with my pond?”

  She flipped her hand toward the large expanse of clear water sparkling under the sunny sky. “That’s not a pond, that’s a lake!”

  The basin was miles across with a rocky shoreline circling it. There were no people, no sunbather
s, no boaters, no families, no children. Nothing but a solitary eagle circling high above. The only sign humanity had even trod across the landscape was a short wooden dock poking out over the water.

  It was absolutely breathtaking.

  “Nah. This is just the pond. The lake’s over there.” He pointed off to the right.

  “There’s another one?”

  “Yeah. A couple.”

  A couple? “How much of this is yours?”

  He shrugged and swung his hand across the entire view before them. “That.”

  She had a hard time comprehending ownership of so much space. “For real?”

  He nodded.

  Awed by the beauty and driven by the desire to touch it for herself, she yanked the satchel off her shoulder and let it fall into the ground. She knelt down and fumbled with the laces on her boots.

  He gently tugged her back to her feet. “Emma, you can’t keep running around barefoot.”

  “Why not?” She glanced over at the lake, wondering how he expected her to stick her feet in the water while she was still wearing the boots.

  He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Did you not just almost step on a rattler?”

  “No.” She wrinkled her nose and mumbled, “He wasn’t on the ground to step on.”

  Marshall snorted. “Well, there are plenty of other things you can step on out here, and not all of them come with a warning sound.”

  She hopped to her feet and warily eyed the grass around her. “Right. Good to know.”

  “Do the boots not fit or something? I’m sure Lucy could have found you a different pair.”

  “They fit. I think.” She’d never worn hiking boots before, so she wasn’t sure exactly what to compare them to.

  Her penthouse closets were filled with a stunningly beautiful wardrobe for all occasions and all seasons. She had fur coats and silk blouses, evening dresses and couture pantsuits. The drawers in the safe were slotted with a rainbow of expensive gemstone jewelry.

  But search all day—you wouldn’t find a single pair of shoes.

  On the rare occasions she was required to accompany Alan outside, he would select her outfit, bring in a hairdresser, and have a woman do her makeup. Only once she was “presentable” would he hand over the shoes to go along with the rest. They would be fresh out of the box, unworn and unbroken, pinching her feet and giving her painful blisters, yet she would be so happy for the brief chance to escape the walls of her tower prison, she would thank him. Then, as soon as they returned for the night, he would leave her alone once more, taking the shoes with him.

  Shoes had been nothing but a reminder she was his property.

  She hated shoes almost as much as she hated the man himself.

  But Lucy’s boots hadn’t come with a price tag. They’d been given freely, and with that came a comfort she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. But the question about the fit of the footwear made her worry there was something wrong.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, staring at the borrowed boots trying to see if there was something she was supposed to have done differently with them.

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  Both his surprise and his frown made her rethink her question, but not before an all too familiar heat crept up her neck into her face. She was going to have to get used to life on the outside, and fast. If she kept judging everyone’s reactions as though they were Alan, she might as well just turn around and go right back where she came from, for all the good her freedom was doing her.

  The mere thought of returning sent an icy shiver down her spine. She hid her reaction by spinning toward the lake, forcing her mind to concentrate on all the colors of the scene before her. She silently recited the names of all the blues and greens and grays she could use to recreate the image in watercolors, trying desperately to distract herself from the onslaught of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Despair that she would never be really be free pulled tears to her eyes. Before her lay a vision of beauty and serenity, but the only thing she could focus on was the hate and fear chasing at her heels—a fire of evil that would destroy everything and everyone who stood between Alan and what he wanted.

  Her.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

  Marshall’s energy warmed her back. “You gave me your word you’d stay until you got on your feet.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Alan would never stop looking for her, which meant she could never stop running.

  “I do understand. But whatever happened, whoever you’re running from, you’re safe from him here.”

  Fear over what Alan would do to anyone caught helping her snaked itself around her chest and squeezed. “You can’t promise that. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  Shocked by her slip, she slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She hadn’t said Alan’s name, but admitting that there was a someone to be afraid of was just as bad.

  She spun around, hoping to all the world Marshall hadn’t heard her, but he stared down at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. For a tiny second, she thought he was angry with her for all her lies, then he pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

  She crushed herself against him and scrunched her eyes closed, fighting to block the truth of her situation from her mind. She could play at being free all she wanted. Pretend she was just a normal woman temporarily down on her luck while she wandered her way westward. But the actual reality was harsh and frightening and filled with nightmares.

  His words were softly whispered, his breath warm against the top of her head. “I know you’re scared, Em, but you have to believe me when I say you’re safe here.”

  She wanted to argue, to warn him of who Alan was, of what he could do and had done. But she wanted to believe the promise more, even though it was an impossibility.

  She already knew her future, and it wasn’t in Absolution.

  Her yellow house was on the other side of the mountains, which meant that was where she needed to be.

  No matter how much she wanted to stay.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Marshall fought a war raging within himself over keeping Emma in his arms or letting her go to stand on her own. The tremble in her hands as she clung to his shirt camouflaged nothing; she was skittish and scared and ready to bolt. But fear powered by adrenaline and thoughtless reaction was dangerous. He needed to calm her, to get her mind moving in a straight line so she could make the connections to what he was trying to tell her—that she was safer here where he could protect her, but not out there, where she would be completely alone.

  He felt slightly put out that she didn’t think he could keep her safe, but he knew it to be true, and that was all that mattered. His bruised ego could wait. He needed to find a way to keep her solidly planted on ranch land, far from prying eyes and anyone who might be looking for her. But to do that, he had to figure out a way to keep her from running off again.

  Distracting her seemed like the best idea, so he reminded her of why they were out there in the first place. “I guess I should let you get to those drawings you promised Lucy.”

  “Oh. Yes. Sorry.” She let go of her clutching hold on his shirt and stood back, her face averted and her eyes to the ground.

  Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun, the space between them filled with an icy cold. It was as shocking as throwing off the blankets in the dead of winter when the fire had gone out. Blaming it on the situation, he increased the space between them to make it harder for his hands to reach for her once more.

  “You’re going to be okay?” he asked, unsure which one of them he was directing the question at.

  She snatched up her bag from the ground and held it against her chest like a shield. “I’m good.”

  “Okay then. I’ll, um…I’ll let you get to it.”

  He started to turn away, but she snatched for his hand.

  “Thank
you,” she said quietly. “For…everything.”

  A ghosting trail of goose bumps tingled across the back of his hand as she broke the connection and pulled away. He curled his fingers in against his palm, forcing his arms to remain at his sides. He didn’t need to touch her again to reassure her.

  Or himself.

  “I’ll come back for you in an hour? Is that enough time?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Don’t go anywhere else, though,” he cautioned as he untied Castor.

  “I won’t.”

  He swung himself up into the saddle, fighting the need to stay. He forced a smile, despite his inner turmoil. “Watch out for rattlers. And keep those boots on, will ya? So I don’t have a heart attack?”

  She almost smiled, which he counted as a win.

  Afraid that if he didn’t leave now, he never would, he held back any other required promises and urged Castor up over the hill.

  He didn’t dare look back.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  By the time Marshall raced back to the pond, the sun was nearly lost behind the mountains. He searched for the woman who’d promised to be waiting for him, but the area in front of the dock was empty. Leaving Castor on the hillside, Marshall walked down to the water, hoping she was just sitting somewhere out of sight. He scanned the shoreline, but there was no trace of her.

  A sense of urgency spun him back around, just in time to see the ass end of his horse ambling into the trees.

  Until this very moment, Castor had never wandered off. Ever. He had been trained to stay where the reins dropped. Unless something had startled him—which it hadn’t—the damn beast should be standing right where he’d been left.

  There could only be one explanation.

  Emma.

  Marshall headed over to where one of the streams emptied out into the pond. In the spring the water ran several feet deep, but this time of year it was barely a trickle, leaving large, flat rocks exposed like a giant white pathway. Sitting cross-legged on a boulder in the middle of the riverbed was the lady of the hour, her face buried in her sketchbook, and his horse standing sentry behind her.