9781618854490WildChelceeNC

by Unknown

  “Please let him be okay,” she prayed aloud. “Don’t you dare die, Wild Remington, and leave me all alone.” Tears clogged her throat, but she refused to cry. No, sir. She wasn’t giving up or giving in to weak feminine tears. That would be like saying he was dead. She refused to accept that. Wild was okay. He had to be. “Come home to me, cowboy. I’m not finished with you yet.”

  Yanking on her shoes, she fought to control her terror. The raging power of the wind nearly knocked her to her knees when she flung open the door once more. In just those few moments while it was closed, the wind more than doubled in strength. Her shirt and sweat pants flattened against her. Her hair whipped in her eyes blinding her, but that was okay. She didn’t need to see in order to shoot into the air.

  Standing in the doorway, she scowled. Hell, if she shot from here, she’d fill his porch roof full of holes. Jayla stepped to the edge of the porch and gasped. Lordy, it was horrifying. The wind nearly lifted her off her feet. Gasping, she staggered back two steps before she managed to steady herself.

  Snow lashed her face, bitter cold and wet. Struggling to reach a porch rail, she wrapped one arm around the rough, cedar post, raised the gun high with the other hand and pulled the trigger, again and again and again.

  But there was only one discharge, one tiny blast, then utter silence, except for the fearsome howls of the wind. Jayla stumbled back inside the cabin, tussled with the door before managing to slam it shut, and stared at the pistol in her hand, horror-struck.

  One shot?

  Why the hell would Wild have only one bullet?

  “He lied to me. He’s always getting on to me for lying and he lied to me?”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out he hadn’t told her the truth. There was only one reason he’d have a single shot in that revolver. If he wasn’t planning on using it again, one was enough.

  This time the tears escaped and spilled down her face. He wanted to die? Because of the things she’d said about him, because he’d served time in prison due to her lies? Fiercely angry, she clenched her fists.

  How dare he throw his life away over her falsehoods?

  He was better than that, better than any old lies she’d told about him.

  Furious, she marched to the fireplace and flung the pistol into the flames. She’d waited seven damn years for him, seven years, and by God, he wasn’t offing himself! She’d kill him! Swear to God, she’d shoot him herself for wanting to give up on life. No matter how bad it got, life was precious.

  Ooo, but she had a few things to say to Wild Remington when he got home—and he’d damn well better hurry up and get here.

  Jayla chewed on her lower lip. What else could she do to help Wild locate the cabin? No more ammunition meant no more gunshots. She frowned.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so damn dense.” She smacked her forehead at her ignorance. There was a dinner bell hanging on the porch, one of those old-fashioned triangle things. She could clang it until he located the cabin.

  Snatching her coat off the back of the chair, she jerked it on and pushed the buttons through the loops. This might take a while, but she wasn’t coming back inside until her man was safe.

  “Please, God, bring him home to me. I’ve never, never asked You for anything. Ever. So, just this once, I’m begging You, keep my cowboy safe, and if You could find it in Your heart to be a little generous…could You maybe somehow figure out a way to get him to love me…just a little?”

  Chapter Twelve

  A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.

  ~Carl Reiner

  Northern Montana

  West side of Dancing Star

  February 20, Friday

  7:10 p.m.

  When the mare stumbled for the third time, Wild admitted he was in trouble. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t mean he was admitting defeat. It was just a minor setback. Defeat was what he’d felt in prison, locked away behind the cold iron bars, with men who were little better than animals and meaner than a pack of rabid wolves.

  When he’d first arrived at the Montana State Prison, he hadn’t been too proud to admit to himself he was afraid. Overcrowding, lousy meals, and living in each other’s pockets was enough to make any man wary, especially when the warden looked the other way when an inmate carried out a grudge against another.

  Wild imagined it was a lot like living in a zoo with nothing but dangerous animals, and each day proved he hadn’t been far off in his rumination. In the early days of his arrival, panic attacks struck frequently and without warning.

  One minute he was fine, the next his heart pounded. He couldn’t breathe. His chest hurt. His skin got all sweaty, and his lungs simply refused to cooperate—like now.

  The day his pardon arrived, he’d been terrified someone would stick a shank in his spine before he walked out of there a free man. He’d never felt more petrified at any time he’d been behind bars until that last day—those final hours.

  Prison had been hell, but those last few hours he’d waited for all the paperwork to clear and his freedom granted was like being trapped inside a living, breathing nightmare, only he’d been awake.

  Thank God those days were long behind him.

  He prayed he never saw the inside of a prison or cell again.

  Wild huddled deeper in the saddle. He might be here freezing his ass off for Jayla Ross, but at least he was free to make that choice. With the wind howling, he couldn’t hear anything. He didn’t know if that was a blessing or reason to be scared stiff.

  He no longer heard the wolves’ mournful cries, but that didn’t mean they weren’t stalking him and the mare. They could come out of nowhere. He’d never see them until it was too late. Skillful hunters, they surrounded their prey, attacking from all sides.

  They’d been known to bring down a grown elk as long as they kept it out of icy water. No frozen streams around here in this neck of the woods, so that meant him and the mare were little challenge. If his horse went down, he was done for.

  Wild glanced around. The immense wilderness spread before him, a white blanket with foggy patches enclosing him, smothering in its vastness and so enormous it boggled the mind. It reminded him of his life, of how empty and lonely he’d been. At this moment, he didn’t have time to dwell on what fate tossed his way.

  He wasn’t prepared for an all-out assault from a wolf pack. His response time to an attack would be slow and clumsy at best. The same theory applied to the assassin, except he hoped the killer had better instincts than to be caught out in this kind of weather.

  Not that he gave a crap, except if the assassin had a self-protective instinct, then that meant he and Jayla were safe—at least for a while longer.

  The mare lowered her head and slowed her pace.

  “Come on, girl, you can do it. Take us home.” Wild muttered encouragement to her. The driving force of the wind and the pure white of the blinding snow made it impossible for him to even see his hands on the reins.

  There sure as hell was no spotting the cabin.

  He might be only a few yards away from it, and still miss it. Depending on the mare’s instinct to find the cabin was his best bet.

  Wild shifted his weight in the saddle, and like the mare, lowered his head against the vicious onslaught of the biting wind. He huddled deeper inside his coat, pulled his hat down tighter, and prayed.

  “Come on, where are you? Where are you?”

  Huh. A man had to be losing it when he started talking to a nonexistent cabin.

  He worked his fingers, squeezing them over and over. His hands hurt, but they were definitely losing sensation inside the leather gloves.

  So why not his mind?

  His fingers were beginning to feel numb, just like his entire body. The temperature had taken a nosedive, dropping at least fifty degrees in less than an hour. The only thing he wanted at this moment was to return home to Jayla, make certain she was safe, and get warm again.

  What if she started bleedi
ng again or had a miscarriage and needed him?

  What if she needed the insulin before he made it back to her?

  He had no idea how often she took it.

  A sudden fear shot through him and he thought he’d die right there. God, what if the fire went out and she didn’t know how to rebuild it? He didn’t know her capabilities. He should have asked before racing out of there like a–a lovesick fool determined to save his lady.

  His lady? Love? Jayla Ross?

  Oh, hell, no! No way. He absolutely had no feelings for the trouble making woman, other than he detested her. Jayla was the worst liar he’d ever had the misfortune to cross paths with. She’d ruined his life. She didn’t care who she hurt as long as she got her way.

  But in some horrible way he was unclear about, he had the bad feeling he’d ruined her life, too. Somehow, someway, he suspected he’d failed her seven years ago. He knew he’d failed her, and the guilt that tormented him every day and night in that hell-hole prison had chewed away at his soul because he’d been helpless to fix it.

  He owed Jayla something. He just wasn’t clear what—revenge or an apology.

  Damn it, he should never have walked away that summer day and left her standing there alone. He didn’t know who attacked her, but he knew she’d only partially lied on that witness stand. He wasn’t the one who raped her, but he was damn sure the one who’d left her there alone and defenseless—all because he’d been a coward.

  He couldn’t think about that.

  Trying to figure out Jayla and the reasons she lied was like trying to rope the wind. He needed to think about reaching the cabin. Safety. Survival.

  Where is the damn cabin?

  The icy air cut ruthlessly through his lungs like a sharp scalpel. It hurt to breathe. His chest ached until he thought he couldn’t draw the next layer of frozen air. He’d stopped shivering and that was a bad sign, wasn’t it?

  The mare lagged, and who could blame her? Time was running out. For him. For the horse.

  Wild lifted his head and searched the distance. Nothing but white.

  “How much further?” he whispered.

  Surely the cabin was close.

  Crack!

  For a moment, Wild’s heart leapt to life. His head snapped back up and jerked in the direction of the gunshot. Close. Very close. Jayla! The killer had found her and ended her life. No. No. That was impossible. No one knew she was here. Did they? Fuck! He didn’t know if anyone knew or not.

  Wild nudged the mare in the direction of the gunshot, but since the wind had snatched the sound right out of the sky, he lost his sense of direction immediately. He tensed.

  What the hell was that?

  Clang-clang-clang.

  The sound registered over and over again. Bells? He was hearing bells? Church bells, maybe? Was the good Lord calling him home?

  He paused, listening.

  Clang-clang-clang.

  What on earth?

  A grin played around his mouth. The dinner bell. God bless her. Jayla was clanging that damned old dinner bell. He nudged the mare into motion. “Come on, horse, we got a lady waiting on us. No need to make her wait too long.”

  In seconds, that felt more like an eternity, he saw the wavering lights from inside the cabin. The wonderful, beautiful lights, and there stood Jayla on the long front porch clanging that damned old triangle and waiting like a bad tempered warden.

  “Get inside and close the door,” he yelled over the wind.

  “You get inside,” she yelled back, obvious temper in her voice.

  What the hell was she pissed about?

  Wild frowned and slid off the mare. “I have to take care of the horse first. I have to make sure she’s bedded down for the night, and there are a couple pack horses, Violet and Buttercup. They both need feed.”

  “Rosie, Violet, and Buttercup?”

  He grinned. “Yep. My sister has this thing for flowers and horse’s names.”

  “Two more horses?”

  Wild nodded. “They’re old, not fit for much. I use them to carry a few supplies up here now and again.”

  Jayla stood there shivering. “What if you get lost between here and the little lean-to?”

  If his lips hadn’t felt numb, he might have grinned again.

  Little lean-to?

  Who the hell called an open-sided barn a little lean-to? The long back wall faced the north, but the open side faced south. Several feeding troughs were lined up and a couple of tubs of water. On one end, he stored the saddles, blankets, bridles, bits, reins, chaps, and spare horseshoes in case one of the horses threw a shoe.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I tied a rope from the side of the cabin to the little lean-to before I left. I can find my way back. Now get inside.”

  She folded her arms across her breasts and glared at him. “I’m waiting right here, so if you don’t want me to turn into an icicle, you better hurry back to me.”

  “Stubborn woman,” he muttered. “I’ll hurry!”

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said sweetly, “right here. And don’t think for moment you’re getting off easy for the lie you told me.”

  Wild didn’t turn back, but winced at the mulish look on her face. Damn woman. She was determined to drive him nuts. How the hell had she figured out he’d lied to her?

  He yanked on the mare’s reins. “Come on, girl. Maybe it’d be safer if I just bed down with you tonight. Yeah, it might be a whole lot safer.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.

  ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Northern Montana

  West side of Dancing Star

  February 20, Friday

  7:30 p.m.

  Jayla hurried inside the cabin and closed the door behind Wild. Right on his heels, she jerked off her coat and slung it across the ladder-back chair by the door. Pausing, she gave him a quick once over.

  He’d stopped in the middle of the room. Swaying, he stood less than a foot away. Standing. Just standing. The look on his pale face reminded her of a zombie, utterly blank.

  What was he doing just standing there staring at the wall?

  “Wild?” She stepped in front of him, but she didn’t think he noticed. He looked so far away, his eyes vacant. It spooked her. Dear God, he couldn’t move any further inside the room. Carefully, she took the leather bag from his hand.

  “Wild?” she repeated, trying to keep the terror at bay.

  No reply. His silence was more frightening than anything she could think of at the moment.

  “Let’s get you out of this coat,” she coaxed gently.

  Jayla worked the long duster off his shoulders and arms. She pulled at the leather gloves tugging them off his hands and tossed it all aside. Too slow. She was moving too slow. He needed help. She wasn’t providing it fast enough.

  “You wanna get closer to the fire?”

  “Th–the…fire?” he repeated. He sounded as distant as he looked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Jayla raked her lower lip with her teeth. This was so not good. “Yes, we need to get you warm. You have hypothermia.”

  At least she thought it was hypothermia.

  She fumbled with the buttons on his flannel shirt.

  “Wha–what are–yo–you doing?” His teeth bumped together like dry bones. All at once, his big body shook like a mighty oak about to topple in a storm.

  Shit! She didn’t know what to do for a person who was nearly frozen to death, other than try to get him warm.

  But weren’t there some kind of rules that applied?

  Did one simply warm him as quickly as possible or go slow?

  Was it a good sign he was shivering or really bad?

  Jayla couldn’t believe how much her hands shook. She squared her shoulders. She was merely frightened, but he was nearly frozen. She couldn’t leave him standing here like an android. This had to be done. The only thing left to do was follow her instincts and pray she
did the right thing.

  Tearing the red flannel shirt down his arms, she quickly yanked the thermal shirt underneath it over his head and flung them aside. Self-doubt reared its hideous head again. Dear God, what if she did something wrong, maybe caused his heart to stop?

  “Here, sit down so I can take off your boots.” She shoved him onto a hard-backed chair and struggled to drag the boots off his feet.

  “Can’t–feel–my–t–toes,” he stuttered.

  Jayla looked up and felt like weeping. The color of his face reminded her of wet chalk, white and pasty looking. “I’m hurrying,” she said, but it seemed to take forever to work the wet leather off his feet, then the thick, damp socks. Her heart plummeted at the sight that met her eyes. She pressed the bleached looking skin on top of his foot with her thumb tip. No return. Not an ounce of pink to assure her his blood flowed to the lower extremities. She pinched the end of his big toe. “Can you feel that?”

  “No,” he managed and closed his eyes. “I–can’t–fe–feel–anything.” He flashed a whisper of a smile at her. “Whe–when–did–you–be–become–Na–nancy–Nurse?”

  “I volunteered a lot at the hospitals in D.C. I watched and learned a few things. ”

  “Re–really?” Even half frozen, she heard the disbelief in his voice.

  Clenching her jaw, she ignored the spurt of temper she felt. Why was it so difficult for him to believe she cared about others? “Yes. Believe it or not, there’s a brain to go with the beauty,” she snapped, then felt like an idiot for saying such a thing.

  A weak grin flashed across his lips. “I always knew you had a brain…wasn’t so sure about the beauty.”

  She snorted. “You didn’t look.”

  “I–I looked clo–closer than yo–you think.”

  Jayla shrugged. “I’ve thought about applying to nursing school. Something always seems to get in the way.”

  “You–sho–should–do–do–it.”

  A tiny thrill darted through her that he thought she could do it and perhaps become a Florence Nightingale. “Your feet and toes look like slabs of marble.” She gasped. “Frostbite. You must have frostbite. What do I do? I need to thaw your feet…don’t I?”