IN BED WITH BOONE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  "I know," Jayne whispered. "Now what?"

  Without thinking, Boone cursed.

  Jayne cleared her throat in a not-so-subtle reminder that she didn't like that word.

  "Fudge," he growled. "I have no idea now what," he said softly. "I should have known that Darryl would have to see this with his own eyes." His step didn't falter. "If I say run, you go. Don't question me, don't hesitate. Just run. You head for those hills over there." He looked toward their destination but did not nod his head. "You don't stop, you don't slow down."

  "But what if you—"

  "And don't look back," he interrupted. "Whatever you do, don't look back."

  Her steps faltered a little on the uneven terrain, but she said nothing.

  "Far enough," he said, coming to a halt.

  Jayne looked up at him, fear and strength and indecision in her eyes. Green eyes with a touch of blue. Blue flecks he hadn't seen so well in the dimly lit room he'd shared with her for two nights and one and a half days.

  She reached up and bracketed his face with her hands. Her fingers trembled, and the caress of those hands was so soft and tender something deep in his gut went thud. Without saying a word, she rose on her toes and laid her mouth over his. She kissed him. Not a passionate, tongues-dueling kiss, but something sweet and intoxicating and breathtaking.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Boone saw Darryl approaching. Gritty dirt kicked up with each step, and Darryl laid his massive hand on his own weapon, a revolver tucked into his waistband.

  When Jayne ended the kiss and dropped down to stand flat-footed once again, Boone laid his hand over the butt of his weapon. "Run."

  She did. Without hesitation she turned and ran toward the hills. Boone drew his Colt and took aim.

  "Fire," Darryl said.

  "Now where's the sport in that?" Boone grinned and closed one eye as he aimed at Jayne. "I'm going to give her a few more feet."

  He stood there and watched Jayne run. She didn't look back; good girl. She ran as fast as she could, but he had a sinking feeling it wasn't fast enough.

  Darryl cursed and drew his own weapon. Boone, anticipating the move, spun and kicked the weapon out of Darryl's hand.

  The fat man bowled and grabbed his wrist. "You're letting her get away!"

  When Boone still made no move to shoot Jayne, Darryl bent down to retrieve his weapon. Boone spun again and kicked Darryl—in the jaw this time. Darryl was caught by surprise, and at the moment it didn't matter how big he was. Boone's heavy boot, with the proper force behind it, was too much for him. He jerked up and twirled around, before falling to the ground, flat on his ugly face. Unconscious.

  Boone scooped up Darryl's gun and ran, following Jayne's path. It didn't take him long to catch up with her. When he did he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. She turned her head to look at him and sniffled as her pace slowed.

  "Is he dead?"

  Boone shook his head. "No. Killing someone, even Darryl, would only land me in a world of trouble."

  "Are you…" She continued to nun, even though she hadn't stopped crying. "Are you hurt?"

  Boone grinned and held his arms out wide, to show Jayne that he was unhurt. He held one weapon in each hand, his and Darryl's.

  Jayne stopped crying and she also stopped running. Just as well. They had a long way to go and there was no way they could run the whole time. "You're an imbecile," she said, her face going pale. "You might have gotten yourself killed back there!"

  "I'm fine," he said. "You're fine. We're both fine."

  She gave an indignant snort, and then her expression softened. "I thought you were going to get yourself shot."

  Jayne had been worried. She hadn't cried once since this whole debacle got under way, but she'd cried for him.

  He shook off any hint of an idea that she might care about him. Women like Jayne, they cared about everyone and everything, right? Feed the world. Free the whales. Cure the disease of the moment. Worrying about a P.I. with a death wish was just another cause to add to her list of things to do.

  And it didn't matter at the moment that she wasn't his type, that if not for chance they never would have met, that they lived in worlds so different they probably wouldn't be able to function together outside disaster mode. None of that mattered. He still wanted to add Jayne to his list of things to do.

  * * *

  Boone insisted that they move quickly. Darryl was out cold at the moment, but there was no telling when he might come to or what he would do when he did. Boone seemed to think they had a small window in which to put some distance between them and the shack. For one thing, Darryl was going to have to get another weapon and wait for the boys to return. He wouldn't take off after them on his own.

  He didn't hang on to Darryl's gun. When they were far from the shack, he stopped and emptied the gun of bullets and pocketed them. He dismantled the weapon quickly and efficiently, then threw the pieces in three different directions. That done, they resumed their jog.

  Jayne's feet were already killing her. Her coral pumps were not made for running. Her heart beat too hard, as much from the fear of wondering what might've happened to Boone back there as from their pace. It had been his instruction not to look back that got to her.

  Boone might have died just to get her out of that place and away from Darryl, and he didn't seem to give that sacrifice any significant thought at all. She'd known him two days, and he was willing to put his life on the line for her.

  Not just for her, she imagined, but for any damsel in distress. Boone Sinclair definitely had the knight-in-shining-armor complex.

  He jogged beside and just ahead of her, that long hair dancing, the sound of his footsteps solid on the uneven ground. She'd always imagined sand when she thought of Arizona desert, but this rough landscape was brown and rugged, dotted here and there with interesting, barren-looking red rock formations. No sand, no blooming cacti. Still, if she wasn't so tired she might find it beautiful.

  "I need to take a breather," she said, slowing to a walk.

  Boone turned around. "No time for a breather, not if we want to make Rockvale by nightfall."

  "Just a minute," she said. "Please."

  He stopped and so did she, and with a critical eye he looked her up and down. His eyes stopped on her feet. "I wish we could have rounded you up a good pair of boots. Tennis shoes, at the very least. Why on earth did you wear such impractical shoes?"

  She loved her pumps! "Sorry," she said softly, "but when I left the hotel in Flagstaff, I really didn't plan for this contingency."

  He grinned and turned his back to her, then dropped down to his haunches. "Jump on."

  "I will not!"

  He glanced over his shoulder, smile gone. "We can't just stand here and wait for Darryl. You don't weigh much. I can carry you for a while."

  Tentatively and without dignity, she climbed onto Boone's back, her arms snaking around his neck. He snagged her legs as he rose to his feet, so that he caught her under the knees.

  "I haven't ridden like this since I was eight and my dad took me biking."

  Boone started jogging. "Don't tell me," he said. "You wore tiny little high-heeled shoes."

  "No." She smiled. "I just got tired."

  They quit talking. Since Boone was jogging and carrying her, he probably didn't have the air in his lungs to carry on a conversation. She didn't have anything to say, not really. Here she dangled, literally wrapped around a man who was, in spite of everything that had happened, a stranger. Why did she trust him? Why did she believe everything he had told her? She had no real reason to trust Boone Sinclair, but she did.

  Jayne's eyes scanned the rough terrain. There were snakes here, she knew it. Rattlers, for sure, and probably other little sneaky poisonous snakes that didn't bother to warn unsuspecting joggers with a rattling of their tails. There were surely other critters close by, too, but she didn't worry about them. But the snakes…

  The hills Boone ran toward seemed to get no closer. The small to
wn of Rockvale was on the other side of those hills, according to him. Once there they would make a few phone calls and this would be over.

  Well, it would be over for her. Boone's job, whatever had brought him here, was unfinished. Thanks to her. Would he go back to complete what he'd started? Surely not. It would be foolishly dangerous to do such a thing.

  He turned and headed for the shade of a rock outcropping to his right, and once there he dipped down so Jayne could slip off him and stand.

  A nice breeze kept the afternoon from being too warm, but come nightfall it would be cold. She knew that. They couldn't stop here for long, but Boone certainly needed to rest.

  He reached into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small bottle of water. The man thought of everything. He uncapped it and handed it to her. Jayne took a quick sip and returned the bottle to him; he surely needed water more than she did.

  He took not much more than a sip before reaching into another inside pocket and drawing out a pack of cheese crackers. He opened the pack and gave her one.

  "I'm not hungry," she said.

  "Eat it. At this rate, we'll be later than I figured getting to town. I don't want you getting weak from hunger."

  She ate the cracker, took another sip of water and looked toward the hills. "I should walk on my own for a while," she said. "You can't carry me all the way."

  He grinned as if none of this mattered. "You don't weigh much."

  "Enough," she said. "It can't be…"

  Boone's easy smile faded and he held up a hand to silence her. He looked back the way they'd come and squinted. Then he muttered a very foul word.

  "Fudge," she reminded him. Again.

  He laid long-suffering eyes on her. "I hear motorcycle engines, and I see dust clouds headed this way."

  Jayne felt a little dizzy. No matter what kind of shoes she was wearing, she couldn't outrun motorcycles. Neither could Boone.

  Boone searched the area carefully, his gaze scanning everything and finally going up. "There," he said, pointing high above Jayne's head.

  Jayne tilted her head back. There was a narrow crevice in the wall of rock. It was a good twenty feet up. "We might be able to hide in that … cave, or whatever it is," she conceded. "But how on earth are we supposed to get up there?"

  "We climb." He wasn't about to argue or cajole. There was no time. He grabbed Jayne and gave her a boost. "There are plenty of footholds in the wall. You just have to find them."

  Jayne's survival instinct helped her to very quickly find places to hang on with her hands and with her feet. It was not a secure feeling. At Boone's insistent urging, she found a foothold a little higher and inched her way up.

  She proceeded that way, Boone directly behind her, her eyes on the crevice above, for what seemed like hours but had to be minutes. Now she heard the motorcycle engines, too.

  "What if I fall?" she asked breathlessly.

  "I'll catch you."

  She wanted to look down at Boone but didn't dare. "You can't catch me! We'll both fall!"

  "Then don't let go," he said tightly.

  He was just beneath her, urging her up, prodding her to move more quickly. Once or twice he physically prodded her with a large hand to her backside.

  "What if the motorcycles you hear are law-enforcement officers looking for me?" she asked breathlessly.

  "If we see them and they're official, we'll call out and you'll be properly rescued. If we don't determine that they've been sent by Daddy, we sit still and assume they're working with Darryl."

  "The boys," she muttered. "Drat!" she drew one hand briefly away from the rock wall.

  "What's wrong?" Boone asked.

  "I broke a nail," Jayne said, resuming her slow climb.

  Behind her, Boone laughed softly.

  "It's not funny!"

  "Of course it isn't."

  Her foot slipped once, and somehow Boone caught and steadied her ankle with his hand.

  "I'm not an outdoorsy person," she said, frustrated. Her arms and legs ached, and she couldn't breathe deeply.

  "No kidding," Boone said.

  "I don't think I can make it."

  "We're almost there. Keep moving, sugar." This encouragement was aided by another shove of his hand to her backside.

  Jayne moved up a few more inches. "Would you please keep your hands off my ass!"

  "Yes, ma'am." More than a touch of humor colored his low voice. "You move it, and I'll keep my hands off it."

  She climbed faster, as fast as she could, and finally, hallelujah, she reached the crevice. She glanced inside before scurrying in, well aware that her skirt was too short and too narrow for climbing into a cave in a ladylike manner. She was not dressed for crawling over rock. A couple of times, she'd thought about asking Boone for her underwear. Surely they were dry by now! But she hadn't asked. The time and the mood had never been quite right for such an embarrassing request. As she made her way into the small cave, her right shoe slipped off and fell.

  Jayne scooted all the way to the back of the small cave, and Boone scrambled in after her. Almost immediately she saw that he had her lost shoe in one hand. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least they wouldn't have to worry about the searchers—if they were indeed Darryl's men—finding evidence that she had been here. She leaned back against the cool stone wall and brought her knees up not quite to her chest. She reached out her hand, silently asking for her coral pump, but Boone grabbed her by the ankle and slipped the shoe on.

  First her rear end, now her foot. "Really, Boone…" she began.

  He placed a finger to his lips and then leaned close. Too close. And whispered. "Sounds carry out here, and whoever's on those motorcycles is almost here."

  She whispered into Boone's ear, moving a long length of dark brown hair out of her way. "I doubt very much they can hear me over the motorcycle engines."

  As if in answer to her very logical argument, the engines that roared out there in the wilderness died.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Boone didn't move. He rested one hand on Jayne's knee and listened carefully.

  Whoever was out there had parked their motorcycles and were searching the area on foot. There were two of them, by the sound of things, and they had stopped to search around the red rocks, to reach uneven and craggy places where the motorcycles could not go. If they decided to climb up and search this cave, he and Jayne were in big trouble.

  Boone laid one hand over the pistol at his gut. If anyone stuck their head in this cave, he just might have to blow it off.

  A voice drifted up. "Nothin'. They ain't here."

  Jayne stiffened. Apparently she'd recognized Doug's voice, too.

  "Yeah," Marty said. "I think while Darryl was passed out, Becker grabbed the woman and they headed in another direction. We would have found them by now if they were out here."

  "Maybe," Doug said. "Lots of places to hide, I reckon."

  Boone listened and waited, but the boys didn't move on. "We can't head back yet," Marty said. "Darryl will have our hides if we show up too soon."

  "I know. Maybe if we wait out here a while, some of those boys Darryl has checking out Meeker will find something."

  Boone breathed a sigh of relief. Darryl had sent men to search the town that was situated a few miles closer to the shack than Rockvale, the one-stoplight crossroads he and Jayne were headed to. He'd known Darryl would search Meeker, which is the reason he and Jayne were not going there. He'd still have to be careful, though. Darryl could easily expand the search to include Rockvale.

  Darryl must really be furious if he was calling on other men and bringing in motorcycles for the boys to use in the search. Darryl liked to keep his circle of "friends" small.

  "You know," Marty said, sounding puzzled. "I never took Becker as the sort to go soft over a woman. I mean, he blew a really big deal for a girl."

  "She musta been good," Doug mused.

  Boone glanced at Jayne
and saw that she had her lips pursed and her knees locked together.

  "No woman's that good."

  The boys settled in for a conversation about their own limited sexual experiences, comparing notes. Embellishing their most memorable encounters. Boone looked at Jayne once and found her blushing and staring straight ahead, glaring at the fascinating sight of a stone wall.

  Well, apparently they didn't know yet who Jayne was or that Jim was alive. The escape had taken them away from their newly stolen TV and the news, he imagined. Didn't really matter. They'd find out soon enough.

  He sat there for a while—one hand on the butt of his pistol, the other on Jayne's knee—feeling strangely grounded. Doug and Marty's topic of conversation changed, thank God, to something safe and ordinary. Soap operas.

  Eventually Jayne relaxed a little. He felt the change come over her, like a wave of serenity passing through her body. After a few minutes she rested her head against his arm.

  "Sleep, if you want," he whispered. "We might be here awhile."

  She didn't speak, but she did nod her head and close her eyes.

  The woman was amazing. Prudish, annoying, short-tempered … and amazing. She had weathered this crisis more bravely than many men he knew would have, never falling apart, never wailing—unless he pinched her. And she slept easily and deeply. Her life was on the line, and still she slept. She slept because she naively trusted him to take care of her, to get her out of this mess alive and unhurt.

  He didn't deserve that trust. Jayne would do well to learn that it wasn't safe to put her life in anyone's hands. Least of all his.

  She sighed, and in her sleep she nuzzled her cheek against his arm.

  Amazing.

  * * *

  Several things happened at once. Jayne heard the distant sound of motorcycle engines, a hand nudged her, and she opened her eyes to discover that she no longer slept with her cheek on Boone's arm, but was curled up with her cheek resting on his thigh.

  She sat up quickly, trying to ignore the awkward position she'd awakened in. "It's almost dark," she said, looking out the cave entrance.