by Rebecca York
“Mr. Forester?’’
Her hand soothed across his forehead, then his cheek, and he knew what it was like to feel an angel’s touch.
“Can you hear me?’’
If he just lay here without responding, would she keep touching him? It was tempting to test the theory. Instead he forced his eyes open, and found himself staring at two angels. Up close he could see the twin visions were wearing delicate white nightgowns showing through the V at the top of their celestial-blue robes.
“Mr. Forester?’’
Much too formal, under the circumstances. “Call me Matt.’’
“Matt, I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into Ed. I know your head must hurt, but we’re getting you help.’’
“Mm-hmm.’’ He closed his eyes, then realized he was passing up an opportunity to study her robe and gown up close. Cracking one eyelid, he drank his fill of the outfit. She probably thought it was demure. He thought it was sexy. “You sure dress pretty for bed. Much nicer than those work shirts you wear to town,’’ he heard himself say in a thick voice as he raised a shaky hand and touched one of the delicate white bows that ran down the front of the gown. The front placket was right under the bow, and he slipped his finger underneath, feeling a shiver travel over his body as he touched her skin. It was warm and soft.
He saw a similar shiver ripple through her, saw rosy color creep into her face.
Somewhere in his logy mind he knew he was taking unacceptable liberties. But the conk on the head must have scrambled his brain, because he wasn’t capable of stopping himself. Not when his vivid imagination had conjured up just such a scene as this.
His greedy finger moved, conquering more territory. His head was still throbbing—along with another part of his anatomy. In the back of his mind he wondered how a guy who couldn’t see straight could still get aroused, but he wasn’t complaining.
“Don’t.’’ Her beautiful blue eyes darkened, and she swayed toward him before catching herself. Reaching for her nightgown, she covered his hand and tried to tug it away. But he’d already cunningly slipped his thumb through the bow loop because holding his arm up was almost too much effort. Angling his hand down, he caressed the top of her breast. He wanted to slip his whole hand inside her gown, but that would mean undoing one of the bows, and he didn’t think he could manage that.
“Don’t,’’ she said again, her honey voice thickening.
Even in his present befuddled condition, he knew he was pushing his luck. But the censor that usually governed his impulses had gone on vacation. “God, I loved your voice the first time I heard it,’’ he said. “I don’t know which I like more, the way you sound or the way you feel.’’
She drew in a quick, sharp little breath. When she tried to pull his hand away, the bow opened, revealing a tempting triangle of skin just below the hollow of her neck.
“Beautiful,’’ he murmured, imagining what that warm skin would feel like against his lips, his tongue. What her nipples would taste like. They had beaded beneath the thin fabric, and he could see them hard and tight, begging for his attention.
For several heartbeats she seemed frozen in place. Then disappointment coursed through him when she succeeded in untangling his hand and bringing it back to the couch.
“You have to stop this.’’
The rational part of his brain knew that she was right. Closing his eyes, he tried to pull himself together and focus on the reason he’d come here.
When he reached toward his head, she made a small sound. “I’m sorry about what happened. Ed hit you. With his gun butt.’’
“Nice way to greet company.’’ He felt his lips quirk. The small movement hurt.
Before she could apologize again, he asked, “When?’’
“Ten minutes ago.’’
That was good. At least he hadn’t been out too long.
“Ed is very protective,’’ she explained.
“So am I,’’ he whispered.
“Why did you come here?’’
“To save you from Roy Logan.’’
“What? You must be confused. I don’t have any problems with Mr. Logan now.’’
“He wants the baby.’’
The effect of his words was instantaneous. He saw her face go stark white, her eyes flick downward toward her midsection, then back to him. “The baby?’’ she asked, her voice breaking.
“Did you have an affair with Colin?’’ he asked around the tight knot clogging his throat.
He hadn’t thought it was possible for her complexion to go any paler, but he was wrong.
Then her eyes flashed, and her voice turned steely. “Colin. You can’t be serious. Why would I get hooked up with a—a no good SOB like him?’’
The knot loosened enough for him to breathe, even when he couldn’t be sure she was telling the truth.
“We have to get out of here.’’ He tried to push himself up, and pain lanced through his head. He raised his hand, pressing it against his throbbing temple as he blinked to clear his vision. “God. I can’t even see straight.’’
“You can’t talk straight, either,’’ she said, her eyes several degrees colder than they had been a few moments ago. “Maybe you’d better explain the real reason you came here.’’
“I did.’’
The declaration failed to change the look in her eyes. He flopped back against the pillow, gathering his strength, because if he couldn’t make her believe him, they were both in big trouble.
“Ed went to call the sheriff. He’ll be here soon. Before I left the ranch, I heard Logan tell his good friend Hewitt that he’s got the cops in his pocket. You can’t stay here. They’ll turn you over to Logan. That’s what he wants.’’
And they’ve got good reason to arrest me, he silently added. But there was no point in damaging his credibility any further. Or in telling her that once they took him into custody, he’d probably be shot during an “escape attempt.’’
Instead he asked, “Have you told anybody about the pregnancy?’’
She didn’t speak, but he read the answer in her eyes.
“If you didn’t confide in anybody…then how do I know?’’ he asked, fighting the whirring noise in his head.
She looked down at the soft fabric clinging to her body. “Dressed like this…maybe you can tell.’’
“Right. I figured it out on the spot—with a head injury. Then I concocted the story about Logan. Why the hell would I go to all that trouble?’’
She was looking at him helplessly. “To cover a robbery attempt?’’
He made a snorting sound. “Is that what you really think?’’
The whirring noise was getting louder, and she shifted her gaze upward.
“You hear it, too?’’ He focused on the sound and realized it came from rotating blades. “That’s a helicopter.’’
As Ed charged back through the doorway and crossed the room, Matt lay back against the cushions, feigning unconsciousness, but with slitted eyes as he watched the foreman approach.
The gray-haired man gave him a brief inspection, then turned to face Amanda. “They’re here.’’
“When did the sheriff’s department get a helicopter?’’ she asked.
“What does that matter?’’ Ed came around to face her, his back to the man he thought was unconscious, and Matt knew this was going to be his best—probably his only—chance. Before he could change his mind, he reached for Ed’s gun, pulling it from the holster with more ease than he would have believed possible.
Ed whirled, and Matt made his voice hard. “Raise your hands and back up before I put a bullet in your guts.’’
To his surprise, the guy complied, with Amanda watching in shocked disbelief.
Teeth gritted, Matt forced himself off the sofa, forced himself to stand on braced legs. The world tipped and swayed, and he was sure he was going to pass out from the pain stabbing through his head. Somehow he managed to stay vertical.
The helicopter drone was like a steam
engine pounding in his skull. His gaze switched from Ed to Amanda and back again. “Both of you, move toward the door,’’ he growled. It made him physically sick to threaten the woman he’d come to rescue. But he couldn’t see any other choice. Not with the cops about to land in her front yard.
“Move it!’’ he ordered.
Ed turned, and Matt lunged forward, bringing the gun down on the back of his head. The older man collapsed in a heap on the floor. Trembling from the sudden exertion, Matt braced his shoulders against the wall.
Amanda sucked in a sharp breath. “You hit him!’’
“Poetic justice.’’ He knelt, fighting a sudden wave of dizziness as he riffled the other man’s pockets and pulled out a wallet and a key ring, both of which he slipped into his own pocket. “Come on. We have to get out of here,’’ he growled, staggering to his feet again.
She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you.’’
“You are, if you don’t want anything to happen to the baby.’’
“You’d hurt the baby?’’ Horror etched her features as her hands slid protectively downward to cover her abdomen.
“Not me! The other guys. Come on. We’re wasting time.’’ He clenched his teeth, praying he could stay on his feet for another few minutes.
Amanda hesitated. “Why should I believe you?’’
He closed his eyes, then opened them and fixed her with a look he hoped conveyed his sincerity. “’Cause you know Dwayne doesn’t have a helicopter.’’
“I don’t know that for sure.’’
“Are you going to take a chance that I’m wrong?’’
“Or crazy!’’ she retorted.
“We can argue that later. Come on!’’
“Where are we going?’’
“Your Jeep.’’
Maybe if he hadn’t been holding the gun, she would have refused. He knew she wasn’t entirely convinced. Still, she led him toward the front of the house. Stooping by the door, she grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and a purse from a shelf but didn’t take the time to put the shoes on.
Outside, Matt could just see the copter blades disappearing behind the roofline of the house. Perfect timing. He and Amanda couldn’t be seen from above, and the house blocked the Jeep from view.
The cool night air helped clear his head a little. By concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, he made it to the Cherokee. “You have to drive,’’ he muttered when she started to climb into the passenger seat.
“You’re kidnapping me, and I have to drive the getaway car?’’
“You’d rather have a man with double vision do it?’’ he inquired.
“No.’’
When he gestured with the gun, she climbed behind the wheel. Collapsing into the passenger seat, he leaned back, his breath coming in short pants. When he could talk again, he said, “Head for the pines. Any road into the trees. Now! Before they figure out what’s happening.’’
He started to slump back against the seat, then jerked upright again when her hand went to the lights. “No,’’ he barked, pulling her fingers away.
“You are crazy.’’
“Yeah. And stay off the brakes, if you can.’’
“Oh, sure.’’ She started the engine, heading for the trees a hundred yards from the house. To his relief, a dirt track appeared. She slipped into the pine forest, driving slowly, feeling her way. Twisting around, he saw men converging on the house, unaware that their quarry had slipped away under cover of darkness.
How much head start did they have? Ten minutes? Fifteen? He hoped to hell nobody figured out they’d done something as insane as driving into the forest.
Amanda slowed to negotiate a turn, rounding a large rock outcropping that blocked his line of sight to the house. And blocked the bad guys’ view of the escape vehicle. At least that was something.
“I need the lights,’’ Amanda said, leaning forward as she peered through the windshield into the blackness that was relieved only by shafts of light from the full moon filtering through the tree branches.
“We can’t risk letting them know where we are. Do the best you can.’’
“Tell me again why I should trust you,’’ she said, her voice tight as she rounded another bend.
“What do I have to gain from this besides helping you?’’ he asked, wincing as the right front tire bounced over a rock, the subsequent shock wave reverberating inside his skull like a Chinese gong.
“I don’t know. But you threatened me with a gun,’’ she countered, her knuckles clenched on the wheel. “That doesn’t exactly inspire trust.’’
“I had to—to get you out of the house before Logan’s hired help scooped you up!’’ He’d made the mistake of saying the words with some force, and the sound stabbed into his brain tissue.
“You don’t know that was Logan. Maybe it was the sheriff’s department, like Ed told me.’’
“I know Logan has a helicopter. Why does a rancher need a chopper?’’
“To survey his herd. To look for rustlers.’’
She turned her head toward him as if she expected some response. He didn’t have the energy.
At least she kept on driving. He counted that as a good sign. With great effort, he turned his head toward her. The moonlight through the trees gave her a fairy-tale quality. Beauty in a blue bathrobe, escorting the Beast through the woods. Too bad he still didn’t know whether she believed him. Probably she was just waiting for the right opportunity to dump him.
“Do us both a favor. Don’t drive me straight to the sheriff’s office,’’ he said, his voice husky.
She didn’t answer, only pressed her lips together and glanced at the gun in his hand and then at his perspiration-soaked face.
He knew she was sizing up the situation, waiting for the inevitable moment when he keeled over. Which meant he had only one choice. With a sigh, he snapped the safety on the weapon, turned the butt toward her and pressed it forward. “Here. Shoot me. Then all your troubles will be over.’’
“I can’t believe this is happening,’’ she muttered, and he hoped he was hearing exasperation rather than fear in her voice.
Removing one hand from the wheel, she accepted the gun and tucked it into the side pocket of her door. When she turned her attention back to the dark road, he studied her again from under half-lowered lashes. He could look at her all night, even in the semi-darkness. Maybe especially in that light. Bedroom light.
When he made a low sound in his throat, her eyes snapped toward him.
“Your head hurts.’’
He could feel himself sagging in the seat. If the jackhammer inside his skull was any quieter, he couldn’t detect the difference. “I should have asked you to grab a bottle of aspirin before we left.’’
“In my purse.’’
He picked up the black leather bag from the console between the seats and opened the snap. With fingers that felt thick and clumsy, he pawed through a bewildering assortment of paraphernalia. A wallet, wadded pieces of tissue, a small penknife, a notebook, several small zipper bags, a half roll of mints, pens, a small plastic flower, a collection of loose change, a tampon that she wouldn’t be needing any time soon.
“The pills are in the bag with the gold stripes.’’
Squinting, he retrieved that bag and fished among her lipstick, compact and other cosmetics he couldn’t name until he located a small plastic bottle. Somehow he got the cap off and shook two aspirin tablets into his hand.
Apparently she had a sudden change of heart as she stared at the pills nestled in his palm. “I don’t know if you should be taking that,’’ she said.
“Too late.’’ He slammed two pills into his mouth and somehow managed to swallow them with the saliva he had generated in his mouth while he looked for the medication.
“You should be in a hospital. You could have internal bleeding.’’
“If I die, I’ll sue your friend Ed.’’
“Very funny.’’
“The last part’s true. I’m still wondering about Logan.’’
“Then why don’t you turn around and go back?’’ he asked as the wheels bounced over another rock.
She sighed. “The road’s too narrow. And Logan has made a lot of trouble for folks around here, including my father. Maybe that’s what this is all about. Getting even with the Barnwells.’’
“For what?’’
“Boundary disputes. Unfortunately some of our land adjoins his.’’
He let her cling to that theory as he slumped down and closed his eyes, thinking it would just be for a moment.
AMANDA FLICKED HER GAZE from the darkened road. The man beside her was asleep. Unconscious. She could open the door and push him into the woods. Or she could do what he’d told her not to—drive straight to the law as soon as they reached the highway.
That would be the smart course of action. Yet something about Matt Forester kept her driving through the inky blackness.
Her gaze flicked to the gun in the door pocket. Maybe that was the deciding factor. Though the man was seriously injured, he’d hustled her out of the house at gunpoint, then turned over his weapon. He’d trusted her with his life. She could do him the same favor.
Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple, because she wasn’t just making decisions for herself. There was her child to consider, too. Was she putting the baby in jeopardy by staying with Matt Forester? Or was just the opposite true? Perhaps the man slumped unconscious in the seat beside her was the only hope she had of getting herself and the child in her womb to safety.
A whirring, chopping sound from above brought an abrupt halt to her thoughts. The helicopter was airborne again.
She held her breath, waiting for it to zip away toward town—or the Logan ranch. But it sounded as if it was in no hurry to leave the area. Then, through the windshield, she saw lights skimming the tops of the trees.
Without making a conscious decision, she eased her foot off the accelerator and brought the car to a gliding stop as close as she could get to the trunk of a tall pine.
Cutting the engine, she huddled in her seat and watched the light sweep across the treetops—coming closer and closer to the car as the sound of the blades increased, vibrating through every nerve ending of her body.