The Texan

by Joan Johnston

  And found only one.

  He tried to catch his breath and realized his chest felt constricted. His symptoms seemed to be a few moments behind hers. Already, she was lying prone, and her muscles had begun to spasm. The VX nerve gas was at work.

  She was dying.

  Owen looked at the injector in his hand and realized he had to save her. Even if it meant he was going to die.

  He tore her shirt open, placed the autoinjector next to her heart, and pulled the trigger. It wasn’t nearly as dramatic as the foot-long needle Nicolas Cage had used in The Rock to keep his body from turning to mush.

  But it worked. Bay immediately started breathing more easily.

  Owen staggered upright and began a 360-degree search for the other injector. If he could find it, he might yet save himself. He didn’t understand why he didn’t have more symptoms, why he hadn’t succumbed as quickly as she had. Maybe she’d been exposed to more of the gas. And she was a lot smaller than he was.

  But all it took was a drop.

  Owen fell to his hands and knees, then collapsed facedown. And realized he couldn’t get up again.

  THE ANTIDOTE WORKED SO QUICKLY THAT BAY’S SYMPTOMS were gone within a minute of getting the injection. She remembered immediately what had happened. It felt like every inch of her body had been pummeled in a boxing ring. It even hurt to breathe. But she had survived.

  She rolled over and lifted her head to search for Owen. She saw him lying facedown not far away and crawled over to him, which seemed infinitely wiser than trying to get onto her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the pulse beating at his throat.

  She nudged his shoulder and said, “Owen, are you okay?”

  Then she realized he was wheezing.

  “Owen,” she cried. “What’s wrong? Why isn’t the antidote working on you?”

  “Lost … injector … find …”

  “Hang on. I’ll find it!”

  She shoved herself onto her feet and stumbled toward the area where they’d first fallen coming out of the cave. The sun was nearly down, and the shadows created by the desert plant life made it hard to see anything on the rocky ground. She moved in outward circles, praying that she’d find the injector before it was too late.

  She nearly fell as something rolled under her boot. She saw the injector, grabbed it, and ran as best she could back to Owen. At the last second, she realized she needed him on his back in order to put the shot in his heart. She fell to her knees and used all the shoulder muscle she had to heave him over.

  He was drooling, and his body was twitching. How long had it been since the explosion? One minute? Two? Three? Was she too late?

  “Owen, I’m here. I found the injector. Hold on.”

  She yanked open his shirt, put the injector against his heart and pulled the trigger. She held her breath waiting to see if it would work, ticking off the seconds.

  Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

  The twitching stopped.

  Forty. Fifty. Sixty.

  Owen opened his eyes.

  Bay smiled at him. “Those are the loveliest red-rimmed eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  Owen managed a wobbly grin. “Ditto.”

  “I can hardly believe we survived a dose of VX nerve gas,” she said.

  “Thanks to you.”

  “And you.” She laid her hand on his heart and said, “I owe you my life. If I hadn’t been able to find that other injector—”

  “You did. So we’re even.” He pushed himself into a sitting position and said, “Keep your hands off your clothes. There may be VX residue on them. If we get it on our skin now, it’s lights out, that’s all she wrote, say good-bye, Shirley.”

  “How long does the antidote work before you can get reinfected by nerve gas on your clothing?” Bay asked.

  “I didn’t think to ask,” Owen replied.

  “Then wouldn’t it make sense to take off our clothes now?”

  “It would if we had anything to replace them with,” Owen said. “But I don’t see how we’re going to walk out of here barefoot.”

  “We won’t walk out of here at all if we get exposed to VX gas particles on our clothing after that antidote wears off,” Bay pointed out.

  Owen grimaced. “Strip down to your underwear. Leave on your socks and put your boots back on after you get your jeans off.”

  When Bay was done she looked down at herself, dressed in a plain white bra, torn bikini underwear, and cowboy boots. “I feel like I’m dressed for the midnight show at the Crazy Horse Saloon,” she muttered.

  Her mouth went dry when she looked at Owen, who was left wearing cowboy boots and black Calvin Kleins. The knit cotton underwear hugged him lovingly from waist to thighs. He was a female’s fantasy come to life.

  They stared at each other, enjoying what they saw. And realizing just how close they’d come to losing their lives.

  “You look good, Red,” he said.

  “Good and thirsty,” she said, as she realized how dry her mouth was.

  “I guess no one heard that explosion, since we’re still here all alone,” Owen said, as he looked around the clearing in which they found themselves. “I lost the Uzi when we got blown out of that cave. Do you still have my SIG?”

  She picked it up off the pile of clothing she’d turned inside out and handed it to him. “It was mostly protected by my clothes. Do you think it’s safe to carry?”

  “Let’s put it this way. I’ll feel a lot safer with it than without it.”

  “I see your point,” Bay said.

  “We’re going to need food and water,” Owen said. “We better see if we can find the hijackers’ camp. It’s got to be somewhere close.”

  “I don’t usually go calling dressed like this,” Bay said.

  Owen grinned. “Me, neither. We can worry about that when we actually find the camp.”

  Bay pointed to a spot beyond Owen’s shoulder. “I think we’ve found it.”

  Owen turned to look at a distant light that had appeared in the growing darkness. “I think you may be right, Red.” He leaned a hand on her shoulder to brace himself as he rose to his feet. He tottered like a baby for a step or two, then seemed to find his balance.

  “Your turn,” he said, extending a hand to her.

  When she was on her feet, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to step into his supporting arms, which encircled her as she clung to him.

  She pressed her cheek against his heart and said, “This is ridiculous. We can hardly stand up. How are we going to make it to that light? And why do I have the feeling that if we do get there, we’ll be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire?”

  “We don’t have much choice. We need water. That camp is our only hope of getting it.”

  They staggered toward the light together, sometimes one and sometimes the other bearing the weight of both.

  “How long does it take for the effects of this VX stuff to wear off?” Owen asked.

  “I think maybe two weeks.”

  “I was hoping maybe two hours.”

  Bay managed a smile. “That would be lovely, but it’s not very likely.”

  “I don’t think either of us could have gotten much of a dose of gas,” he said. “I didn’t start getting symptoms until you were already down. And I don’t think my symptoms were nearly as bad as yours.”

  “I feel as weak as a baby, and I have a headache.”

  “We haven’t had much water over the past few hours, and it’s been damned hot. Could be just dehydration.”

  But dehydration could kill them, too. Bay hoped the light in the distance really was the hijackers’ camp, and that they would be able to remain undiscovered and still get hold of some water.

  It took them half an hour to walk a distance they might have covered in five minutes if they’d been well. Owen insisted that they stop beyond the glow of the light, which turned out to be a single Coleman lantern set on a folding metal table outside a four-man tent. The entire area was cov
ered with camouflage netting, but beneath that was a layer of something thin and silvery, like tinfoil.

  “That’s why heat-imaging radar never picked them up,” Owen muttered. “They’ve got some kind of reflective ceiling over the camp, and the camouflage netting above it keeps them from showing up on satellite photographs. Whoever stole those mines knows what he’s doing.”

  “Well, Brophy’s an FBI agent. I imagine the FBI knows all about that sort of thing,” Bay said.

  “Yeah. But if these guys are so good at hiding themselves, how did Hank find them?”

  “We found them,” Bay pointed out.

  Owen shook his head. “They found us. If that FBI agent hadn’t shown up when he did, we’d have stayed on the trail and would probably be halfway back to the Rio Grande Village by now. Instead, we took that little detour, and God knows where we are now. No, there’s something here I’m missing. I wish I could think, but my head’s pounding.”

  Bay didn’t suggest the obvious. That the reason Hank had been shot was because he’d recognized one of the hijackers. Maybe one of the FBI agents. Or perhaps Owen’s brother Clay.

  They lay prone in the dark, staring at the camp, but Bay saw no signs of life.

  “Where are they?” she whispered.

  He put a fingertip to her lips, mouthed the word “Quiet,” then pointed toward the tent.

  Bay’s eyes went wide as her brother stepped out of the tent. With Clay Blackthorne right behind him.

  Chapter 10

  BILLY COBURN KNEW MORE ABOUT THE MISSing VX mines than he’d told the Texas Ranger who’d come asking questions. But he hadn’t been about to accuse his company commander, Major Clay Blackthorne, of wrongdoing, to his brother’s face. Especially when Clay’s brother was a Texas Ranger. Billy knew how the system worked. Clay was a rich man’s son. Billy was a nobody, down on his luck. Somehow, they’d turn everything around, so he ended up in jail.

  He couldn’t help wondering what was going to happen when that Ranger managed to track down the thieves and discovered his brother was one of them. The incident Billy had witnessed sure had looked damned suspicious.

  During maneuvers two weeks ago, he and Luke Creed had been sent by the first sergeant to pick up another crate of claymore mines. They’d come around a corner and caught Clay Blackthorne talking to a short guy in civilian clothes who looked like a wrestler—all neck, with a face that seemed flattened by one too many landings on the mat. He and Luke had only heard the end of Major Blackthorne’s sentence—“intercept them on the way to Arkansas”—before the major saw them and clammed up.

  It hadn’t meant much at the time, but when the VX mines had been hijacked two days later, Billy had thought back to what he’d seen and heard.

  Major Blackthorne hadn’t been merely surprised at being discovered, he’d been distressed. The fact the other man was a civilian, and had no business near the camp, seemed significant. The words themselves were damning.

  Luke had apparently nosed around and managed to find out enough to get himself in deep shit. Billy had minded his own business, but it looked like he was going to be dragged willy-nilly into the line of fire anyway.

  If Luke Creed had disappeared, there was every chance he’d been caught snooping by the bad guys. It wasn’t going to take long for Clay Blackthorne to make the connection between Luke and Billy. And if the hijackers had shot a Texas Ranger, it wasn’t going to bother them even a little bit to put a bullet into someone with as few friends and as little influence as Bad Billy Coburn.

  Which was another good reason why he should keep Summer Blackthorne at a distance. Not that Billy thought her own brother would hurt her, but if the bad guys did come after him, she might get caught in the crossfire. Billy planned to tell her today that they shouldn’t see each other for a while—at least until the situation with the VX mines was resolved.

  His mother’s hysterics had nothing to do with his decision. She’d always been uncomfortable around Summer. Billy figured she just didn’t want her only son getting hurt by some spoiled little rich girl, who was only slumming, and would break his heart if he ever fell in love with her.

  If his mother only knew. It was way too late to protect him from that kind of pain. He’d been in love with Summer Blackthorne from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, when she was sixteen and he was twenty. He’d been working for her father, mucking stalls in the barn, when she’d shown up to saddle her horse for a ride.

  Summer Blackthorne had been the most beautiful girl Billy had ever seen. She was also far above the touch of a humble cowboy. As the boss’s daughter, she’d expected his homage. And been intrigued when she didn’t get it.

  He’d known from the start that he didn’t have a chance with her, which was why he’d ignored her. Now that he knew her better, Billy realized that he’d done the one thing that was sure to get her attention.

  His aloofness had kept her from ever realizing how he really felt about her. And her repeated attempts to break through his indifference had finally resulted in the friendship that had grown between them over the years. She’d confessed that she liked being with him because she could relax and be herself.

  She’d told him a great many things he knew she never would have told a man she loved. Because they revealed how vulnerable she was. How very alone she felt in a houseful of servants. How her brothers stifled her, because they wanted to keep her safe. How little she understood her mother, who kept her at far more than arm’s distance. How much she loved her father, who couldn’t imagine the dreams she had that reached far beyond becoming a wife and mother.

  Billy wished he hadn’t ruined everything by kissing her. Or, he thought wryly and more truthfully, by letting her kiss him. It wasn’t going to be easy to convince Summer to forego her visits for a while. Somehow he had to do it.

  He’d decided to meet her away from the house, at a shady spot near a stock pond on his property, where they wouldn’t be seen by his mother. He’d ridden there on horseback, taking advantage of the opportunity to repair some downed barbed wire fence along the way. Summer drove to meet him in her brand-new, cherry-red Silverado.

  She was already waiting for him when he arrived, wearing a tailored Western shirt, designer jeans that hugged every curve, and hand-tooled Western boots with her family’s Circle B brand on them, made especially for her by a bootmaker in Dallas. The clothes on her back would have fed his family for half a year. She had no concept of what it meant to be poor, and he could never explain it to her.

  Not that he’d ever tried. He’d known all along that he would only have her in his life for a little while. Until she fell in love—or her father found a man for her to marry. He’d planned to take off for parts unknown to seek his fortune long before he had to watch her walk down the aisle with some other man.

  She was sitting on the hood of her Silverado, leaning back with her palms flat on the shiny red finish, knees crossed, booted toe bouncing, waiting for him to come to her.

  “Hey,” she said with a smile that made his chest ache. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  “Had to fix some fence,” he explained.

  “I would’ve been glad to help.”

  “It’s done now.” He dismounted and tied his horse to one of the cottonwoods that shaded the pond, then crossed to her. She reached out her arms, and without even thinking, he grabbed her by the waist to help her down.

  He hadn’t intended to slide her along his body. It just happened. Every nerve ending came alive when the softness of her hips and breasts collided with the hardness of his own.

  “We’re not going to do this,” he said in a harsh voice.

  “Billy,” she whispered. “Please.”

  She looked up at him. And he looked down at her. And groaned in submission.

  His head swooped down, and he plundered her mouth. He told himself it didn’t matter, because this wasn’t going anywhere. One kiss. He’d take one last, desperate, soul-filling kiss. Then he’d tell her she had to s
tay away from him.

  For her sake. Because it was dangerous to hang around him, when he was a man without a future.

  And for his sake. Because she was only going to rip his heart out and leave him to suffer without one the rest of his life.

  One touch. That was all he wanted. He made a grating sound of satisfaction at the feel of her breast filling his hand, the weight and softness of it, the nipple budding beneath his fingertips. He caught her moan of surprise and delight in his ravaging mouth.

  His body ached with wanting her. Needing her. He already felt the fear of losing her.

  He yanked open her shirt, popping the buttons, which pinged against the front fender. He dragged the cloth halfway down her arms, unhooked the front clasp of her bra and shoved it aside—and admired the feast before him.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “So perfect.”

  He saw the hot flush rising on her chest, skating its way up her throat, and sought her eyes with his own. He stroked her hot cheeks tenderly with his knuckles, then brushed her long blond curls behind her shoulders, leaving her breasts bare.

  “Nobody’s ever seen me like this,” she admitted shyly. “I’m glad you’re the first, Billy.”

  He hadn’t imagined she was untouched. She’d attended a dozen different universities—and gotten thrown out of every one. She’d told him how she ran with a wild, wealthy crowd. How she’d dated so many rich, shallow boys. He hadn’t asked for details. He hadn’t wanted to know.

  “I’m glad, too,” he said, his throat suddenly thick with emotion. It was a wonderful gift. One he’d treasure all his life. He was wearing an undershirt with the arms torn out and cut to leave his midriff bare, and he yanked it off over his head, then pulled her close, flesh to flesh. “God, Summer,” he whispered in her ear. “I can’t believe…”

  “I know…” she whispered back. “I never thought…”

  He felt her mouth against his throat, felt her hot breath beneath his ear. Felt himself getting harder, when he’d thought he was as hard as he could get.

  He found her mouth and kissed her reverently. That didn’t last any longer than it took for her tongue to find its way into his mouth. He sucked hard on it and heard her guttural groan.