He was silent for a long moment. Brooding. “Maybe I can help get you started. Whatever he had on you, it had to have been pretty bad.” Less patience in his tone now. A hint that maybe he couldn’t quite conceive of anything that bad. “Bad enough that you were willing to become his wife—not just on paper, but in every way. Willing to lie in his bed.”
Her head came up, eyes wide.
“You talk more than you should when you’re drunk,” he told her. “You talked about him trying to get you pregnant. About him grunting and sweating on top of you night after night….” He closed his eyes as some emotion rushed through them—an emotion that looked to her like disgust.
She felt Adam’s anger, understood it. Jealousy. It enraged him to think of her making love to another man. Of course it did. But it enraged her to hear him talk to her this way. “I was never willing. I had no choice.”
“You had a choice!” His temper long gone, he shouted the words, lost now to reason. “The choice was to come to me, Kirsty. To tell me the truth. You think I wouldn’t have stopped him? You think I’d have let him make you his—” He bit his lip, slammed his hat to the ground and kicked it viciously.
“His whore?” Kirsten finished softly.
Adam turned, blinking, a little of the rage fading. “No. That’s not what I—”
“Why not? That’s exactly what I was. His whore. He paid for my services by keeping quiet about what he knew. And I lay there and took it just as often as he demanded it. I lay there, and I felt nothing but revulsion. I thought about running. I thought about suicide. And yes, I thought about murder. But hell, Adam, you know me. You know how stubborn I am. I decided I’d beat him. I’d get something just as damaging on him, and then I’d turn the tables. But it never happened. The only thing that happened was that I let him use me just the way you say I did. Night after night, over and over, I lay in his bed, and the only thought in my mind was that I wished it was you there with me. Your hands on me. Your body…. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t. It never will be again.”
She lowered her fisted hands to her sides, stubbornly refusing to cry anymore. She would not cry anymore.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said.
He put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.
“I shouldn’t have said… Kirsten, the thought of him touching you…”
“I was paid well. Hell, I inherited everything the bastard owned. Or will, if I ever find proof I didn’t murder him.”
Adam put a hand to the back of her head, stroked her hair. “You don’t want his money. You never wanted it.”
“You don’t know a thing about what I want. Hell, Adam, you don’t even know what you want anymore.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.” But he took his hand away. As soon as he did, Kirsten got to her feet and walked away from him. And he let her go.
Chapter 8
Great. Couldn’t he have waited at least until she’d finished her meal to insult her, alienate her and take his frustration out on her? What the hell kind of idiocy possessed him with Kirsten, anyway? Jealousy, that was part of it. Plain old jealousy, bigger and more powerful than anything he’d ever felt in his life. And anger. Yes, anger at her for not coming to him with all of this two years ago. For not trusting him with the truth. For not letting him fix it for her. And at himself, for walking away. For not seeing the truth behind her lies. For letting her go.
God, he never should have let her go.
She belonged with him. The very thought of Cowan having touched her, much less….
No. He wouldn’t think about that now. He’d let his anger come out all wrong, directed it at her when she’d been as much a victim in all of this as anyone. He shouldn’t have done that. His anger belonged to a dead man. And that made it all the more frustrating. There was no target now. No use for the fury raging like a cyclone inside him. He had to let it go. He had to let it go.
But letting it go was harder than it sounded. Because there was still that other fury swirling around in his heart, feeding this one, empowering it. And that old anger had been around for so long, he wasn’t sure he knew how to get rid of it.
Kirsten lay bundled up in a blanket on the ground, all the way on the other side of the fire. She was not sleeping. There was nothing relaxed or restful about her. Still, yes, but taut, rigid. He doubted she would close her eyes all night.
He should have kept his mouth shut. There would be time enough for the truth later. After Cowan’s murderer was caught and put behind bars. After Kirsten’s name was cleared and things got back to…normal.
Hell, things hadn’t been normal since his would-be wedding day. He didn’t think his life would ever be normal again.
And he had blown it with Kirsten tonight. That was for sure. She would never open up to him if he kept putting her on the defensive about Cowan. And they would never have a chance if he couldn’t find a way to forget. To put it in the past.
But right now, it was just a little too fresh for that.
With a sigh, Adam gathered up the cooler, tied a cord around it and carried it to the water hole to keep the leftover food relatively cool for the night. Then he picketed the horses near the grass and carefully doused the campfire. He did every job he could think of to do, just to kill the time. To vent his frustration. To ease the tension in his mind and his body. But when he’d finished them all, Kirsten still hadn’t moved so much as a muscle, and he was still as tense as a whipcord. He didn’t know what to say to her. What to do. How to fix this.
He chose a boulder with a good view of both the surrounding night and of Kirsten, and he sat watch. It was going to be, he thought, a very long night.
He was right. The minutes dragged by like hours, and then became hours that seemed to last for days. His head nodded. He snapped it upright. His eyelids drooped. He pried them open. The moon rose high, lopsided and waxing toward full. Big and yellow. Lonely. Cold. It got damned cold out here at night. Cacti dotted the splitting desert ground, standing like bandits caught by the law. Hands up. No colors out here at night. Shades of gray. No black and white. Was there a message hidden in there somewhere for him?
Soft footsteps made him swing his head around. Kirsten stood behind him, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. A tin cup in her hand. She handed it to him. He just looked at it.
“Coffee,” she said. “It’s still slightly warm. I thought you could use a cup.”
“Thanks.” He took a drink, grimaced at the taste, but drank some more.
“So, are you going to sit up here all night?”
“Thought I might.”
She went silent, turned and leaned her back against the rock. He sat atop the same hunk of stone, so she was close to his legs. Not close enough.
Should he apologize again? Try to explain how the image of a woman who should have been his wife in the bed of another man could make a man crazy? Cause him to say mean, hurtful things? He only knew Joe Cowan was one lucky son of a gun to be dead right now. ‘Cause if he was alive, Adam would be out for blood. And it would be slow. The bastard had forced Kirsten…he’d forced her. God, Adam wanted to make that reality go away.
He looked at her. Moonlight gleamed in her round wounded eyes. No makeup now. She wore the jeans and T-shirt she’d found in the saddlebag, and her hair hung down long and loose. She looked like the girl he’d fallen in love with. And the years almost seemed to fall away.
“Kirsty, I, uh–”
“You ought to go meet with your brother,” she said, interrupting him.
“What?” His brothers were the last thing on Adam’s mind right now.
“Elliot. He said in his note to meet him at Thompson Gorge at midnight. I think you should go.”
“Why?”
She tipped her head back to look up at him. “Because he might have some kind of information for us. Maybe he’s learned something—”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Adam assured her.
She ti
lted her head. “You won’t know that unless you meet him.” Adam pursed his lips. “I know you don’t want to drag him into my mess, Adam,” Kirsten rushed on. “But he’s already involved. He knows we’re out here, he gave us supplies, and maybe he’s even been digging around on his own.”
“Damn fool kid’s liable to get himself killed. At least get brought up on charges.”
Her brows creased. “You underestimate him, you know. He’s not a kid anymore.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she added, “And I don’t want him getting into trouble because of me any more than you do. So don’t you think we ought to see what he’s been up to? Find out just what he’s doing and tell him to stay out of it?”
With a sigh, he nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Then let’s go. It’s eleven-thirty now.” She straightened away from the boulder.
Adam slid to the ground, caught her shoulders in his hands and turned her around.
“What?”
“Two things.” He pulled his lips tight. “Maybe three.”
“Well?”
“One…I shouldn’t have said the crap I did before. I didn’t mean it. It was foolish male pride and jealousy, and I know damn good and well you’ve never been any man’s whore. I’m sorry. I mean it.”
Licking her lips, she lowered her head.
“Two… I want you to stay behind while I go to see Elliot.”
“No way in—”
“Suppose he was followed?”
“He’s smarter than that,” she argued.
“Maybe, and maybe not. The point is, why risk it? If someone’s watching him and they see you, all three of us are going to wind up in one of Garrett’s cells. So I want you to stay here.”
She made a face, lifted her head, but didn’t argue. “And three?” she prodded.
“Three?” Adam looked down at her. The round dark wells of her eyes. Hair loose now, and tumbling. The spray had worn off hours ago, so its smooth straightened look had given way to its natural waves. His voice went coarse and gravelly. “Oh, yeah. Three.” He bent down and touched her lips with his, kissed her gently, slowly, as tenderly as he could manage. Tasting her upper lip, her lower one, softly tracing their shape with his tongue. He felt her tremble, heard her catch her breath. Then he lifted his head away. “Three is just this. I still love you. And I want you back.”
Every part of her went hard. Stiff. Her eyes seemed rounder and wider than he’d ever seen them.
“When I make love to you again, Kirsty, I’ll make you forget Cowan ever touched you. I’ll burn that memory away. I’ll make it better, I swear it.”
Shaking her head hard from side to side, she backed away. “No. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I do. And I’m not gonna give up. I’m here for you, Kirsty, and no matter what you do, I’m not gonna give up on you this time. I’m not gonna go running off to lick my wounded pride. If I hadn’t done that before, you wouldn’t be in this mess now. I might be stubborn, but I’m not stupid. I learn from my mistakes.”
For a long moment she was quiet. Adam decided he’d rendered her speechless. He was pretty surprised by his declarations himself. He grabbed his hat off the boulder behind him and dropped it on his head. “Guess I’ll go meet Elliot now.”
“Adam, wait.”
He paused, turned around.
“I want there to be no mistake about this,” she said slowly. “The trouble I’m in is no one’s fault but my own. Do you understand? No one’s. I brought this on myself, and I probably deserve every bit of it. Whatever the outcome. Remember that.”
“No, you don’t—”
“Yes, I do. You don’t know all the things I’ve done, Adam.”
“But I will. Just as soon as you tell me.’’ He cupped her cheek. “When I get back, okay? We’ll talk when I get back.”
She lowered her head, nodded once. Later, Adam thought he should have seen the warning in her eyes, just before she looked away from his. He should have seen it.
But he didn’t.
He just let go of her and headed back to where he’d picketed the horses. Saddled Layla and rode away, off to Thompson Gorge, where it was said the ground was soaked with century-old blood and the spirits of the dead still lingered on nights like tonight.
The way he shivered as the Appaloosa’s hooves plodded slowly into the box canyon, Adam could believe it was true.
He looked ahead, left and then right, but he saw only the tall, jagged stone walls. The barren ground, dry and splitting. The ghostlike movement of a tumbleweed rolling in slow motion across the unforgiving earth. The occasional dust devil swirling like a living thing in the moonlight.
And then other hoofbeats sounded. Soft. Slow. Coming closer. A rider emerged from the darkness, a gun held in his hand.
Kirsten was already dressed for the journey. Not in the clothes of Mrs. Joseph Cowan, but in a pair of borrowed jeans and a T-shirt, with a denim shirt from the saddlebags for added warmth. Her uniform was gone. Her pretend face. Her make-believe self, gone, leaving her stripped bare, at the mercy of the elements. There would be no more hiding. No more rich-man’s-wife routine, no more attitude. She was just Kirsten Armstrong. She was just a liar and a murderer on the run from the law. No makeup kit or closet full of clothing was going to change that. Not even the love of a man like Adam Brand could change that.
It was no good. No good staying here with Adam and watching him fall for her all over again. No good feeling those old feelings for him trying to pry their way out of the prison where she’d kept them locked away all this time. None of that was any good at all.
She crammed some of the supplies into one set of saddlebags; then she saddled the remaining horse and mounted up. This was her fight. Not Adam’s. She’d dragged herself into this mess alone, and she would damned well get out of it alone. She’d ruined enough lives.
She turned Mystic around and started for the border. She would have plenty of time. She figured the canyon where Adam had gone to meet his brother was a half hour’s ride from here. By the time Adam got there and back, she would have a solid head start. And if he was smart, he wouldn’t bother following her, anyway.
She dug in her heels, leaned low over the sleek, muscled neck and held on. The mare sailed through the night like a cloud across the face of the moon. Gloriously chilled air rushed over Kirsten’s face, lifted her long hair. Animal heat warmed her where her legs held tight to the horse’s sides, and she felt those powerful muscles bunching and lengthening beneath her.
It had been a long time since she’d done anything like this…given anything in her life this kind of rein. Run headlong through the night and let the thrill of it invigorate her to the marrow. The stars glittered down, and the moon lit her way. A silver strand glistened ahead, a stream, and she leaned, squeezed, spoke softly. The mare jumped it easily, landing again and never breaking stride. This was good. And freedom lay just ahead.
Freedom…
She’d thought freedom had come when she’d found her husband lying dead on that cold marble floor. But it hadn’t. Joseph still imprisoned her, even from death.
Now she thought she would find this elusive thing—this freedom she craved—on the far side of the Mexican border. But would she?
She eased her seat, let up on the mare. Their pace slowed, and Kirsten asked herself just what it was she wanted freedom from. Prison? A murder charge? Yes, certainly those things. But what about Texas? Her home, her town? What about her father? How would she ever fulfill her promise to get him out of the nursing home, to bring him to live with her, if she was a fugitive for the rest of her life? Did she really think she would ever be able to send for him? Take him down there to live with her? How would she explain the false names she would have to use? How would she get him the heart transplant he so desperately needed?
And what about Adam?
“And now we get to the truth, don’t we?” she whispered.
She slowed the horse to a
walk, lowered her head. He was what she was really running from. Adam Brand, the man she’d always loved, and the truth she’d kept hidden from him. The horrible secret it was going to kill her to tell. That was why she’d run from him in the first place. Why she’d kept on running ever since. Why she was still running.
Because the fact was, running away from the truth had been easier than facing Adam with what she’d done. Watching the love in his eyes turn to hatred. Seeing the pain, the hurt. And it was still easier.
She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and looked ahead. Lights here and there, where the border patrol lay in wait. More officers than usual out here tonight. Probably because they had a fugitive to hunt down. Kirsten licked her lips, moved more slowly, strained her eyes to see where the men were, and hunted for a spot between them, where she could slip past unnoticed.
Then one of the lights flashed from someplace far too close, shining right into her eyes. She lifted one hand instinctively to block the glare, and a man’s voice yelled, “Hold it right there!”
Jerking the reins hard, Kirsten ducked low, whirled the horse around and kicked her sides. The mare leapt into motion, then picked up speed even more when a gunshot—a frighteningly close gunshot—split the night’s silence. And then dozens of others rang out in answer—coming from farther away, but aimed at her, every one of them.
“Adam?” Elliot lowered the gun when he got close enough to confirm it was his brother he’d been pointing it at.
“Put that damn thing away,” Adam snapped. “You trying to get yourself killed?’’
“Trying to help you out of a mess of trouble, big brother. Not that you seem to be any too grateful.”
“I’m not. I don’t want you involved in this.”
“Too late,” Elliot said. He holstered his gun, got off his horse. Adam noticed the lean grace with which he moved, the power he seemed to hold in check. Hell, Kirsten was right. His kid brother wasn’t a kid anymore.
Adam dismounted as well, swallowed the scolding tone that kept trying to creep into his words, and instead clasped Elliot’s hand. When had it become so big, so callused? “Thanks for the supplies.”
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