by Unknown
3:00 p.m.
“When are we leaving?” Jayla asked.
“In the morning,” was Wild’s quick reply.
Sitting in front of the fireplace, she sipped a cup of hot chocolate. Her second cup. Jayla felt restless. Itchy. Lack of activity and very little conversation was driving her mad, so she’d overindulged with the chocolate. She closed her eyes, but the sudden dizziness worsened. She was better off keeping her eyes open. Too much sugar. Her nerves jittered in warning. Her vision blurred. She knew better, damn it!
Jayla set the cup aside and rubbed her eyes. Damn, her blood sugar must be high. She shouldn’t have indulged with the cocoa, but she didn’t drink coffee. They were out of milk. Saving the containers of juices seemed like the wise thing to do in case her sugar bottomed out on her on the trip.
Also, a chill had invaded her bones all day and hot cocoa had sounded so tempting. However, she knew she’d pay the price for her carelessness. Usually she was very careful with what she ate or drank, but sometimes she hated the restrictions and rebelled.
She wondered if every diabetic felt that way.
Jayla rummaged for the little black kit. Locating it on the cabinet by the coffee maker, she took out the glucose monitor, lancets, and strips.
Wild looked up, his eyes narrowing as she stabbed her finger and dropped a dab of blood on the strip.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his hands stilling.
“Nothing.”
“Something is. You don’t usually check your sugar this time of day.”
“I do if I feel shaky.” Jayla eyed the monitor, waiting for it to flash the number. Two-fifty. Too high. Damn it! She took the bottle of regular insulin from the fridge, swiped the top with an alcohol wipe and plunged the fine-tipped needle through the rubber seal. Holding the bottle upside down, she drew five units of the clear liquid. Lifting her shirt, she pinched up some skin on her belly and jabbed in the needle.
Jayla gently pushed the end of the plunger. The icy liquid spread through the muscle. Maybe one day she wouldn’t have to do this. Maybe one day there’d be a cure for diabetes.
Carefully placing the cover back on the tip of the needle, she tossed the syringe into the waste basket by the stove. She looked up to discover Wild still watching her. A frown knit his dark brows. “Stop looking so worried. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have drunk the hot chocolate.”
Without saying a word, he walked into the tiny kitchen, took the box of instant cocoa from the shelf beside the sink, removed the remaining packages and ripped the tops off. She watched with disbelief as he poured the sugary powder in the sink.
She gasped. “What are you doing? You had no right to do that,” she exclaimed.
“I paid for them.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to waste it.”
“I’d worry you’d drink more if the urge hit you.”
“It still doesn’t give you the right—”
“Just like you didn’t have the right to burn the colt?”
Her mouth gaped. “Well…that was different…a matter of life or death.”
He lifted a brow.
Drat the man. He didn’t have to say another word. He made his point. How could she argue?
“It was my brother’s revolver,” he stated, irritation threading his voice. “He’s gonna be madder than a hornet when he learns that gun’s been destroyed.” He ran water, flushed the powder down the drain, all while flashing a smug look at her.
“Thanks for making me feel worse.”
“Yeah, well you have no idea how much he loves that set of guns. They were a
Christmas gift from Kaycee, his wife.”
“All right,” she snapped. “You made your point, but I’m not sorry I tossed it in the fire.”
“And I’m not sorry I dumped the cocoa.”
After that, it was like he turned back into a pumpkin at midnight or something. He returned to being the silent, angry man he’d been when she first arrived. Speak when spoken to only. She hated it—the utter quiet between them, this new widening gulf. It was like they’d hadn’t made love and she suddenly realized that was the problem. He regretted that they’d made love.
Well, she refused to let him get away with his hostility. Damn him and his sullen attitude. And how dare he compare her drinking hot chocolate to his plan to use the revolver on himself.
And she couldn’t just agree to marry him.
Her life was more complex than she liked and much more complicated than he realized. She wasn’t able to pledge herself the way he wanted. Hell, she hadn’t expected him to propose. The best she’d hoped for was that he’d be willing to let her live with him. But marriage? She hadn’t seen it coming.
Brooding, Wild stayed busy packing and preparing things for their departure—avoiding her as much as the little cabin allowed him to steer clear of her. When that didn’t work for him, he grabbed the ax by the fireplace and slammed the door behind him without a word of explanation.
She had no idea what he intended to do with it, unless he’d decided to work off his temper by chopping next winter’s wood supply. But no, an hour later he returned to the yard with two long skinny tree limbs. Jayla watched from the window over the kitchen sink while she rinsed their dirty dishes from lunch and placed them in the drainer.
What was he going to do with those two limbs?
Curious, she remained at the sink watching long after she’d finished washing the dishes. It took her awhile to figure out he was making a travois. He fashioned it long enough to carry their supplies, plus her.
Wild expertly braided two ropes together, looping them back and forth, making a criss-cross pattern until he’d fashioned a tight, scooped net between the poles. Huh. He’d formed a hammock of sorts, except flatter. He tied the ends around the poles, then carefully lined the sturdy bed with thick furs he carried from the lean-to.
She smiled at the tender feelings that overwhelmed her. He was making it as comfortable and warm for her as he could manage. Even pissed at her, he thought about her well-being. Tears blurred her vision. He’d make a wonderful husband.
As her baby stirred, Jayla placed a hand across her stomach—a wonderful father for her child. Damn! She refused to allow Wild all this silence. He had to deal with her whether he liked it or not.
She marched across the room, tore open the door, and stormed down the porch steps toward him. Wild looked up from scraping the bark off the limbs. An odd expression crossed his face. Yeah, she figured she must look mean as a mama bear charging toward him. He actually backed up a step, ax in hand, so she guessed her ruthless determination showed on her face.
“Go back inside,” he said. “It’s too cold out here.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. I’ve had people telling what to do since I was fifteen years old. I’m sick of it! I like thinking for myself, so don’t think just because I’m crazy in love with you, you can order me around.” She jabbed a finger in his chest. “And I detest being ignored.”
“I suppose you’d rather I fuck you,” he yelled. His face looked dark and fierce. Temper edged his voice. His mouth tightened. Yeah, he was pissed at her all right. Tough!
She fisted her hands on her hips. “Get mad at me all you want, Wild Remington. You can’t drive me away with your bullying tactics or a cold shoulder. I won’t go. I might not ever be your wife, but I’m never going away. So there! Suck it up and learn to live with me in your life.” She drew a deep breath and dove in. Might as well go for what she wanted. “You suggested I want you to fuck me? Let me make it perfectly clear. The answer’s yes. A very definite, yes. Anytime. Any place.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Never let it be said I ignored a lady’s desires.” With one solid swing, he buried the ax blade in a nearby stump. Wild headed toward her, a bit of a swagger in his walk. His long legs ate up the distance between them. “You wanna be fucked? Let me make it perfectly clear,” he stated, repeating her earlier words. “I’m the man for the job.”
Uh-oh. She didn�
��t like the glint in his piercing blue eyes. There was something there, something she hadn’t seen before—something a little dangerous and undomesticated. She’d awakened a ravenous wolf.
He circled her, his long lean body as intimidating as a wild predator’s.
She moved with him, slightly breathless, slowly twirling, not taking her gaze off him. Her palms tingled. Her heart thundered. He finally completed the slow orbit and halted in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat. Goodness. She’d never had a man surround her the way he’d just done. It was nerve-racking. Thrilling. He’d taken her measure as if trying to decide whether they’d fit. He had her scent now. He wasn’t about to leave hungry.
Holding up a hand, she slowly backed away. “Now, Wild, maybe you outta think about this before you act.”
“Uh-uh. Not a chance. Where you’re concerned, honey, I’m done thinking. I’m done backing away, done denying myself the pleasure of your beautiful body. You want me? You got me.” He trailed her across the yard all the way to the porch.
Jayla took the three steps without looking, scuttled through the door she’d left wide open, and stumbled across the room until the backs of her knees slapped the mattress.
“Oh, shit.” She was right where he wanted her.
Her heart hammered. She drew a deep calming breath and slowly released it. There was no need to be afraid, even if his arms bulged with powerful muscles and he could easily smash her bones into pulp. He’d never physically harm her. She knew that.
If he’d intended to hurt her, he’d have done so when she first arrived. Sure, he’d blustered and spouted threats, but in the end, he’d scooped her up, brought her here, and helped her. A man, who’d willingly rip up a sheet and fold the pieces into sanitary pads though it embarrassed the hell out of him, was a man worth keeping.
No, her heart didn’t beat with fear, but anticipation. The wicked light in his eyes warned her nothing was standing in his way or stopping him from getting to her. Silent as a feral animal on the hunt, he closed the door behind him with a soft snick.
Wild moved with the elegant grace and sleekness, all the smooth rippling muscles, and the magnificent strength of a mountain lion ready to pounce.
He paused long enough to shrug out of the duster and drape it across a chair, every move calculated. Keeping his hypnotic gaze on her, Wild scuffed off his boots and socks. Jayla swallowed as he toyed with the snaps on his dark blue flannel shirt. Once he unfastened it, he yanked it off, tossing the shirt aside.
His wide chest, covered with a smattering of dark hair, made her fingers itch. Curling her nails into her palms, she ignored the pain and waited breathlessly for him to whisk away the next article of clothing. Mercy. Couldn’t he speed things up a bit?
She held her breath. Waited.
He took his sweet time working the silver buckle with a bucking bronc and cowboy free of its little slot. Tugging on the belt, the soft leather slid out of the loops with a soft hiss. She exhaled, her breath escaping with a soft whoosh.
Wild lifted a brow. “You’re still dressed.”
A tiny grin played around his mouth. Mouthwatering dimples appeared on his cheeks. How had she missed those? Her hand at her throat, she nodded, waiting with giddy expectation. He dropped the belt on the floor near his boots. Jayla licked her dry lips. Watching him toy with the top metal button on his jeans was like denying a thirsty woman a drink of water. She was dying here, one metal button at a time. Her stomach twisted. Hurry, her mind screamed.
“Go slow,” she whispered, determined to savor every second of his provocative striptease. Damn, if she didn’t enjoy the sight of each new layer of skin he slowly revealed to her hungry gaze.
His eyes, such a fierce blue, glittered with amusement. “Ready?” he asked on a husky note.
Jayla barely stifled a groan. The dampness between her thighs told her she was more than ready. “For what?” she asked, slowly licking her lips.
He skinned the denim off his ass, down his thighs, past his knees and stepped out of them leaving a dark pool of denim the wood floor. She dragged her gaze past his toes, to his knees, up his muscled thighs to his—Good, Lord, he wasn’t wearing underwear. His shaft stood straight up, branding-iron hard, ready for action. The thick, smooth knob glistened—balls tight. Yep. He was sure ready.
She moistened her lips, swallowed back the dryness in her throat. He took a step closer to her. His cock sprang toward her like a hungry little monster. She giggled as it swayed closer toward her.
He grinned. “Smart cock. It knows what it wants.”
Oh yeah, she was ready. When it came to Wild Remington, she was born ready. Undressing her didn’t seem to be a problem for him. He whisked off her clothes in nothing flat. Cupping her breasts, he tweaked her nipples, teasing them into tight nubs. Gingerly, Wild pushed her down on the bed. The slow way he crawled on top of her sent her blood rushing. Her womb clenched. Before she caught her breath, he nudged her knees apart and locked his fingers with hers.
Jayla wrapped her legs around his hips. “Do your worst,” she whispered. “God, I’m so damn ready.”
“Good,” he grunted. “Hold on tight,” was his only warning. He buried his cock inside her in a single smooth thrust, then rolled with her settling her on top.
Jayla gasped, thrilled to feel the long, solid length of him filling her. All she could think was Ride ‘em, cowgirl.
And she so intended to do the job well.
* * * *
6:00 p.m.
Wild took the Winchester lever action .30-30 from over the fireplace and checked the clip. “I have four damn cartridges.”
Jayla tucked the sheet around her breasts and propped up on one elbow. Her heart grabbed at the hint of worry in his words. “You think we’re gonna need more than four?”
“I know we’re gonna need more than that. It isn’t just the assassin we have to be concerned about. There’s a hungry wolf pack out there. Hell, maybe more than one competing for food. If they catch the scent of the horses, they’ll trail us.”
“How early in the morning are we leaving?”
“Before daylight. If anyone’s watching, they won’t see us leave.”
She didn’t argue. Jayla figured he knew best what needed to be done. She didn’t want to leave the cabin. She felt safe inside it, but Wild was right. If they remained here, they’d die. They were ducks in a pond.
“Come back to bed,” she said softly. “Let’s enjoy what time we have left here.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow.
~Euripides
Rimrock, Montana
February 21, Saturday
3:05 p.m.
“You men plan to be in town for long?” Blake stood with his back to the door. He didn’t like these two. He sure as sweet hell didn’t like one of them standing behind him. There was something cold and deadly in their eyes. They lacked emotion, even when attempting to appear friendly and casual.
Chills slithered down his spine.
They were dangerous. He’d made a bad mistake coming here.
He should have listened to Danger.
Waited.
An ache settled in his gut. Sometimes a man knew when his death was imminent. He knew. He wasn’t getting out of here. He knew it. Felt it to his bones. His thoughts turned to his daughter. Gidget. His little girl would grow up without either of her parents.
Kane stepped around him and lifted a brow. “Some reason why we can’t remain in your friendly little town?” He said the words with a curl of distaste on his lips.
Relieved the man no longer stood behind him, Blake nodded. “Yeah. We don’t like strangers, especially ones who go around asking questions about one of our citizens.”
“You mean the convict?” Zaden asked from where he remained seated on the side of the bed. “I got the impression everyone was ready for him to disappear.”
Blake got the impression he was being circled by
a couple of alpha wolves.
“He’s done nothing wrong,” Blake replied, and stepped forward, closer to Kane. Maybe he could bluff his way out of this. “I wanna see some I.D.”
“Really?” Kane removed his wallet and held it out.
“Take it out of your wallet.”
“If you want it, come and get it,” Kane challenged.
He really didn’t like these two. Damn, he wished Danger was here. He knew better, but still he stepped closer and reached for the wallet. Even on guard, the flash of steel caught him by surprise. For some reason, he’d expected them to use guns. He should have known better, but lately, with Anna Leigh’s death weighing so heavy on his mind, he hadn’t been thinking straight.
The icy blade, cold and sharp, speared a cavernous path in his left side. Blake grunted. His body turned numb. Shocked, he glanced down at the knife handle sticking out of his gut, but to move, felt ridiculously impossible. This body, so strange, so heavy, as if it weighed a ton, couldn’t be his. His limbs and trunk were much too tired to work.
He watched, speechless as the other man rose from the bed and moved behind him. Zaden, yeah that’s what the man who’d knifed him called him. Zaden shoved him face down on the bed and Blake wondered helplessly why he’d do such a thing.
From afar, he heard the man say close to his ear, “You know, you’re kind of sexy when you’re quiet.” Yanking on Blake’s close-cut hair, he jerked the deputy’s head back. “I like that. It gives me a hard-on.”
The son of a bitch! He understood now what the man had on his evil mind. Blake struggled, but he couldn’t get free of either man’s hold on him. God. His belly burned. Blood saturated the side of his shirt and dribbled into the waist band of his jeans. The fuckers. They were like vultures circling around fresh meat.
The bigger man, Kane, jerked the revolver free of the holster strapped around his waist and held it in the air. “This what you’re trying so hard to get, deputy?” he taunted. “Naughty-naughty. Now what good do you think your revolver would do you?”