Montana Wildfire

by Rebecca Sinclair

  Only once he was done did Jake turn toward her. The naked fury shimmering in his glare made Amanda take a step back. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a flash of satisfaction momentarily relax his features.

  "Get your cloak."

  "My—?"

  "Cloak." He jerked his chin in the direction of the chair on which her cloak had been draped to dry hours earlier. "Get it, and anything else you brought with you. Then turn around and walk out that door."

  Amanda's blood ran cold. Surely she'd heard wrong. "I'm... leaving? Now?"

  "Damn right."

  Her face paled. Sometime in the last few minutes she'd stopped shaking. Her tremors now resumed with force. Dear God, was he kicking her out? Abandoning her? She didn't want to know. She had to know. "You're not ccoming with me?"

  His gaze narrowed. His eyes were sharp with a fury reflected in his biting tone. "Oh, yeah, I'm coming. Or did you forget you hired me to do a job for you? Unfortunately for both of us, I'm a man of my word. I'll see it through. You'll get your cousin back if it kills me, and I'll get..."

  "What?" she gulped, not liking at all the ominous way his words had drifted off. "What will you get, Jake?"

  "My money. Every last cent of it." He nodded toward the door. "Let's go. The sooner we get that brat back, the sooner I can be rid of you."

  Be rid of you... be rid of you... Amanda tried to ignore the way his words cut into her. She couldn't. They echoed in her mind, slicing deeper into her heart each time.

  The last few months had been the hardest of her life. She'd suffered hunger, cold, pain and exhaustion at every turn. Deprivation had become a way of life. Not once during all that time had she broken down and cried. She was proud of that. What she wasn't at all proud of was the way her eyes were stinging with unshed tears now.

  Why, why did Jake's words hurt so much? Why was the admission he wanted to be rid of her akin to having one of his knives thrust into her chest and viciously turned?

  Amanda turned her back so Jake wouldn't see her tears. Snatching up her cloak, she whipped it around her shoulders and tied it sloppily beneath her chin. Then she picked up her saddlebag and hugged it close.

  She heard Jake moving behind her, but she didn't turn around to see what he was doing. She couldn't. If she looked at him, if he returned her look with more anger, she would lose what little control she'd manage to retain. Pride forbade her to do that. Pride demanded Jacob Blackhawk Chandler never know how easily he could hurt her.

  "Ready?" he asked, his hand poised on the door latch.

  Amanda nodded, but didn't move. To do so would have brought her closer to Jake than she could stand to be right now. It was bad enough she could smell his earth-sharp scent mingling with the charred aroma of the fire. Bad enough she could smell that same sensuous scent clinging to her skin and hair. That woodsy aroma, interlaced with her own feminine scent, reminded her of things Jake's fury said they would both do well to forget.

  A cold wind blasted through the door when he flung it open. The cloak fluttered around her ankles and the brisk air snuck beneath the hem, caressing her ankles.

  Amanda shivered and tugged the hood over her head. She noticed her hair had worked free of its usual plait as she tucked the long strands beneath the hood. She wondered about that, but not too much; she had too many other problems to waste time dwelling on something so trivial. She huddled in the warm, soft woolen folds of the cloak and thought that she'd better enjoy what comfort she could now, because the garment wouldn't provide heat for long. Nor, since the snow had lessened but not stopped, would it stay dry.

  Wind kicked the snow over the ground, drifting it against the cabins outer walls. The airy white crystals danced down from the sky. Moonlight glinted off the blanket of whiteness, making the night silvery and bright.

  "Well?" Jake asked when Amanda had stepped around him and paused for a moment in the doorway. "What are you waiting for?"

  The heat of him invaded her cloak and seeped past the layers of clothes beneath. It was no longer a comfortable feeling, because Amanda could no longer be certain whether the warmth was based in mutual attraction or raw anger. "We should tell Gail and Little Bear we're leaving."

  "They'll figure it out."

  "No, Jake, I won't leave without telling them goodbye, and thanking them. They've been very good to me."

  Amanda tensed when she felt a hot spot near her shoulder. She didn't have to look to know Jake had lifted his hand, that his palm was poised a mere inch from her shoulder. She knew the exact second his hand dropped back to his side; it was the same instant a surge of despair iced through her. God, what had she done that he couldn't even touch her anymore?

  "Tell you what, I'll pass the word on for you. Let's go."

  She stubbornly refused to move forward. "How? How will you pass the word on, Jake? You aren't speaking to them, remember?"

  "Like everything else, you've got that wrong. They aren't speaking to me."

  One golden brow arched. Neither Gail nor Little Bear had said what caused the rift between them and Jake. Amanda was too polite to ask, but that didn't mean she wasn't curious. She was. And that worried her. Because suddenly she had a deep, burning desire to know everything there was to know about Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. And she wanted Jake to tell her. "Why?"

  "None of your goddamn business. Now, let's go."

  "No, Goddammit! Not extending my thanks to them would be rude in the extreme."

  This time, Jake's hand did make contact with her shoulder. But not in the way she'd hoped. His fingers bit through the cloak, dug into her flesh. His fingers were trembling.

  "Rude? Do you think I care?" His voice was low and edgy, his grip on her shoulder painfully tight. "I told you once, Miss Lennox, that I'm not a very nice person. You should have listened. If you had, we wouldn't be in this mess."

  "Miss Lennox," she sneered, giving in to a sudden burst of temper herself. The surge of anger felt good. Much better them the confusion and pain that had preceded it. "You keep calling me that. An hour ago you called me princess."

  "Yeah, well, an hour ago I liked you."

  "You did more than 'like' me, Jake. You made love to—"

  "Move!" he barked, and started to push her forward.

  "No." Amanda dropped the saddlebag and dug her feet into the hard dirt floor. Her hands shot out, her fingers curling around the roughly hewn door frame. "I won't leave until I've thanked your sister and Little Bear. I owe them that much."

  "I said I'd pass the words on."

  "Well, I don't trust you to do it."

  His grip on her shoulder flexed, then melted away. Amanda wasn't sure which was worse: Jake Chandler's fingers biting into her, or Jake Chandler not touching her at all.

  "That's the real problem, isn't it, Miss Lennox? Trust. Or, in your case, the complete lack of it." His tone dripped sarcasm.

  She didn't need to face him to know his glare was stabbing into her back, she felt it. A shiver of foreboding scratched its way down her spine. "Wh-what are you saying, Jake?"

  "Same thing I've been saying for the last five minutes. It's time to leave. Let go of the door, Miss Lennox."

  "Not until you tell me why you're mad at me, Mr. Chandler."

  Amanda heard him shift, felt him move into place beside her. His inky head dipped into view when he snatched up her saddlebag and shoved it roughly into her hands.

  "You're a smart girl, figure it out," he growled. The second her arms curled around the weather-softened leather, Jake roughly shoved her through the door, and into the snowy night.

  The door slammed closed behind them.

  "This way. The horses are in what's left of the damn barn." His feet sunk into the four inches of newly fallen snow as he stalked around her and moved to the far corner of the house.

  Amanda almost followed him. Why not? There was no point in fighting any longer. He'd proved his will and physical strength were stronger than hers. Only one thing held her back. Her attention had snagged on th
e upstairs window, and the sight she focused on rooted her feet firmly to the snow-blanketed ground.

  Golden light poured through the glass, slicing a distorted rectangle over the ground, silhouetting the figure who stood rigidly framed in the window.

  From the size and shape, Amanda knew it was Gail who was silently watching the scene playing out below. She couldn't see the woman's expression, and Amanda thought that was just as well. She remembered too clearly the stricken look on Gail's face the first time Jake's name had been mentioned. It was the same look the woman got every time conversation turned toward her brother.

  Amanda turned her head and glanced at Jake.

  He was standing exactly where she'd last seen him, only now he was statue-still. Flakes of snow danced around him, melting on contact with his head and shoulders. His sleek black hair was being whipped around his face by the bitter-cold wind.

  Though he stood mostly in shadow, Amanda knew exactly where his gaze rested. On the upstairs window. On his sister.

  Amanda lifted her skirt and took a few steps toward him, not enough to put them into contact, but enough so she could see his expression. Instantly, she wished she hadn't.

  She didn't mean to gasp, she just couldn't help it. Never had she seen such naked torment on a man's face before. She hadn't expected to see it now. Not on Jake.

  The skin covering his cheeks was pale and tight, emphasizing the harshly carved bones beneath. The muscle there throbbed. His brow was wrinkled in a brooding scowl, his sooty lashes lowered to hood his gaze in a way that looked almost self-protective.

  Amanda didn't realize she was going to reach out and cup his cheek in her palm until she'd already done it. His flesh felt hot and smooth beneath her fingertips. Damp with melted snow. Gentle tremors played in the corded tendons beneath his skin.

  Jake's fingers manacled her wrist, thrusting her touch aside. His gaze was still trained on the window. It was now empty; Gail had moved away. Jake closed his eyes and allowed himself one painful second of regret. Then he forced the emotion aside and let his gaze slide slowly over the woman who had, he realized suddenly, just offered him comfort.

  It stunned Jake that Amanda Lennox would do that. No white person had ever offered him such a gift, and he wasn't sure how to turn the gesture away. He only knew that he must. He couldn't accept her sympathy, couldn't open himself up to her compassion. She'd weakened him too much already. If he let himself feel any more for this woman than he already did, he'd never get her out of his blood, never be whole again.

  Jake had a sinking feeling it was already too late for that. Everything about Amanda had burrowed deeply inside of him. Even when he was angry with her, there was something about her soft words, her soft body, that touched a chord in him. She wasn't going to be easy to forget. She'd drifted into his life like a petal-soft breeze, and in so doing she'd changed a part of him. He didn't know what part, or how she'd managed to change it when no one before her had, he only knew that she'd done it, that...

  Damn, but it was frightening to think a woman—a white woman—this white woman—could hold that much power over him! He shuddered to think of what would happen if she ever guessed how much control she had over his life. Over his heart.

  It was something he swore to God she would never know.

  "I'm sorry, Jake," Amanda said softly, soothingly. "I know you—"

  "No, dammit, you don't," he snapped, cutting her short. He angled his head, bringing their faces so closely together the steam of their breath mingled. His face was tight with anger, but Amanda didn't know if the anger was directed at her or at himself. Maybe a little of both? "Don't kid yourself, Miss Lennox. You don't know me. If you did, you'd know how much I hate a liar."

  She shifted guiltily. "I haven't lied to you."

  One inky brow slanted menacingly high. "Haven't you?"

  "No. Well, only..." She sucked in a quick breath, and wished he wasn't staring at her as though he wanted to strangle her on the spot. "Only when it was absolutely necessary."

  "White lies, in other words," he growled irritably.

  The meaning was double-edged. They both knew it, though neither acknowledged it.

  "Jake," Amanda began. Fingers came out of nowhere, coiled threateningly around her throat, and stifled the words on her tongue. His flesh felt ice-cold against her own fear-warmed skin, but that wasn't the reason she shivered so violently.

  His grip wasn't tight enough to cut off her air supply, but it was firm enough to threaten it. Her heart raced as their gazes met and warred. Had she ever seen as much anger and hatred as she saw in the steely glare that met hers? God, she didn't think so. And she hoped never to see it in a man's eyes—in Jake Chandler's eyes—again.

  "Don't say it, Miss Lennox. Do not say it. I'm on the edge right now as it is. You open that hot little mouth of yours to lie to me one more time, and I won't be held responsible for what I do to you. Is that understood?"

  He didn't wait for her answer, but instead wrenched his hand from her throat as though he couldn't stand the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips a second longer than was necessary.

  Jake sent her one searing glare, then spun on his heel. With his normal catlike silence he stalked to the far end of the cabin and disappeared around the corner, leaving it up to her whether or not to follow. Amanda had no doubt that if she didn't follow him to the barn he would go without her. If it weren't for Roger, she would have considered letting him do exactly that.

  She hesitated, glancing one last time at the window where Gail Chandler had been standing. The light had been extinguished. The square wooden frame was now as dark and empty as her insides. Amanda sighed, then hoisted her skirt and cloak and hurried after Jake.

  Chapter 16

  In three days of hard riding they passed through only two towns. By the time they reached the second, Amanda's nerves were raw.

  Jake wasn't speaking to her. While he provided dinner—and shelter, when the weather turned harsh—he performed the services in stone-faced silence. He hadn't said a word since they'd left Gail and Little Bear's cabin. The chores he wanted her to execute—like lighting the fire, or gathering wood—were conveyed with his eyes, never his tongue.

  He hadn't touched her.

  More than once, as they sat at night with a crackling fire blazing like a battlefield between them, Amanda had caught Jake's gaze on her; his eyes were slitted, hooding the emotions playing in their silvery depths.

  Nothing hid his expression. With the orange glow of flames on his face it was easy to see and read his contempt. Not so easily seen was who that disgust was aimed at. At times, Amanda thought it was directed at her. At other times, it seemed to be aimed more at himself. Either way, his silent animosity erected an impenetrable wall between them, one Amanda had no idea how to breech.

  It had become a habit for them to sleep on opposite sides of the camp, their bedrolls as far away from each other as they could get. Jake seemed to enjoy the distance. Amanda hated it.

  Long into the pitch-black nights she lay awake, replaying the times when his strong arms had held her close. The images were so real she could hear his heart drumming in her ear, feel the black silk of his hair sifting through her fingers. As the coldness of the ground seeped through the blankets and into her bones, chilling her to the core, she remembered the heat of Jake's body, of his mouth and hands gliding over her skin.

  Humiliating though it was to admit, at those times she broke down and cried. She couldn't help it. Jake was tearing her apart with his silence, his brooding glares, his anger that hadn't faded a bit. Since he refused to tell her what had caused the tension between them, Amanda couldn't hope to repair it.

  That didn't mean she could stop dwelling on it. Her mind worked overtime; speculation was driving her crazy. Jake had spoken of lies, but she didn't know which lies he'd been referring to. Confessing to one, only to find out he was talking about another, would only make the situation worse—if that was possible.

  Amanda had decided
early on that it would be better if she kept her mouth shut for once, no matter how much the silence was tearing her up inside. It was one of the most difficult things she had ever done, but she did it.

  They reached the outskirts of a town at noon on the third day out. Amanda sat back in the saddle and surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. By Eastern standards, this wasn't much of a town. Shacks of buildings lined the narrow streets. Dusty planked boardwalks, unconnected, stretched out in front of hastily constructed false-fronted shops. The chilly air was thick with the odor of dirt and manure.

  The majority of inhabitants of this nameless mining town appeared to be male—and of the none too savory variety. Judging from their grimy, tattered clothes, most mined the diggin's on the outskirts of town. The men looked ragged, slightly gaunt, and tired. The image was enhanced by the months-long growth of coarse, untrimmed beard they sported.

  There were few women, though an occasional "fancy lady" could be glimpsed lounging in the doorway of one of the many saloons or dancehalls. Amanda's cheeks colored when her gaze fixed on one woman in particular. The woman was unlike any Amanda had ever seen. She had flaming orange hair that couldn't be a God-given shade, and was wearing a gaudy crimson, indecently low-cut dress. The full skirt swished provocatively from hip to ankle as the woman sauntered down the shaded boardwalk.

  Catcalls and lewd suggestions could be heard long after the "lady" had disappeared inside one of the dilapidated buildings.

  Amanda sent Jake a sideways glance. She wondered if he'd noticed the woman. And if he had, was he as shocked by the redhead's appearance as Amanda had been?

  The answer to both questions was no. If Jake had seen the woman, he gave no sign as, with a flick of his wrist, he pulled his mount to a stop dead center of the narrow dirt street.

  Amanda fidgeted uncomfortably when a few curious stares turned their way. Thankfully, a brooding glare from a certain pair of hard silver eyes was quick to divert attention from them.