Joanna did her best to swallow the fear clawing up her throat. He was leaving her! He was—
“I’m sorry.” With the fingers of one hand, he stroked her cheek. The leather of his glove was soaked through, but beneath it she felt the heat of his skin. “I don’t want to leave you here alone, but we’ll never outrun them riding double. I have to throw them off our trail. I’ll be back, I promise.”
Joanna squared her shoulders and held his gaze. “I know you will.”
Pace dropped his hand and, with the piece of white fabric torn from her blouse tucked into his shirt pocket, swung back into the saddle.
“Pace, wait,” Joanna called softly. “Take the slicker.” She started shrugging out of it.
Pace glanced down at his soaked clothes and offered her a wry grin. “Kinda pointless, don’t you think? You keep it. I won’t be long.”
Joanna swallowed again. “Be careful.”
“You too. I guess I don’t have to tell you to keep quiet.”
She shook her head.
With a nudge from Pace’s bootheel, the buckskin stepped back out into the rain. “And do me a favor,” he called lowly. “Don’t blow my head off when I come back. I’ll let you know it’s me.”
Leaving Joanna alone beneath the ledge was one of the hardest things Pace had ever had to do. Those big green eyes of hers…a man could drown in them and die happy. He’d seen the fear on her face, had seen her struggle to hide it.
Damn Juerta for putting her through this. Cactus spines. Under the fingernails.
Pace wouldn’t have left Jo alone if he’d had another decent choice, but decent choices were as scarce as dry ground just then, and Pace was tired of playing cat and mouse. Or, more specifically, he was tired of being the mouse.
He rode back up the hill to where the trail split, where the dead tree leaned out across the righthand trail. He tore the piece from Jo’s blouse in half and snagged one of the pieces on a limb. On the next limb, he snapped the tip and left it hanging. If Juerta was any kind of tracker at all, or if he had a tracker with him, he would follow.
From there, Pace took that righthand trail, hoping Juerta was close enough behind him that the rain wouldn’t have time to completely wash out the buckskin’s tracks in the mud. The rain was still coming down hard, but the ground was taking the hoofprints deep. It would take a while for them to disappear.
The trail dipped down between two hills. At the lowest part, muddy water rushed by, runoff from the hills above. Not knowing how deep it was, Pace eased the buckskin in, relieved to find that although swift, the water was only a few inches deep. As they climbed out on the other side, he gouged the horse with his heels. The buckskin leaped forward, digging deep, unmistakable marks in the trail.
At the top of the next hill the trail turned to gravel. Pace reined the horse south and down into the scant shelter of a small grouping of cedars.
Looking down at the remaining scrap of Jo’s blouse, he wished he was bare handed so he could feel the fabric that had been next to her skin. Short of that, he brought it to his nose and sniffed. She was there in the scent he detected.
When he realized what he was doing, he shook himself. He had no business acting like a love-sick calf. Awareness, however, did not stop him from carefully folding the small scrap and tucking it into the leather pouch that hung from a rawhide thong beneath his shirt.
That done, he dismounted and went back on foot, wiping out all signs of passage where he’d left the trail.
It took him a good twenty minutes to work his way back to Joanna, stopping regularly to go back and wipe out his trail. He came toward her from the south, pausing before crossing the open ground, seeing nothing on the trail above her but gray rain. She waved to indicate she saw him.
Hurrying, knowing time was running out, he rushed to the shelter beneath the ledge, dismounted, and handed her the reins. “Keep him quiet. I’ll be right back.”
Joanna wanted to protest his leaving her again. He was so wet and looked nearly as tired as she felt, and it was dry beneath the rock shelf. But the horse had left tracks across the open ground, and Pace was concealing them, smoothing some out with his hands and letting the rain erase some, covering others with gravel.
Then he was back beside her, taking up what little room was left of their shelter. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat. He took it off and shook it. To keep his voice from carrying, he bent toward Joanna’s ear. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but you’re soaked. You must be freezing.”
It felt strange to have someone worry about him. Not bad strange, but good strange. So good, in fact, that he turned his back on her to stare out at the gray rain still coming down in a deluge. She was family, that’s why she cared. No other reason.
Then she started drying his hair with the blanket, and he forgot about family. All he could think of was a woman’s hands. How long had it been? Had a woman ever stroked his hair like this? Joanna wasn’t even touching his hair, only the blanket was, yet he felt it clear to his fingertips.
Joanna stroked and blotted as best she could. His hair fascinated her. He’d never worn it so long before. It reached halfway down his back, thick and straight and black as night. It was nearly as long as hers. On some men, such long hair would look effeminate. On Pace, it only accented his masculinity.
What was this new warmth inside of her that spread every time she looked at him, or touched him, or he touched her? She’d never felt such a thing before. Was this what it meant to want a man? This need to touch and be touched?
Joanna stepped back and clutched the blanket to her chest. If Pace knew what she was feeling, would he be appalled, as he’d been when he’d realized her father’s feelings for Serena had changed? Or did that look Joanna occasionally caught in Pace’s eyes mean that he felt these same stirrings?
“Pace?”
“Shh.” He placed a hand over the horse’s nose and drew his pistol.
Joanna heard it then, the crunch of a hoof on gravel. The snort of a horse. The cough of a man.
She drew her own pistol and, breath held, stood frozen to the spot as men on horseback passed directly over their heads. Pebbles and small rocks displaced by the horses’ hooves tumbled over the ledge and landed mere inches from the toes of Pace’s boots.
Joanna’s heart whacked against her ribs. It seemed that any second a face would peer down at them. She swallowed hard and steadied the gun in her hand.
Then a shout came. “¡Alto!”
Chapter Seven
Directly above Joanna and Pace’s heads, the riders drew to a halt, a few of them cursing.
Pace knew they’d found the piece of cloth he’d left for them. He eased over until he shielded Jo with his body. With one hand, he continued stroking the horse’s nose to keep him quiet. Silently he urged the Mexicans to take his bait.
Come on, you bastards, follow the tracks.
The rain came down, as hard as ever. Joanna squeezed up beside him and took over keeping the horse quiet. Pace tried to push her behind him, but she wouldn’t budge.
Joanna knew what he was trying to do, shielding her that way. If she didn’t fear being heard by the men above on the trail, she would have told Pace that she appreciated the gesture, but she’d be damned if she would hide behind his back. She was scared nearly witless, but as far as she knew, no Colton over the age of two ever let someone else do their fighting for them. She would stand beside him, whether he liked it or not. She told him so with her eyes, and saw one corner of his mouth curve upward. The small smile served to bolster her courage.
Overhead, a saddle creaked. Boots shuffled on gravel. Someone directly above their hiding place had dismounted. Joanna held her breath, wishing with all her might that she, Pace, and the buckskin could simply become invisible.
Someone on the trail laughed; another man cursed. And through the gray rain, a stream of yellow liquid arced beyond the shelter as one of Juerta’s men relieved himself over the ledge.
&nb
sp; Fire stung Joanna’s cheeks.
With his eyes darting from the ledge to the trail and back again, Pace pursed his lips and put a hand over Joanna’s eyes. She had to bite her tongue against a nervous giggle.
A voice sounding like gravel drifted down from overhead. “El jefe, he wants this gringa bad, sí?”
“Sí, el segundo, he says el jefe wants her very bad.”
“Do you think we’ll get a turn on her before she dies?”
“Quizás, mi amigo. Quizás.” Perhaps.
“¡Andole, muchachos! They went this way!”
The riders moved out slowly, taking the false trail Pace had laid.
Joanna started to speak, but Pace motioned her to quiet. Leaning over until his lips touched her ear, he said, “That wasn’t all of them. Wait.”
They waited until Joanna thought she might scream, so tight were the muscles in her throat. After what seemed like an hour but was probably no more than a few minutes, more riders crossed above them. When this second group was gone and nothing could be heard but the rain, Pace turned to Joanna. “They’re gone,” he said quietly.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Joanna holstered her pistol. “Good.” Then she leaned against Pace’s chest and trembled.
So, Pace thought. She wasn’t quite as tough as she let on. But she’d stood beside him, ready to fight. That took courage, especially if she’d been this afraid. He slid his arms around her and pulled her close. “You did good, Firefly, real good.”
Pace held her in his arms until her trembling eased, and then he held her some more, reluctant to let go of her.
Embarrassed by her show of weakness, Joanna pushed herself away and broke his hold. “Sorry. I’m okay now.”
With one gloved hand, Pace tilted her face up until she met his gaze. “You don’t have one damn thing to be sorry for. It doesn’t matter a damn if you were scared. You stood your ground. That’s all that counts. Your old man taught you well.”
Joanna pushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek and smirked. “Don’t let Rena hear you say that. If I did what Daddy wanted, I’d hide behind a man every time a shadow crossed my path. Your sister is the one who taught me to stand on my own. And you. You taught me, too.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do. You taught me a lot of things.”
“I mean about Matt. He can’t have changed that much, that he wouldn’t teach you how to take care of yourself.”
Joanna smiled. “Okay, so I exaggerated. But to him, I’m still his baby girl. He forgets that I’m a grown woman. I hope you won’t make that same mistake.”
Pace saw something in her eyes that he couldn’t name, but it looked suspiciously like a dare. He allowed himself the brief luxury of eyeing her from head to toe. Even with his rain slicker engulfing her, it was impossible to mistake her for anything other than a woman. “I don’t think I’ll have any trouble remembering.”
He hadn’t meant for his voice to deepen to an intimate tone, but he didn’t seem to have any control over it. Nor could he keep his fingers from stroking the line of her jaw, or his mind from wishing he had taken off his gloves so he could feel her smooth skin.
“Come on, Firefly,” he said huskily. “Time to ride.”
They mounted up and left the shelter of the ledge. Out in the heavy downpour once more, they rode back the way they’d come, out of the hills and onto the grassy plain. It was slow going, because Pace stopped often and made sure they left no tracks.
By the time they’d gone a mile north along the edge of the grassland, he stopped worrying about tracks and sent the buckskin into a canter, intent on putting as many miles as possible between Juerta and Joanna. He urged the horse on until the animal’s breathing grew heavy and labored, then he slowed him down. As soon as the horse regained his breath and cooled off in the rain, Pace quickened the mount’s gait again.
Pace was glad to be heading north. If he could cross into New Mexico, he doubted Juerta would follow. Pace didn’t want to cross into New Mexico, though; he wanted to skirt up near the border and shoot west from there. That way he could avoid most of the arduous mountain trails. He would avoid towns also, if possible, for even though it had been more than ten years since the last Apaches had surrendered, hatred for the tribe still ran deep in Mexico. Deeper here, even, than in Arizona.
Pace never worried about being recognized as an Apache, but he had Joanna to think of. He would not willingly subject her to more danger than necessary.
The deluge continued for another couple of hours. Then, as suddenly as they’d ridden into the rain that morning, they rode out of it. Behind them, the storm continued. Ahead, it was hot and dry. Joanna shed the slicker, and in less than an hour, her clothes and Pace’s were completely dry.
The adrenaline that had kept Joanna going when they’d hidden from Juerta beneath the ledge in the hills had long since faded. By the time Pace worked his way back into the hills, among the rocks and trees, and found a place to camp, Joanna was leaning heavily against his back. A couple of times in the last few miles, the slender arms wrapped around his waist had gone slack and he’d felt her slip sideways, only to jerk herself awake at the last minute before falling off the horse.
“Come on, Firefly, stay with me,” he told her.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“Don’t apologize, just stay awake for a little while longer, will ya? I don’t want to have to explain to the family that you didn’t break your neck until after you got away from Juerta.”
Groggy, Joanna patted him on the thigh. “You’re so sweet.”
Pace smiled wryly. If he wasn’t so damned tired, that pale, slender hand on his thigh would be driving him wild.
Come to think of it, he realized, shifting in the saddle to ease her hand away from dangerous territory, he wasn’t all that damned tired. But Jo was. She couldn’t possibly realize where she had her hand.
He shouldn’t have moved, because instead of easing her hand away the action shifted it closer to his crotch. He wondered if lightning would strike if he just let her keep her hand right there for the next hour or so. But hell, this was Jo, and he was a son of a bitch for even thinking such a thing. If she didn’t move her hand in the next ten seconds, he would move it for her.
She did move her hand, but only to flex her fingers against his thigh.
Sparks of heat shot to his groin. Pace hissed a curse beneath his breath. He picked up her hand, pressed it over her other one against his belly above his belt buckle, and gave it a final pat to keep it there.
Joanna murmured sleepily and nuzzled her cheek against his back. Her hands flexed against his belly, and heat sparked again.
God? Is this a test? Is that why I’m feeling things for Matt’s daughter that I have no right to feel?
Pace dismissed the ridiculous notion. The only reason Joanna was getting to him was proximity. She was close, here and now, and his last time with a woman was months in the past. He’d been without too long, that was all.
They rode for another hour before they came upon a small stream. Pace turned the horse upstream for half a mile to make tracking them more difficult. Back in the hills, he found a small, grassy clearing surrounded by scrub oak, cedar, and thick underbrush.
Pace sat still for a minute, to listen, to feel. Matt used to tease him about the habit, claiming Pace was half wolf, and was sniffing the wind for a hint of danger. Maybe it was true. All Pace knew was that the clearing before him was safe. For now, that was all he cared about.
“Jo?”
Her only answer was to nuzzle her cheek against his back. A man would think that after having felt that small act of trust a dozen times in the past few hours, it wouldn’t still have the power to touch something deep inside him, but it did.
“Wake up, Jo. We’re stopping.”
“Why?” came her sleepy question.
“Beca
use you’re about to fall off the horse.” Pace threw his right leg over the buckskin’s ears and slid from the saddle. “Come on, Firefly.” Grasping Jo beneath her arms, he lifted her to the ground and held her steady.
Her sharp hiss spoke of pain.
“Your side?” he asked, knowing that his lifting her that way had stretched the wound.
“And my legs, and the rest of me,” she answered with a rueful smile while she rubbed at her numb backside. “But I’ll live.”
“If I let go, can you stand?”
Curious, Joanna looked in his eyes. If she said no, that she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own, would he pick her up and carry her? What would it feel like to be held by him that way?
Dangerous thought, she told herself. To Pace, she said, “I’m fine.”
He retrieved the bedroll and handed it to her. “Go spread this out, back a ways in the trees, and then rustle up some firewood. You need to walk around and loosen those muscles, or you won’t be able to move by tonight. You could walk back to the stream.”
“Why would I want to do that?” she asked warily as he started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Because you’re wearing the remains of my clean shirt as a bandage, and despite the washing this one got in the rain, I’m tired of the smell of it. And you could fill up the canteen while you’re down there.”
Joanna pursed her lips and eyed him. “I’m supposed to lay out the bedroll, gather firewood and water, and do your laundry.”
His lips twitching, Pace nodded. “That about covers it, unless you want to rub down the horse, too.”
“Who was your slave this time last year? What are you going to be doing while I’m doing all these chores?”
From his saddlebag, he pulled out a rawhide and leather slingshot. “Finding dinner.”
The mention of food made Joanna’s stomach growl and saliva pool in her mouth. “Something besides jerky?”
He peeled his shirt off. “If I can scare up something.”
Joanna would have been satisfied just then to be able to scare up a breath for her lungs. They seemed to have stopped working the minute Pace removed his shirt.
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