“We must walk the horses to let them rest. Would you care to try Gilly?” Jacques gestured to the spare horse.
She started to slip off the right side of his horse.
“Other side,” Ford told her. “Horses are trained to accept riders mounting and dismounting from the left.”
She shifted to the other side and lightly dropped to the ground. Her face turned grim. She pointed down the mountain. “Ford, look.”
Below them, Jacques’s house, the outbuildings and cars appeared miniature. But Ford could still make out blue lights atop the cars. Several official-looking vehicles had pulled into the driveway. An explanation to Jacques wasn’t necessary since Ford had been upfront with the man before he’d hired him.
Jacques spat into the dirt, his face expressionless. “The police have no reason to come to my home. They must be looking for you.”
Clearly, the police had found the body at the hotel and already traced the carriage to Jacques’s horse farm. Ford had hoped for a longer head start. “If the police know we came to you, the Black Rose might know, too.”
“The cook will say nothing, but I must return, or they will be suspicious. I will draw you a map.” Jacques cleared a spot in the dirt and drew with a stick. “You must hurry, oui. The path through the forest is marked. When you come out, look for a forked tree at one o’clock. Behind the next hill is a cabin. Spend the night there. Do not travel through the night, monsieur. The mountain trail is too narrow, and the lady is not an experienced rider.”
“Who else knows about the cabin?” Ford hated to waste precious minutes talking, but knowing what lay ahead could be essential to their survival.
“The cabin is old, built before the war. Only a few men like myself know. Tonight, feed the horses the grain I have packed and rub them down well. Tomorrow, take the northern trail. I will send my brother to meet you. He’ll show you the rest of the way and bring back the horses.”
Devin mounted Gilly. “Thank you, monsieur. We will take good care of your animals.”
Ford made a mental note to send the man a breeding stallion after they returned home. Devin’s mare nickered softly and began to follow Jacques.
Ford almost grabbed the reins but stopped himself. If they were to survive, she needed to learn to ride. “Pull back on the reins gently. Turn her without hurting her mouth.”
At first, Devin’s touch was so gentle the horse ignored her command. Slowly she increased the tension until the animal obeyed her. “I think I’m starting to get the hang of this.”
“I knew you’d be a fast learner.”
Ford led the packhorse, and Devin followed. At first her horse kept stopping to graze, but she soon had command over the animal. The forest path rose gently, angling through pines. The grasses disappeared beneath a forest floor littered with pine needles, and the path widened. She came up beside him, a defiant gleam in her eyes. “You thought I would freak about the horse, like I did about being locked in the dark, didn’t you?”
He let her see the surprise on his face. “The thought never crossed my mind.”
“Good. I’m not usually a coward, but I can’t seem to control my fear of being enclosed in dark places.”
“So it’s not the dark that bothers you?”
She shook her head. “Not unless I’m someplace where I can’t get out.”
Sensing she wouldn’t have brought up the subject unless she wanted to talk about it, he didn’t ask any questions but let her tell the story in her own way.
She patted Gilly’s neck and threaded her fingers into the animal’s mane. “When I was ten years old, Rhonda’s parents invited me to Walt Disney World.”
“One of the rides frightened you?”
“I loved Disney.” She inhaled and released the air slowly. “We stayed at a high-rise hotel. A thunderstorm knocked out the electricity. The backup generators never came on. Rhonda and I were stuck in an elevator. In the dark. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe, as if the walls were pressing in on me.”
“You two were alone?”
She nodded. “Rhonda’s dad was meeting us in the lobby.”
“I kept thinking we would fall. Rhonda talked to me until she was hoarse. She held my hand and told me stories about princesses and magic dragons. If she hadn’t been there . . .” Devin shuddered. “I might have gone crazy.”
A tightness closed his throat. Rhonda had always been the first person to offer help to a friend. He was glad she’d been there for Devin. No wonder Devin hated being confined in the dark. He couldn’t imagine the courage it had taken to leap into the bread truck.
He took her hand, providing what small comfort he could. “If your only phobia is being confined in darkness, I’d say it’s a tribute to your courage.”
“I wasn’t courageous. I endured. Rhonda was the one who kept her head and was so good to me. I always wanted to return the favor, but she never needed me. At last, I’ve a chance to do something for her.” She clenched her free hand into a fist. “I don’t want to fail.”
“We’ll find the Black Rose,” he assured her. “I gave up once before for lack of clues. We don’t have much now, but we know his calling card, the roses on his victims’ pillows. Once we’re home, I’ll put Martin to work ferreting out information from the CIA and his other government contacts.”
“What makes you think he’ll succeed?”
“Martin has an extraordinary mind. Once he locks onto an idea, he won’t let go. And there’s nothing he hasn’t solved.”
“I hope you’re right, but I can’t imagine what we may have overlooked. Following the money trail is our best bet. The timing of the deposits from Henschel’s account to the Swiss bank can’t be coincidence and should lead us to the assassin.”
“And Anne is tracking down the growers of the black roses. Maybe she’ll have some answers when we reach France.”
Devin tilted her head back and peered through the fir trees. “Is the temperature dropping, or is it just my imagination?”
“The sun’s going down. I’ll unpack a jacket.” He halted his horse, climbed down and approached the packhorse. Finding the jackets in the saddlebags under the slicker, he handed her the smaller one, then donned the other before remounting.
“I’d like to arrive at the cabin before nightfall. Are you up for a trot?”
“That’s like a fast walk?”
“A little bumpier. Keep your heels down.” He led the way, knowing her horse would match the pace. Over his shoulder, he caught her biting her lip in determination as Gilly trotted after him.
They broke out of the forest about twenty minutes later. He stopped and surveyed the view. In the direction of one o’clock, he spotted Jacques’s forked tree. They had another hill to cross before they reached the cabin.
A dark cloud scudded toward them, partially blocking the setting sun. In the distance, ragged edges of black clouds lay over the isolated hills and tumbled down the craggy gray slopes. Shifting gusts of wind buffeted the clouds, casting shadows over the rock-laden valley below.
Ford reached for the slickers. “We’d better put these on before we’re drenched.”
She took the one he offered her, pulled the rainhood over her head and tied the drawstring under her chin in a cute little bow. The yellow slicker draped her like a cape, with slits for her hands to hold the reins. “If we’re going to get wet, we might as well be moving forward.”
The storm held off longer than he’d expected. They’d almost reached the forked tree before the heavens split open, sluicing them with icy rain. The gray hillside turned to slick brown mud, and the horses worked to drag their hooves through the sucking goo.
Thunder rolled across the valley with a dragon-size gust of wind that flapped a corner of Devin’s slicker. Spooked, Gilly reared, nostrils flaring. Wide-eyed, Devin lost the reins and th
rew her arms around the horse’s neck. Ford swore, twisted to grab her reins and missed.
Her mount crashed down on all four hooves, splashing water and mud in Ford’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. The wind snapped her slicker once more. Gilly snorted and broke into a terrified gallop.
By the time Ford’s vision cleared, her horse was halfway across the rock-studded hillside, and his heart hammered his ribs at the sight of her on the runaway horse. Devin clung to the animal’s rain-slick back. But how long could she hold on?
AT BREAKNECK SPEED, the horse’s powerful hindquarters bunched and released, hurling woman and beast over a jagged outcropping of rock. The jarring landing rattled Devin’s teeth, cut off the scream in her throat.
Wind swept back her hood. Needles of rain pounded her back and sneaked under her slicker until her clothes stuck like paste. With numbed fingers, she clutched the horse’s mane, one thought reverberating in her head.
Keep your heels down.
She wedged both feet in the stirrups and prayed Gilly wouldn’t pitch her onto the sharp rocks. She desperately needed to regain control, but she dared not release the mane to grab the dangling reins.
As she ducked under a branch, the horse swerved and skidded in the mud. Devin tilted to one side and clenched the mare’s slippery neck to remain astride. Gilly stumbled, but the game horse didn’t go down. Devin’s sore rump and leg muscles shrieked for relief, but she held on.
Lightning flashed ahead, and the zigzagging brightness lit up the hillside like fireworks. Gilly halted straight-legged, flinging Devin forward. The pommel gouged her side, chasing from her lungs what little breath she had left. Only her death grip around Gilly’s neck prevented a fall onto the rocks.
Throbbing pain from the pommel jerked her upright.
They’d stopped.
The horse’s head drooped with fatigue, and rain ran down her back and neck in rivulets. The animal’s sides heaved, and she sidestepped, nervously avoiding the rocks.
Fighting the agony in her side, Devin bent and retrieved the reins. The movement seared fire from her hip to her backbone. She closed her eyes until she gained control of the pain.
Swaying, she reopened her eyes, forced herself to look around. Darkness had fallen, leaving her in blackness except for the occasional lightning bolt. She saw no sign of the forked tree, Ford or the cabin. He had to be looking for her, but in this storm she could barely see ten feet. With the poor visibility, she had no idea where the runaway horse had taken her or even if she’d crossed the border into France.
If the assassin caught her now, she’d be helpless except for her gun.
Her gun.
Fumbling with the saddlebag, she slipped her hand inside, gripped cold metal and yanked out the weapon. After taking the gun off safety, she chambered a bullet.
“Steady, girl,” she said to Gilly.
Mustering all the strength in her legs and arm to hold the horse firm, she waited for a break in the thunder, pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The echo of the shots were puny compared to nature’s cacophony. Gilly trembled but didn’t so much as raise her head. Let Ford hear my signal.
Devin counted to one hundred and fired the last shell. Closed her eyes. Drifted in and out of consciousness.
SHE OPENED HER eyes to the sight of the tanned cords of Ford’s neck and the feel of a pulsing heartbeat against her cheek. She sat crosswise on the saddle with her head tucked beneath Ford’s slicker, his strong arms around her waist, his wondrous male scent embracing her. Drowsy and exhausted, she shut her eyes and rocked back to sleep.
The next time she woke, she found herself staring at the ceiling beams of a pine-scented cabin. Rain plunked and pattered against the roof, and wind whistled around the corners and seeped through the cracks. Inside, the cabin was dry and cozy. A fire crackled in a woodstove. An oil lamp cast a circle of light, and only the corners of the room remained dark. She couldn’t see Ford, but his wet shirt hung over the stove, dripping into a rusty frying pan. Wrapped in a blanket, she lay on a sleeping bag on the floor, a dry jacket pillowing her head.
She was naked.
Ford must have stripped off her wet clothes before placing her under the blankets. While she couldn’t fault his first aid, she felt decidedly uneasy.
How could she be worried about Ford’s opinion as if she had no other concerns? She admonished herself.
By now, the police and the Black Rose must know where they were headed. They had to leave tomorrow to beat the assassin to an airport. And she was in no shape to ride. Just turning her head caused pains to shoot down her side to her hip. Fire radiated from her tender side, and her legs cramped. The hours of cold had stiffened the muscles, and at the slightest movement, she had to grit her teeth to hold back a groan.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and a gust of wind and rain blew in with Ford. Shirtless, he kicked the door shut, strode to the stove and stacked the armful of wood he’d carried inside, then rubbed his hands in front of the fire.
Firelight reflected off his glistening chest, highlighting his toned muscles with red, gold and orange. Water trickled over his hard face and sculpted cheekbones, down the strong lines of his neck. Soaked jeans clung to his muscular thighs and slim hips like steam to a mirror. As if feeling her gaze, he twisted until his eyes captured hers with a fierce possessiveness. “How do you feel?”
“Just peachy,” she croaked, her words barely audible.
While her response brought a flicker of admiration to his eyes, his face remained grim. “I saw the bruises. Don’t try to move.”
He didn’t have to worry. She rested her head on her folded jacket and watched him pour water from a canteen into a cup. He’d brought the saddlebags inside and draped her clothes over a chair beside the stove.
Ford approached, kneeled beside her and lifted her head. The blanket slipped from her neck to her collarbone. At his closeness, the pounding of her heart was so strong she couldn’t believe he didn’t hear it. She greedily sipped from the cup, wondering how her throat could be so parched after her thorough drenching. A shiver racked her.
“Are you cold?” His voice registered concern as he pulled the blanket back up to her chin and tucked the edges around her.
“Maybe a little.” Grateful to be inside and dry, she refused to complain, but she had to fight to keep her teeth from chattering. “Where are the horses?”
“In a shed out back. I fed them and rubbed them down.” With an unreadable expression, he set the cup beside her and returned to the fire. “I’d never have found you if you hadn’t fired those shots. It’s amazing you stayed on Gilly.” The admiration in his tone warmed her.
“I remembered you telling me to keep my heels down.”
After loading the stove with wood, he returned and offered her more water. Again she drank, and the blanket slipped. Ford’s gaze didn’t leave her face. How far would the blanket have to go before he noticed? “You carried me here.”
“Yes.”
“You undressed me.” She stared directly into his eyes, seeing wariness vie with something else, something she would have called desire on the face of another man.
“Yes.”
He didn’t defend his actions. Didn’t explain. Didn’t ask if she’d understood the reason he’d removed her clothes. His bold glance held hers without apology. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
Her lips went dry. Here it comes. The comment that would shred her fantasies, where he’d make some crack about sharing body heat. The comment that would reduce Ford to regular-guy status. The comment that would help her to resist his charm.
“We make a good team.”
If she’d still been drinking, she’d have sputtered water all over. Instead, she choked back a coughing attack at his unexpected words. Was he talking about their working together or
something else? Different interpretations formed in her head as she stared at his hard-hewn face. His cryptic statement revived his earlier advice on what to say if she was unsure how to respond. “Really?”
His sonorous voice rang with sincerity. “For a while there, I thought I’d lost you. I’m glad you’re okay.” He touched her shoulder. Fickle nerve endings registered a tingle dancing down her arm. His touch affecting her was a bad sign.
A good feeling.
Warmed to her toes by his slight caress, she suddenly felt too hot under the blanket. His fingers traced a path up her neck, and his thumb stroked the line of her pulse, sparking and firing tantalizing sensations.
Assigning any special meaning to his gesture was a fool’s game. He’s just being kind. He would do the same for any woman. A glance into those steady blue eyes told her he’d recognized her response. With his fingers skimming her pulse, he’d known exactly how his touch aroused her. He’d missed nothing—neither her instinctive response nor her effort to hide it. His preoccupied expression told her he was factoring in this new knowledge about her, deciding how to proceed.
She’d inadvertently given him an advantage she couldn’t regain. Although inexperienced with men, she was no fool.
Now that he knew how she’d respond to his slightest touch, he could guess the depth of her feelings. Despite every effort, she couldn’t banish her feelings about him. Instead, she’d enhanced budding emotions with solid memories of the heat of his muscular chest, the strawberry taste of his kiss, the afterglow from his gentle embrace.
She didn’t just want him . . . she loved him.
She loved him. The realization sliced like a hot blade, painful and dangerous.
Yes, he made her feel safe, cherished and yet he respected her strengths. He seemed to like her for who she really was.
But that wasn’t enough.
She loved him. But he would never love again. He’d told her so.
He’d told her he wouldn’t try to replace Rhonda again. She had no reason to believe otherwise. Ford was a hard man, but a man of his word. So she’d never admit her feelings.
Born in Danger Page 10