Fugitive Father

by Jean Barrett

  They managed to find a dry corner where they lowered themselves on a mound of hay. There was a silence between them as they sat side by side, knees drawn up. Ellie was aware of the awkwardness of the moment and feared its result. She was relieved when he spoke, even if the subject was a painful one.

  “Don’t suppose you gathered any nuts when you were out there in the woods?”

  “You would remind me of how hungry I am.”

  “Nothing we can do about it until we get to Homer.”

  Silence again. No other sound but the rain beating on the roof. The tension was between them again. She dealt with it by extracting a comb from her purse. Her braid had suffered on her flight, with escaped strands poking in every direction. She unfastened what was left of it.

  When she became aware of him gazing at her intently in the murky light, she stopped combing her long, loose hair. There was an expression on his face that made her insides flutter and her fingers tighten on the comb.

  “Relax,” he growled suddenly. “I’m too tired from that well to play house with you. Or barn either.”

  She could sense a harsh determination in him when he stretched out on the hay, his back deliberately turned to her. There was no mention tonight of binding their wrists together, even if the rope had been available. They both knew she wasn’t going anywhere

  She listened to the sound of the rain. Seconds later she could also hear the sound of his deep, even breathing. He was asleep. Realizing that she was equally exhausted, she couldn’t prevent herself from burrowing down in the hay and drifting off.

  It was completely dark in the barn when, sometime later, she opened her eyes. The temperature had dropped with nightfall, and she was shivering. But it wasn’t the cold that had awakened her. Noah was up and moving around in a stealthy manner.

  “What are you doing?” she challenged him as she felt a mysterious activity around her body.

  “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  And then she understood what was happening. He was covering her with a blanket of hay to keep her warm.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she whispered.

  “Sure I do. I don’t keep you healthy, I don’t find Joel.”

  She had discovered him being considerate, and he was embarrassed about it. His concern was touching and at the same time disturbing. How could she go on regarding him as the enemy when he insisted on protecting her? This had to stop! She couldn’t go on being susceptible to him, either physically or emotionally. She had to detach herself, and then somehow…

  But it would have to wait. Now that he had heaped the hay over and around her, she was no longer cold. She was nothing but sleepy.

  Much later, when she stirred again, she was vaguely conscious that the rain had stopped. There was the call of a whippoorwill somewhere out in the night. It was a comforting sound. Equally reassuring was the presence of the man settled close beside her, but she was much too drowsy to go into that.

  The next time she came awake it was daybreak, with fingers of pale light stealing through the cracks of the barn. Curled on her side, she was aware of Noah next to her in the hay. He was on his back and snoring softly. The revolver was out of his waistband, probably because it had been uncomfortable trying to sleep with it there. It was down at his side now between them, his fingers clasped around the butt.

  No longer in a vulnerable fog, alert now, Ellie realized what she had to do.

  Chapter Seven

  She didn’t stand a chance of getting the revolver away from him. If she tried to snatch it from his hand, he would be awake in a flash. She had made that mistake before and didn’t care to repeat it. And, face it, even if she had it in her possession, she had no idea how to use it. Nor did she want to use it.

  What Ellie did mean to do, if she could manage it, was to render the weapon useless by removing the bullets. She had been terrified of the thing ever since he had invaded her house back in St. Louis, scared that if he didn’t deliberately shoot her, or someone else, he might accidentally discharge the thing in a tight moment, which could be just as bad.

  Considering her fear and hatred of guns, what she intended was probably very foolish, but she was prepared to risk it. Anything to disarm him. Once she had the bullets, she could easily dispose of them, and with care and luck he would never know that she’d emptied the chambers. Not unless he tried to use the gun anyway.

  She checked on him. Still sleeping. Either she acted now, or she’d lose her chance. Quietly, slowly, she slid along his length until her eyes were level with the revolver. It had a swing-out cylinder whose chambers contained the ammunition. That much she could see and understand. The question was, how did you release the cylinder? Must be that little thingamabob there. Nothing else made sense.

  All right, she knew what she had to do. The trick was to open the cylinder without disturbing him, an operation that would require steady care. Why not? She was an artist capable of light, delicate brushwork. How different could this be?

  Making sure his eyes were still closed, ordering her fingers not to shake, she steadied the weapon by its barrel with one hand. With the other hand, she applied pressure against the sliding lever without shifting the gun. She caught her breath. What if she made a mistake? What if she fired the thing?

  There was a soft click. The revolver was angled in such a way in his grasp that the cylinder popped open without a protest. Even better, Noah never stirred. Neither the sound nor the slight movement had been sufficient to wake him. Now all she had to do was ease the bullets out of the chambers. Where were they? She couldn’t see them.

  Squinting, she peered into the swing-out cylinder, searching for the ammunition. There was a very good reason why she couldn’t locate the bullets. They weren’t there. All six chambers were empty.

  “Interesting area for your head to be, Ellie,” came his deep, lazy voice from above her. “Some guys might define the position as damn arousing. Even be prepared to accommodate you.”

  He was awake. For all she knew, he’d been awake the whole time and silently laughing at her. Her gaze lifted accusingly.

  “It isn’t loaded.”

  “It could be. Wouldn’t take much effort on your part.” He grinned down at her lasciviously.

  She shoved herself back from the vicinity of his hip, glaring up at him. “Damn it, you know I’m talking about the gun.”

  “Oh, that.” He carelessly tossed the revolver into the hay on his other side. “No, hasn’t been loaded since St. Louis. I took out the ammo first thing after I got the piece. Hell, Ellie, guns are dangerous. I’m surprised at you. You think I would have been carrying around a loaded revolver stuck in my waistband? I could have shot off something vital to me.”

  He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, including himself. This was what he was telling her in his flip way. She should have appreciated that, at least been relieved by it. But all she could feel was smoldering anger.

  “Let me get this straight. You’ve terrorized me with that thing, kidnapped me, held me hostage, threatened me at every turn, and the whole time it was empty. Does that about cover it?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I see. And now that I know, you don’t seriously imagine you’re going to go on controlling me.”

  She hadn’t meant her challenge as an invitation for a demonstration, but that’s how he chose to regard it. Scooting down in the hay, he put his face on a level with hers. “I don’t think I need a gun anymore,” he confided, his voice suddenly low and husky. “I think maybe I’ve got something better.”

  There was nothing about that battered face, so close now that his strong nose almost touched hers, she should have found appealing. Bits of hay clung to his chopped-off hair. He hadn’t shaved since the night before last, leaving his lean jaw shadowed by a stubble of beard. The dark eyes forcefully holding hers gleamed with arrogant confidence. She ought to have considered all of it distasteful, been outraged by him. Not mesmerized by his raw, searing gaze. Not breathlessly aware o
f the heat of his body squeezed intimately toward hers.

  “We both know I’m right, don’t we, Ellie?”

  There was a mellow, smoky quality in his voice now. It was seductive. Seductive and alarming. She strove to combat it.

  “Do we?”

  “I think so.” He lifted his big hand and touched her hair. His fingers were long and surprisingly sensitive. “I like your hair swinging loose like this. It’s got fire in it. Sends off sparks like those amber eyes.”

  “Then maybe you’d better back off before you get burned.” What was she doing telling him something like that? And why didn’t she just remove herself from the situation? There was no gun or rope involved this time. Nothing to hold her down here. Nothing but his bold mouth moving toward hers.

  “Not a chance, Ellie,” he promised her with a whisper roughened by desire. “Not a chance.”

  It was there again on the side of his jaw. That muscle she had noticed twice before, twitching like the steady beat of a pulse. She found it strangely provocative. But before she could question it, his mouth had angled across hers.

  His kiss was slow at first, almost languid as his hand continued to stroke her hair. Then he deepened their joining, his fingers telegraphing his need by winding themselves into her hair, tightening against her scalp while his lips tightened against her mouth. She, too, experienced the urgency of that kiss, her mouth welcoming his probing tongue.

  Where was her resistance? Why was she permitting this wanton assault? Even worse, she was participating in his kiss. A connection that left her weak and confused and fatally susceptible.

  He indicated as much when his mouth finally lifted from hers. “See, Ellie, much better than bullets.”

  Struggling to quell her rioting senses, she managed to croak a dry, “I don’t think something like this would have helped if that pig had decided to charge us last night.”

  “Then I would have had to wrestle him into submission. Maybe something along these lines.”

  Before she could object, he seized her by her wrists and rolled her onto her back. When she tried to free herself, he covered her with his powerful length, his body pinning her down in the hay as he continued to hold her by her upraised arms.

  “Let go of me,” she demanded.

  “Just trying to show you, Ellie.”

  She made the mistake of twisting her hips in an effort to throw him off. All she succeeded in doing was having her own body betray her. Her nipples tightened into rigid buds when his chest pressed against her breasts.

  “Soft, Ellie,” he murmured. “You are so damn soft.”

  His mouth lowered to hers, claiming her with another lingering kiss that involved his stroking tongue, his warm breath mingling with hers, and the musky aroma of him in her nostrils. Tremors coursed through her as he prolonged the kiss, savoring her lips with gentle little nibbles. His hands had released her wrists and were busy skimming the sides of her breasts. How was she supposed to withstand him when he was so blatantly, aggressively male? When her treacherous body yearned for his?

  This was madness. He was a killer, a fugitive. She wasn’t supposed to want him. It was wrong, wickedly wrong.

  There was a complacent glint in his eyes when his mouth parted from hers. “Told you I didn’t need the gun. Could be I’ve even made you forget all about Brett Buchanan. Have I, Ellie?”

  Sanity returned to her in an angry rush. She heaved against him violently. “Let me up,” she insisted. “Now.”

  He regarded her for a moment in silence, then complied, levering himself away from her. Ellie scrambled to her feet, putting distance between them before she trusted herself to turn and face him again. He was standing now, watching her.

  “Unless you want to add rape to all the other charges against you,” she informed him swiftly, “don’t ever try anything like that again.”

  “Funny. How did I go and get the idea that force didn’t have much to do with it?”

  She was shaking by now, determined to deny his effect on her. “You think I wouldn’t turn you in now, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong, because the first chance I get…”

  NOAH DIDN’T DOUBT her promise, nor his need to prevent any opportunity to hand him over to the cops. She’d been waiting to do just that since St. Louis, and it looked like their little tussle in the hay changed nothing.

  At the moment, however, he had no reason to deal with this threat. They had the country road to themselves as they tramped toward Homer. A few cars passed them, but none of them were interested in stopping. He didn’t blame them. At this point in the journey, he and Ellie were looking pretty unsavory. The night spent in the barn certainly hadn’t helped.

  If there were inhabited houses along the route, they were located well off the road. Noah wasn’t willing to invest any further time in investigating them. That left the necessity of this long hike.

  Under other circumstances, it would have been a pleasant walk. The weather today was agreeable with clear skies and a warm autumn sun. There were mockingbirds in the cottonwood trees and the residue of last night’s rain sparkling on the kudzu vines that sprawled over the banks on both sides of the road.

  Yeah, even though he was on the run and worried sick about Joel, he might have enjoyed it. If he hadn’t been so hungry his insides were howling. And if his companion had been willing to offer him more than a hostile silence as she trudged beside him.

  Ellie had barely spoken to him since they’d left the barn. Well, fine, let her fume. He had his own anger to deal with. Anger with her because she was convinced his kisses had been nothing more than an exercise in domination. And anger with himself for having played that little game with her in the loft. It was a temptation he should have resisted.

  Then, to make matters worse, he had gone and taunted her about Buchanan. Just like some damn jealous lover. What the hell was wrong with him anyway?

  But Noah had an uneasy feeling that he knew exactly what was wrong with him. He was falling for her. Well, it figured, didn’t it? He had a positive genius for lousy timing. It was the reason why he was in this mess, because if he hadn’t gone to the Buchanan mansion that afternoon…

  Forget it. It had happened, and he couldn’t go back and change it. But he could still prevent a serious involvement where Ellie Matheson was concerned. There was no future in it, nothing but the certainty of hurting both of them. So, no more episodes in haylofts.

  He slid a glance in her direction. She had bound her hair in the braid again. Good. She was much less alluring that way. Yeah, sure she was. Who was he kidding? She could shave her head and he would still want her. Given half the chance, he’d take her right here in the ditch.

  Wasn’t going to be easy keeping his promise not to touch her again, was it? In fact, he knew it was going to cost him a massive effort in self-restraint, and even then…

  IT SEEMED TO ELLIE that most of the towns in this part of Tennessee were situated in valleys, and Homer was no exception when they finally reached it. It was a sleepylooking, seen-better-days community strung out along a curving ravine. They could view most of it from the heights at the edge of the road where Noah stopped her before they descended the last stretch.

  “You get a choice before we go down there, Ellie,” he instructed her sternly. “Either you swear to behave yourself, or—” From his back pocket he produced the hateful length of clothesline he had retrieved from the van and waved it under her nose. “—I tie and gag you and leave you parked behind the bushes over there until the van’s repaired.”

  The hike had been longer than they’d anticipated. She was too hot and exhausted to argue with him. She gave him the promise he demanded, though surely he must realize she had no intention of keeping it. But she would have to be careful about a contact with anyone in Homer. Noah had the revolver concealed again under the sweater wrapped around his waist. Its empty chambers might no longer be empty. He could have kept the bullets after removing them and reloaded the gun while she’d used the privy before lea
ving the farm.

  It was in this cautious state that Ellie accompanied him down the steep hill. They passed the first houses at the edge of town and arrived at an intersection that offered them what they sought.

  Ray’s Gas and Repairs looked more like a graveyard for dead automobiles than a service station. But, judging from the size of Homer, it could be their only choice. Noah was prepared to risk it. Why not? she thought sourly. It isn’t his van. Ellie had long since regretted her clever little strategy with the sugar in the gas tank. None of it had turned out as she’d planned, and at this point she was feeling positively bleak about the whole thing.

  A bell tinkled above the door as they entered the ramshackle station. The interior was cluttered with junk, most of it looking like it hadn’t seen a dustrag in years. There was no one in evidence, but from an open hatch in the back wall came the clang of metal against metal.

  “Be with you in a minute,” someone yelled from that same direction.

  The bell must have been heard, which Ellie thought was rather remarkable considering a TV had been left blaring on the counter.

  “You keep quiet and let me handle it,” Noah warned her as they waited for the mechanic to appear.

  She eyed him in silence as he tugged at the brim of the Cards baseball cap. He’d put it on again during their walk, probably not to protect his head from the sun but in another effort to avoid recognition. Pretty unlikely in this place, she decided.

  Seconds later Ellie had a reason to change her mind about that. She was busy sneaking looks for a telephone. The possibility of making a call was remote, but she didn’t want to miss any opportunity. And that included somehow alerting the mechanic to her situation. She wasn’t at all interested in the noisy television set. Not until the newscaster turned to a startling update on Noah Rhyder’s escape.

  “St. Louis police, suspicious about the murder of a deputy transporting the two prisoners, disclosed this morning that, after lengthy questioning, the surviving deputy confessed to killing his partner. He had been hired to stage the getaway of mobster Kenny DeMarco. DeMarco is now back in custody. Fellow prisoner, Noah Rhyder, though not involved in the scheme, is still at large.” A picture of Noah with his beard and longer hair flashed on the screen. “And now a report on farm prices here in—”