by Lois Greiman
"That's no Bible!" she exclaimed and snatched her hand away.
Breath rushed back into Raven's lungs.
"Where is it?" she demanded.
"You were a little too far to the right," he said, his own voice hoarse.
They stared at each other, unspeaking. But finally Raven shrugged, grappled for nonchalance and turned to stride back to the vest he'd left upon a log. Dipping his hand inside the breast pocket, he pulled forth her Bible to hold it aloft. "Quite a bit too far to the right," he added.
"You!" The single word came out on a windy gasp, with anger, frustration, and embarrassment all mixed together to procure a neat little package of shame.
Raven watched her, trying to enjoy the obvious show of her emotions. "I only said it was in my left pocket," he explained soberly. "Surely you can't blame me if your own uncontrolled..."—he smiled—"lust... made you assume it was on my person."
Upon later consideration, Raven thought his smile quite foolhardy, and though he knew he'd intentionally provoked her, he doubted if she had planned to lunge for the purloined Bible. But lunge she did, causing him to sweep it quickly up over his head as she dove on past. She stumbled, coming to a careening halt near the log and turning like a cow pony.
His smile became more honest as he continued to heft the coveted volume. She was breathing hard, which caused her lovely breasts to rise and fall rapidly with each inhalation. The movement caught his attention, galvanizing a hard core within him.
"Give it back," she said, but he barely heard her.
Raven drew a deep, steadying breath. "What'll you give me for it?" he asked quietly. It was the last thing he had meant to say.
There was a moment's silence, then, "What do you want?" she whispered.
Her response startled him even more than his own had, for had he not known better, he would have sworn there was the trace of desire in her tone. He found himself lost in that thought, in her eyes, in the hard, gripping feel of physical need. "What are you willing to give?" The question was barely audible to his own ears and yet she seemed to hear it for she answered in a convoluted sort of way.
"It's all I have of my mother's."
Except for the miniature portrait she'd taken from him, Raven thought, but other ideas quickly nudged that fact aside as he tried to decipher her meaning. Was she suggesting what he thought she was? That the Bible was irreplaceable, and therefore worth a great deal? Lust gripped him a bit harder, squeezing out the remnants of his practical sense.
"If I did... it..." Her voice was as soft as autumn thistledown. "Would you let me go?"
Raven mentally frowned. He'd already promised to let her go. It had been a lie. She knew it. So why now would she be prepared to believe he would change his ways and set her free if she gave herself to him? Could it be that she wanted to do it? Could it be she felt the hard grip of desire just as strongly as he?
"Would you let me go?" she asked again and blinked.
It was the blink that brought Raven back to reality, for he'd seen that provocative innocence before. Hell, they'd played this entire game before. And not so long ago. Somehow, even at their first meeting, she had made him believe she wanted him. Look how that had turned out. He'd been lucky to escape with his life, much less his manhood. He thought himself experienced, even jaded. But next to her he looked like a babe in swaddling.
"You are Chantilly Grady," he said, stifling the scream of his desire and keeping his tone hard and flat. When in doubt, sound businesslike... or lie. But in this case, the truth was not only more practical, but more unbelievable than a fabrication. "I owe it to your aunt... to you." He pushed her small Bible into his pants pocket, though it was a tight squeeze. "I promised if you were alive, I'd return you to the home of your mother." He drew a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "I promised."
She blinked again, looking disoriented for just a moment before the spark of fire returned to her eyes. "Why do you keep spouting such outrageous lies? Do I look so dense as to believe your fairy tales?"
For a moment he'd found a semblance of calm. But he'd learned the hard way that she could raise his anger like no one else. Raven gritted his teeth. "What if I paid you?"
"What?"
"Come with me," he said, keeping his tone carefully even. "When we reach River Bluffs, if you find you don't want to stay, if you find it's all a lie, I'll pay you, just for your trouble."
For a moment words failed her. "I don't want your filthy money. I want to return to my father. He needs me."
Raven took the two strides between them before he could stop himself, and though he felt like shaking her, he only allowed himself to grab one arm and hold it in a steady grip.
"Jude's not your father," he said, teeth clenched as he glared at her.
She gasped and tried to pull away, but he refused to loosen his hold, though her haughty expression had fled, and terror now ruled her face.
"You still expect me to believe that?" Her words were no more than a shaky whisper. "You expect me to believe you and not Jude who's cared for me all my life."
"Not all your life," Raven said. "What about your mother? What about the woman in the portrait? Caroline Grady. She had eyes like yours. Bright as an April morning, Eloise said. And her hair was long, like yours."
Perhaps he imagined it, but it seemed she paled a shade. "I don't believe a word you say. Not a word," she said hoarsely as she tried to jerk away.
Raven held her fast. "I don't give a good God damn if you believe me or not!" he rejoined. "You'll come along. If I have to shackle you like a runaway slave and carry you every step of the way."
But with a twist and a jerk she was free and running. He reached her in a dozen strides, but as he dragged her about, she turned wildly and stabbed him.
Pain slammed through Raven's chest. He staggered, stunned by agony and shock. Charm drew back the branch with a gasp and stared at the bloody end in horror.
Chapter 11
Charm backed away, dropping the stick, feeling her limbs go numb and cold with fear.
Raven gazed at the tattered, bloody hole in his shirt, then swore aloud and advanced. Terror screamed through Charm's system and she shrank back. Ready to feel his wrath in the power of his fists, she weakly raised an arm to ward off his blows.
But the attack never came. Instead, the arm she'd raised for protection was wrenched from her face, and suddenly she was dragged toward the leopard-spotted gelding that waited in the distance.
The hours passed like an endless nightmare. Charm rode in front of Raven, with her knees on either side of the saddle horn and her back to his chest. Despite the double load, the gelding moved quickly and freely beneath them, and yet each step was agony for Charm. Though the unnatural position burned her thighs and bottom, it was Raven's frightening wrath and proximity that made the journey most unbearable.
Where were they going? And what would he do to her when they reached their destination? She hadn't meant to stab him, but the old, familiar terror had seized her and she had struck out without thought.
The day wore on. Raven had found a small cache of food in the saddle bags. They ate sparingly, taking a little bread and chewing on the dried jerky as they rode. It tasted and looked rather like salty leather and caused them to stop several times at fast-flowing streams where they slaked their thirst and watered the horse. Even at these times, Raven didn't speak.
The sun was hot, the air still. Fatigue weighed heavily on Charm. She'd slept very little on the previous night and found now that she was losing the battle to stay awake and alert. She knew better than to trust the man behind her, but finally the tune of Old Dan Tucker eased her tension. It was Jude's favorite ditty. Although he sang in a husky, out-of- tune voice, she had always loved to hear him sing, for it made her feel secure. Charm snuggled deeper under her quilt, but found suddenly that there was no quilt, and that the voice was not Jude's. It was Raven's. Fear and memories sparked and converged. She caught her breath and lifted her gaze to the dark, solemn
eyes of the man behind her. With a start, she jerked her weight away from his chest, hearing his half-concealed groan of pain caused by her movement.
To her horror Charm realized that her knees were bare. Her grubby, scarlet gown and all three petticoats had worked their way up as she slept. She jerked them rapidly down, her heart pounding, but Raven made no move and said nothing.
Charm rode on in uncomfortable, bemused silence, feeling her pulse slow with the passing of time. Who was this man who sat behind her? He didn't fit into Jude's description of men, for regardless of how she'd treated him, he had not raised a hand to her. And while these facts should have comforted her, Charm only felt more confused and uncertain.
The woods ended abruptly, making way for a level bit of grassland beside a rapid stream.
"We'll stop here."
She drew her breath in sharply at the sound of Raven's voice and found a hundred frightening scenarios crowding in on her. "Why?"
"We can't make it to Red Rock tonight," he said. The words seemed more for himself than for her as he swung stiffly from the gelding's back, taking one rein with him. Charm darted her gaze to the surrounding woods. She wondered if she could make an escape now, but when she looked down from the horse, Raven was watching her, his expression hard, suggesting no leniency.
"I'm not going to escape," she said.
He watched her in silence then turned, leading the horse to the stream where he slipped the bit from its mouth, leaving only the leather halter beneath. Walking a few strides away, Raven knelt, seeming to ignore Charm as she slid from her uncomfortable perch on the pommel to the hard, worn seat of the saddle.
It didn't take her long to begin to feel silly, for the gelding was now free to roam at will, and soon did so, wandering from the water's edge in search of grass. Eventually, Charm jolted to the ground to find her legs even more cramped than she'd expected. For a moment she was immobilized by the pain that shot from her back to her shins. But finally her muscles loosened and she straightened, rolling back her shoulders and taking a few experimental steps.
With the coming of darkness and some semblance of agility restored, Charm again considered escape, although she refused to turn her gaze toward the woods, lest Raven see her thoughts a second time. In the end, it was not only the lure of fresh water that drew her, but Raven's blatant disregard. Slowly approaching the stream, she finally squatted down, letting the water wash over her sunburned hands as she stared at the moon-gilded crests of the chattering creek.
Some twenty feet downstream, Raven drew the shirt from his body. Charm quickly turned her face away, feeling a hot sweep of blood color her cheeks. Jude had warned her about all of this. Lustful men, wanting only one thing, forcing themselves on poor innocent women.
Only... Raven didn't seem to be lustful. In fact, his movements were slow and pained, and he certainly wasn't forcing himself upon her. In the quiet darkness, she saw him lean toward the swift-flowing water and caught the sight of blood, dark even against his tanned skin.
As for calling herself an innocent woman, the thought suddenly seemed rather ludicrous. Charm grimaced, feeling a surge of confusing guilt for her actions.
"Does it hurt?"
Her question surprised them both.
Raven turned his head to find her in the darkness. "Wasn't that the intent?"
"No." Her answer came out as a breathy denial. "I only wanted to escape."
He turned his gaze back to the water. "Same thing."
"No, it's not." Why she felt any compulsion to explain herself, Charm didn't know. Nevertheless, she rose to stiffly take a few stilted steps toward him. "Why are you doing this?"
For a moment he was silent as he splashed water against his bare torso. "You're a smart girl. You figure it out," he said finally.
Her bemusement was almost a palpable thing. He wondered if she would take this opportunity to escape. Some weakened and battered part of him almost hoped she would. Good God, this couldn't be worth it. If exposing himself to the company of the killer woman wasn't bad enough, there was also the risk of being caught and accused of abduction—an offense he could be hanged for. As if she was an innocent babe that needed protection. When in truth, it was he who needed protection.
"Does it hurt?" she repeated.
He hadn't heard her approach, but found her nearness surprised him considerably less than her tone. If he hadn't known better he would have sworn she sounded distressed. Raven gritted his teeth and reminded himself of her deadly ways. If he said no, what would she do to remedy the situation? "Excuse me for saying so," he said, staunchly trying to ignore the ripping pain causing by the washing of his wound, "but that's one of the most idiotic questions I've ever heard."
She stood very still, looking down at him, her face shadowed in the moonlight. Something tightened in Raven's gut. He swore mentally. This was, he reminded himself, another unstimulating situation—defiantly unstimulating—so why did his body insist on disagreeing when all she was doing was standing there? There was nothing seductive about standing there. Hell, a rock could do the same. He shifted his weight slightly, condemning the foolishness of the male form.
"Did you come to gloat?" he asked finally, his tone purposefully flat as he watched the play of moonlight on the water.
"I came to..." She paused and thrust her hand into a pocket of her gown, as if in search of some kind of security. But the pocket was empty of weapons. "I used to... tend my father sometimes."
Despite his discipline, Raven couldn't quite hide his surprise. Was she offering to help him, or was he losing his mind? A thousand possible comments mingled with a menagerie of questions, but Raven kept them all to himself, though he turned finally to watch her in silence.
"I'll..." She exhaled softly, as if even the simplest conversation with him was difficult. "I'll get the blankets."
In a matter of moments she was back and spreading a bedroll on a grassy spot not far from the bank of the stream. Raven waited, knowing better than to take anything for granted or to rush her. But also, there was the nagging question of his own safety. Was she offering a modicum of kindness in the hopes of doing him even further damage? Did she think him so weakened that she could now rid herself of him forever? Maybe her pockets weren't empty.
That thought made Raven's breath catch in his throat, for even the simplest of weapons could be deadly in the girl's hand. He'd learned that much, and yet when she motioned to him, he stood, feeling pain rip downward from his chest.
"I could build a fire to heat water for your wound."
Again her words surprised him, but in a moment he realized how a blaze might bring her rescuers, or other undesirable visitors. Indians for instance. "No fire," he said flatly.
She drew a deep breath. The inhalation sounded shaky. "Lie down."
He examined her in the darkness. When he was a boy, his mother had read him stories of Samson. He wondered now if Delilah's hair was the color of burnt sienna in the moonlight, gleaming with highlights of red and gold to brighten the wild mass of tresses.
"If you're going to shear me, I'd rather die standing up," he said, and though he couldn't see her expression in the darkness, he wondered why he'd said such an idiotic thing. He shuffled his feet, feeling uncharacteristically foolish before explaining in one nonsensical word, "Delilah."
For a fraction of a moment, he thought he saw the fragile, curved semblance of a smile.
"Are you saying I can't be trusted, or that you have the strength of Samson?" she asked softly.
"Right now I don't have the strength of the sacrificial lamb, so it must be the other."
Now he couldn't tell if she smiled or not.
"Lie down," she said.
He took a deep breath and after a pause did as he was told, lying on his back to gaze up at the vast constellations in the inky sky. The sound of ripping fabric made him jump. He turned to Charm, forcing his muscles to relax, though he was certain, for a moment that she was grinning at his fear.
"I hope y
ou're enjoying yourself?" he said through clenched teeth.
She didn't answer. Turning away, she walked to the babbling stream to soak a rag in the water. But in a moment she returned. "You forced me away from my father and stole my Bible," she reminded him and plopped the rag to his wound.
Raven sucked air through his teeth and caught her gaze. "He's not your father. And..." She scrubbed at the dried blood on his chest, making his words rasp to a halt, but he'd be damned before he'd admit his weakness. "Let's just say I'm holding your Bible for you." For a moment he thought he would lose consciousness, but he fought back the black tide and weakly added, "For safe keeping."
"It was safe with me... before you came along."
Although Raven tried to think of a rejoinder, her ministrations seared any clever response from his mind. "Good God, woman, can't you find a gentler way of killing me?"
She settled back on her heels. "My father never complained." Though her response was brusque, he noticed her face looked pale. "'Course, he was usually dead drunk by the time I got to him."
Raven relaxed somewhat against his blanket as he watched her face. "He isn't your father, Chantilly."
"Quit saying that." Her words were no louder than a whisper.
"Because you know I'm right?"
"No!" she answered vehemently and jerked to her feet.
It was sheer instinct that made Raven lunge up to grab her, yanking her to a halt. "Listen to me," he said, holding her arms with both hands and gritting his teeth against the surging pain in his chest. "Listen. Jude's not your father. Your father's name was Randall Grady. Jude lied to you."
"No!" she shrieked again, and jerking one hand free, flailed it wildly against his chest.