by Jill Gregory
“There’s just one thing,” she rushed on, before he could explode at her. “You see, Mr. Rawdon, the difference between me and your other prisoners is that I am innocent,” she said triumphantly. “That is the plain and simple truth.”
For an instant, as she met his gaze firmly and with unwavering conviction, he almost thought it could be true. Then he remembered how she’d stolen Arrow from under his nose, how she had gasped in pain over a supposedly broken ankle before sprinting for the horse with the agility of a deer. Juliana Montgomery was good, all right. She was very good. The lies poured from her lips as sweet as molasses.
“Keep talking, and I’ll gag you for the rest of the trip,” he flung at her. He pushed her away, relieved not to have to look into those luminous green eyes anymore, to glimpse the beauty they held, a beauty filled with deceit.
Cole stepped around her, and fished a pouch of tobacco from his pocket. He fixed himself a smoke, feeling restless and on edge, while the girl settled down in silence before the fire. Wrapped in his blanket, staring into the flames, she seemed unaware of how seductively lovely she looked. But he wondered if she knew the effect she was having on him, one that made him damned uneasy.
Amber firelight gilded the riot of heavy curls framing her face, and revealed every delicate plane of her chiseled features. Her skin had lost its icy-cold paleness, and now glowed in the flames, making her look so vibrant and alive, so tantalizingly soft and warm, that Cole had to fight the urge to ... to what? Grab her in his arms and kiss her? Make love to her right here on the gritty floor of this cave? He was disgusted with himself.
You’d think she was a regular woman, one of the girls in the Red Feather, someone like Ina Day. She wasn’t. She was an outlaw. She might be pretty, she might talk fine and smell good, and she might have the most enticing bare shoulders he’d ever seen, but she was as underhanded and dangerous as any of the scum he normally lassoed.
And he’d better remember that.
Turning his back on her, Cole smoked and worked at hardening his heart against the slender vision by the campfire. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down with her, she was without doubt an expert at manipulating men with her looks and her body. He wasn’t going to fall for her tricks. He summoned up the vision of Fire Mesa as he remembered it from his childhood, and he thought of that two-thousand-dollar reward and how it just might tip the scales in his favor.
The sooner he dumped Juliana Montgomery in the Denver jail, the closer he’d be to buying back Fire Mesa—if it wasn’t too late already.
Think about that. Don’t think about anything but that. Cole tossed the butt of his cigarette into the fire.
“Time to turn in.”
He spread his bedroll on the ground and the oilcloth beside it.
“Come here.”
Warily, Juliana rose and approached him. What now? She tried to draw back when she saw the rope in his hands, but he grabbed her wrists in one fist, and quickly hobbled them together.
“There’s no need to keep me tied up—I’m not going to run out into that rain ...”
“That’s right, you’re not. And you’re not going to kill me in my sleep either.” He fastened the remaining three feet of rope to his belt with quick precision, then lay down on his bedroll, forcing her to the ground by his movements.
“Sleep while you can. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”
Sleep? The oilcloth wasn’t much protection from the drafty cave floor. Cold air buffeted her. The blanket had slipped oft one shoulder and the rope bit into her skin. Juliana knew she wouldn’t sleep a bit.
She twisted uncomfortably, trying to find a position where the blanket was secure and where the ground didn’t feel quite so hard beneath her.
Cole Rawdon, three feet away, had his back to her.
“Stop squirming around and go to sleep,” he growled.
She thought his voice had a strange edge to it. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to make him any angrier than he already was, so she went perfectly still and stared up at the rocky ceiling of the cave, weirdly lit now by the dying gold embers of the fire.
She would never, ever be able even to doze. Not with the storm, the rope, the lightning, and, worst of all, Cole Rawdon’s powerful form right beside her.
At least he had made no move to touch her. But what if he did? Tension worked its way through her aching body.
She hadn’t a prayer of getting any sleep. She knew it. She would lie here, cold, miserable, and afraid all night.
But weariness swooped down on her like a hawk and carried her off before she even realized it, bearing her inexorably to the edge of slumber—and then beyond, deep, deep into the dark, limitless crevasse.
Curled unconsciously against her captor in a cave of black and amber, Juliana closed her eyes and slept.
10
She awoke at dawn to find Cole Rawdon standing over her.
“It’s about time,” he drawled.
Behind him, one of the horses whinnied as if in agreement.
Rawdon was fully dressed, including gunbelt and boots, and looked clean, shaved, rested—and impatient. “We’re breaking camp. Better hurry if you want breakfast.”
What she wanted, Juliana thought, was to be a thousand miles away from here. She pulled the blanket over her head with a groan. She couldn’t believe it was morning already. And she couldn’t believe she had slept. She managed to sit up then, combing the hair back from her eyes with her fingers. Cole Rawdon was watching her, his thumbs hooked in his pants pockets, his expression becoming more amused by the second.
Damn him. She must look a sight. It was never easy for Juliana to wake up before ten in the morning, and in the past she had always preferred to have her chocolate in bed before speaking to anyone, even her maid. Now she was on top of a damned mountain at dawn, being scrutinized by the most infuriating man alive, who looked as if he was ready for anything. For a moment, she wished she had fallen off that precipice into the canyon last night.
Juliana gave a sigh. Pulling the blanket up over her shoulders in an effort to preserve what was left of her dignity, she managed to stand without his assistance, every muscle in her back and shoulders crying out in protest.
Morning sunlight streamed beyond the cave’s entrance, flooding the fresh-washed world outside with clean, shimmering light. Looking down, Juliana realized that her bonds were gone, the bedroll was folded and packed, and fresh coffee had been made. It smelled heavenly. To her further amazement, a small animal of some sort was roasting on a spit above the fire, and the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat permeated the cave.
He’d been busy this morning, hadn’t he? Where in the world did he get the stamina?
The tantalizing smell of the meat filled her nostrils, and made her stomach growl, penetrating even her just-awakened fog. Lord, it smelled good. So did the coffee Rawdon had in his cup, steam rising fragrantly into the air.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she muttered as she headed toward the fire and the food.
“I can do a lot of things,” he commented with a grin, and raised one eyebrow. “Want me to show you some of ‘em?”
“No,” Juliana said hastily. But her stomach did a strange little somersault. He seemed different when he smiled like that—younger, almost agreeable, certainly less dangerous, and, if possible, even more handsome. She thought of asking him what kind of creature it was, there on the spit, but then she decided she’d be better off if she didn’t know. As eagerly as if she were sitting down to a china-covered spread of poached eggs, sausage, biscuits, and marmalade, she took the greasy meat he handed her and ate it with famished gusto. Even the black coffee was the most delicious she had ever tasted. Ladylike manners were forgotten. Juliana gobbled every piece as quickly as she put it to her mouth.
Cole studied her when she was intent on her food and not paying him any attention. If possible, she looked even lovelier than she had last night, her eyes soft and dewy with sleep, her pale
hair tousled about her face, her skin glowing with luminous beauty. Every now and then the blanket slipped off her shoulder and he caught a glimpse of a lace-edged chemise caressing her pale flesh. The chemise was pretty, delicate, just like her, he thought. And then he caught himself. No use traveling down that road. It could only lead to trouble. The problem was, he told himself, he was used to being alone—or else having some dirty outlaw scum trussed up before his campfire. Not a woman. Especially one as beautiful and dainty-looking as this one. Even the way she nibbled at the rabbit meat and took small, neat sips of coffee was elegant and graceful and somehow fascinating. How the hell did someone like her get mixed up in stealing? he wondered.
Easy, he answered himself quickly. He scowled, thinking of Liza, of how she and Jess had laughed when they’d left him for dead in the desert. The sound of that laughter still echoed in his head sometimes, hurting him more than the bullet ever had. The pain had never completely gone away. Maybe it had hurt so much because he’d only been a kid, and had still believed in friendship and goodness and trust. But Jess Burrows had taught him that friendship meant nothing when money was involved, that goodness was a myth and that trust—trust between friends, or between a man and a woman, led only to betrayal and pain, and probably death. Yeah, he’d learned all right and he’d better not forget those lessons.
This girl looked nothing like Liza, Cole reflected, dividing the last of the rabbit meat between himself and her. She was even more beautiful in her own way. And she was most likely every bit as cunning—maybe more. She’d probably gotten away with a lot before the law started to catch up to her in Denver; that would explain the unusually high bounty put out by Judge Mason. So the less he thought about her as a woman, Rawdon told himself harshly, the better. She was a prisoner, like any other. As his gaze flitted from the dusting of freckles across her nose, to those full, rose-pink lips she was licking, and downward, along the long column of her throat to where the saddle blanket hid the curves of her slender form, he swallowed. Like any other. He gulped down a freshly poured cup of coffee, scalding his throat.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” he said, trying to ignore the deep, burning pain the coffee had caused.
Juliana swallowed her last mouthful of meat and sent him a scathing look. “I’d rather not talk to you, if you don’t mind.” She tossed her head back. “Since you won’t believe a word I say, what’s the point?”
“The point is, I’m asking you a question and you’d damn well better tell me the truth.” He reached out suddenly and gripped her wrist. That got her attention. Her eyes went wide and met his head-on. “Are you related to that Montgomery gang that’s been holding up freight lines and stagecoaches all over the place?” he demanded.
For a moment he thought he saw something go tense and still in her face. She tried to pull away from him and failed.
“No.”
But her voice was weak.
“You’re lying again.”
“I am not! I don’t know who or what you’re talking about.”
“Then why did you think that hombre I shot in Denver was someone named Tommy? There’s a Tommy Montgomery heading up that gang.”
“So?”
“You and he have the same last name.”
Juliana shrugged. “So?” she said again, in a cool, haughty tone. “It’s a coincidence.”
“Then who’s the Tommy you mentioned?” he persisted relentlessly.
“N-no one. A former sweetheart, that’s all.”
The narrow-eyed look he fixed her with made her lick her lips nervously. He spoke in a low, even tone. “You married to someone in that gang, lady, or kin in some other way? Tell me.”
“I already told you ...”
“Lies. You’ve told me nothing but a pack of lies.” Disgusted, he hauled her to her feet so suddenly, the blanket slipped away. Her near nakedness was a shock for them both. Cole couldn’t help noticing the lushness of her curves, or the way her full breasts strained against the thin chemise, just as he couldn’t help the tension that hardened in his body at the sight of her. He pulled her close.
“When are you going to level with me?”
“I already have and you wouldn’t listen.”
She was struggling to get away, to reach the blanket, but he wouldn’t let her. Cole stared down at her, breathing hard. Her face was raised to his, and her expression was so filled with anger, fear, and some emotion he couldn’t quite read, that he could do nothing but gaze at her for a moment, caught in the spell of that heartrending, flowerlike beauty. Her hair spilled over her shoulder like sunshine, and he fought the urge to crush it between his fingers.
“Please,” Juliana gasped, not struggling anymore but aware of how tightly he held her, of the strength in that tall, muscled form. She felt vulnerable beyond description.
“Please?” he repeated, his eyes glinting. “Are you asking me to let you go—or to do something else?”
Heaven help her, for one instant she didn’t know. She despised him—didn’t she? And yet, there was a current between them, a potent electricity that jolted her senses as she stood here in his arms, half naked and afraid—yet not afraid. Her heart was pounding wildly, her body tingled every place his body touched hers, and she could not stop staring at his mouth.
What was wrong with her? This was insane. Cole Rawdon was her enemy. He had her in his power more surely than even John Breen would have if she had married him. Yet, she wasn’t frightened of him. Some instinct told her he would not hurt her, despite what he wanted her to believe. And especially not now, not the way he was holding her. Strange, she had never felt the smallest spark between her and John Breen: when Breen had touched her, it made her skin crawl. But Rawdon’s touch made every sense spring to life. He made her ache deep down. She ached for something she didn’t understand, couldn’t name, couldn’t figure out, yet she ached all the same. She wanted him to ... to what?
Kiss her. Hold her. Stroke her cheek, her hair. Tell her ... what?
“Crazy.” She didn’t realize she had said it aloud until she saw the smile curve his lips.
“You’re right. But you still haven’t answered my question.” His voice grew husky suddenly. “Or maybe you have ...”
She wasn’t fighting him, she didn’t want to get away. Without thinking, purely on instinct, Cole bent his head suddenly and kissed her. She might be an outlaw, but she was all woman in his arms. He kissed her hard and for a very long time.
Cole found her lips even more intoxicating than he had imagined. She tasted so sweet. Her scent was light and fresh, purely feminine. And that cloud of hair the color of spun gold nestled soft as flower petals in his hands.
Juliana couldn’t breathe. His lips imprisoned hers, and set them afire. His mouth was warm and strong and as determined about what it was doing as Cole Rawdon was about everything he set himself to. He stroked her hair, his hands rough, greedy, yet somehow gentle as they tangled themselves in her curls. She quaked inside and out. She felt explosive little ripples surging through her. Oh, it was madness, but she didn’t want it to stop. She never wanted it to stop ...
Suddenly, he shoved her backward and she lost her balance, nearly falling. Cole drew his gun and wheeled toward the cave entrance in one lightning movement, even as a man’s voice gasped out, “Whoa there, mister. We don’t mean you no harm.”
Two strangers crouched just within the entrance.
They looked to be prospectors. The older one had a pickax in his hand, and the younger carried a sack of tools slung over his bony shoulder. Cole stepped in front of Juliana, keeping his gun leveled on the elder of the two. He was a stooped man of about fifty, grizzled of face and with black, shining eyes, whose skeletal form was covered with frayed bib overalls and a tattered fedora that looked to have been through flood and famine. He had a gun stuck in his worn-out belt, and both his boots had holes where the toes ought to be. The other man, Juliana noted, was a gaping youth of no more than fifteen years, his flannel shirt
and trousers in even worse condition than his companion’s.
Cole studied them with a piercing glance.
“Who are you?”
“N-name’s Jebediah Garsden, mister. This is my boy, Gus. Now lookee here, we don’t want no trouble. No need for that there gun.”
“You ought to know better than to sneak up on strangers.”
“Wal, we wasn’t meaning to, but we was passing by and saw your horses—our claim ain’t far off.” He peered worriedly at Cole from beneath his hat. “You weren’t headed for it, were you?”
“Do I look like a prospector?”
“Nope, but that’s not to say ... well, never mind. Reckon me and Gus are just gettin’ suspicious these days. Heerd about a fellow whose claim got jumped over near White Mountain. Kinda makes a body think. You know, you folks ought to be more careful. We coulda been Apache or something, ‘stead of just a couple of miners....”
“Outside.” Cole still held the gun. “Let’s give the lady some privacy.”
The two backed out of the cave with Rawdon following right behind them. While she dressed Juliana heard the three men talking of the storm, the shortest route to the nearest town, the latest rumors of Apache renegades hiding out in the mountains. Her muslin was still damp, but she yanked it over her head anyway and pushed her arms through the sleeves, trying not to think about what had happened a few moments earlier. She didn’t know how she would face Cole Rawdon—or those other men. She didn’t know what she had been thinking of. That was the problem, she fumed inwardly, fastening the buttons of her dress up to her throat with shaking fingers, she hadn’t been thinking at all.
The word passion had never had any meaning for her before, but now she still felt warm with the heat of it. She was mortified, and furious with herself, and cringed with shame at the thought of facing Cole Rawdon beneath the merciless clarity of the sun. Why had she let him kiss her, and even kissed him back? Why did she feel passion for Cole Rawdon in the first place?
He was not an acceptable, civilized man. He was a bounty hunter, a dealer in flesh and misery. To add to that, he considered her nothing but a lying thief. So why had he wanted to kiss her? The answer made her burn with shame. Because men didn’t care about anything but a pretty face and a ... a comely figure. He didn’t give a damn about her. He had just wanted to satisfy some horrid male lusting ...