So what was she feeling, he wondered, knowing that she was carrying his child? Christ, he knew exactly what she was feeling. He’d seen it in her eyes when he’d walked into the emporium. Hate. Desperation. Anger. But he’d thought it was because of last night.
Now he realized the reason for those emotions. And he realized something else too.
Anna wouldn’t even come to his bed unless he was blackmailing her, and that meant she sure as hell wouldn’t want his baby. He felt as if someone had just knifed him, then walked away, leaving him to bleed to death.
“Good day, Mr. McCord.”
He turned to see Mrs. Fitzpatrick eyeing him with determined brightness. She was afraid of him, but then, most of the people in town were afraid of him. He held power over their future. Or at least they thought he did. He nodded his head. “Good day.”
When he looked back at Anna, he found her busy with a feather duster, pretending to ignore him. As he watched her, he realized slowly that he didn’t want to let her know that he knew she was pregnant. He didn’t want to hear her tell him that she didn’t want his baby.
“Do you have to work that hard?”
Anna started in surprise. She’d thought because he’d fallen silent he was about to leave. At least she’d been hoping he would. Of all people, she hadn’t wanted to have to deal with him today. And she surely didn’t want to have to talk to him. “Of course I do.”
“You shouldn’t have to do things like that. Where's your father?”
“Wesley, please, just get out of here. You got your way last night. Now leave me alone.”
Yes, he thought grimly. Last night. Damn. He’d been so rough with her. What if he'd hurt her or the baby?
She jerked the ladder in front of the ceiling-high shelves that lined the back wall. Gathering her skirt in one hand, she began to climb up the rungs, intent on reaching the dusty china that was displayed on one of the high shelves.
Before she could accomplish her mission, strong arms closed around her and carried her against a hard chest. “Dammit, Anna, what are you trying to do? Hurt yourself?”
Even as he said it, fear lanced his heart. Jesus, what if she intended to get rid of the baby? If not by deliberately falling, then by some other means. She could end up mutilating herself. Or killing herself.
“Wesley, put me down,” she said. “Someone’s going to see us.”
He glanced toward the wide window that overlooked the main street and knew she was right. But seeing her on that rickety ladder had badly shaken him. He began walking with her and didn’t stop until they were in the back room. There, he slowly set her on her feet. “If those upper shelves need dusting, then your father should do it.”
She raised her arm to her hair and pushed a hairpin firmly back into place. “It’s hard for him to do things like that. He has rheumatism.”
“And you’re going to have a broken neck if you keep climbing that ladder. Hire someone to do it for you.”
“We don’t have the money to hire anyone. I need to save every cent we make in profit so that I can pay you back, remember?” She knew her voice was trembling with anger, but she couldn’t stop it. Every single one of her problems could be traced directly to this man. “Please get out of my way. I need to go back in there. A customer might come in.”
“So let them. We need to talk.”
“I can’t think about what.”
He regarded her steadily for a moment, then finally lifted a hand to caress her cheek. “Come to my house tonight.”
She gazed at him in astonishment. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to do that.”
Frustration etched Wes’s face as he glanced around the storeroom. Suddenly he grabbed her arm and maneuvered her behind a stack of crates.
Not again, Anna thought. She couldn’t stand it if he took her into his arms and kissed her. Her mind was too confused. Her nerves were too exposed. “Wesley, you can’t do this.”
“No one can see us back here.”
Suddenly her despair and anger were replaced by puzzlement. His hands were on her shoulders and he was gazing intently down at her face. It was as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin. Then she became aware of his hands kneading her shoulders. His touch held no passion, but rather it seemed in some strange, inarticulate way that he was trying to comfort her. That couldn’t be right.
“Anna?”
Her father's voice. She stiffened as she tried to cope with the fact that her father had returned earlier than she had expected. He couldn’t catch the two of them like this. What was she going to do?
Wes threw a quick glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for you tonight,” he whispered, then stepped out from behind the crates and walked to the door of the emporium. “Good morning, Mr. Nilsen. I was just helping Anna look for those shirts I ordered last month. She wasn’t sure they’d come in, but I’m afraid I insisted she look anyway.”
With a frown Lars Nilsen polished his glasses, then set them on his nose and hooked the thin wire over his ears. “They are not here, Mr. McCord. No shirts have come in.”
“I see,” Wes said smoothly, and smiled at Anna, who had just emerged from behind him. “I guess it’s just too soon, Miss Nilsen, but I appreciate your looking.”
She rubbed her damp palms down her skirt. “It was no trouble, and I thought it might be possible that they were in.”
Lars eyed Wes with barely concealed animosity. “Ve alvays notify you when your orders come in.”
Wes smiled. “Yes, you do. I suppose I’m too impatient.”
Anna brushed past the two men and made her way behind the counter. She was feeling ill again. The rich aromas of the spices that lined the shelves of the store were suddenly overwhelming her, and the puz-
zling, intense exchange with Wesley had left her shaken.
“Then I suggest,” Lars said, “that you vait until ve send vord. My Anna is too busy to be checking in the back for every order.”
Wes nodded, then looked straight at Anna. “But remember. I’m impatient.”
She nodded, getting the message. He wanted to see her tonight. When he had left, she turned to her father. “Why were you being so rude to Mr. McCord, Papa?”
“He is a bad man.”
“I realize that’s what you think. We’ve discussed this before, but you know how powerful he is, how important he is to this town.”
“Bah. Daughter, haven’t you heard? He is after Mr. Lassiter and that nice Miss Delaney. They say Mr. Lassiter is hurt, and Mr. McCord has sent his man, Cummings, after them.”
Anna slumped against a counter. She had heard the rumors. And she had also been anxious. But the events of last night and this morning had wiped the thought of Brianne and Mr. Lassiter out of her mind. She lifted a shaky hand to her forehead. “I hope they’re safe.”
Right now it seemed there was no safety anywhere in the world.
“Don’t light the lamp.”
Wes stiffened on the bed, his gaze searching the darkness. He could see the gleam of Anna’s fair hair in the shadowy doorway. “Why not?”
Anna moved forward, crossing the room to stand before the window. Moonlight streamed into the room, silhouetting the proud lines of her body.
“I don’t want you to.” There was a definite edge to her words. “You should understand not wanting to be seen. You don’t reveal anything to anyone, do you?”
“I never thought you’d want to know,” he said warily.
Her chin lifted. “I don’t. I was only curious. Who and what you are mean nothing to me.”
It was the child, he thought suddenly. She was wondering what kind of man she’d allowed to plunder her body and give her his child. Christ, she had a right to worry. He’d come from scum and fought his way out of the mud and now he had smeared her with that very mud.
“I’m here only because I was afraid you’d come to my house and make a scene,” she said. “But I’m not going to come to bed with you. I’m
here, but you can't make me. Not again.”
“All right.”
She stilled with surprise. “No arguments?”
“No.”
She was silent for a moment. “Why not?”
Because you’re carrying my child, he thought, and it makes me feel strange, sad, and a little lost. “Maybe I’ve grown tired of you.”
Her gaze searched the darkness. There was some- thing in his voice tonight. “I wish I would see your face.”
“I’ll light the lamp.”
“No.” She turned away. “It doesn’t matter. Do you want me to leave?”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not going to — ” She paused. “There’s really no point in my being here, is there?”
“You’re here because I want you here.” He swung his feet to the floor and stood. “That’s the point. The only point.”
She watched him move across the room toward her. “You’re … different tonight.”
“How can you say I’m different when you claim you don't even know me?”
“You seem in an odd mood.”
“Really?” He lifted her chin on the crook of his finger. “I’m not sure I know myself tonight.” His hand fell away, and he sat down onto the window seat. “Talk to me.”
“What?”
“Sit down and spin me a tale.” He leaned back against the wall of the alcove. “You never talk to me, and we’ve got to do something to while away the hours that we normally spend … doing other things.” She stood uncertainly before him.
“Anna?”
She sank to the floor in front of the window seat and with a heavy sigh settled back against it. “I don’t know any stories.”
Quite naturally his fingers moved to her hair and began to pull the pins from it. “No? Then tell me about your childhood.”
“I don’t remember much.” She was silent a long while. “I remember Hilda.”
His fingers moved slowly, soothingly, through her silky tresses, and the delicate lilac scent that he always associated with her drifted to him in the darkness. “Hilda?”
“My doll.” She closed her eyes. “My father carved it out of teakwood, and my mother made her a beautiful gingham dress. She had jointed arms and legs, and I’d never seen anything like her. I thought she was the most wonderful doll in the world. Then my cousin, Ingmar, broke her. I wanted to kill him.”
“So fierce,” he murmured. “What did you do to this cousin of yours?”
“Nothing. My mother said that it would be wicked to punish poor Ingmar when he'd already been punished enough by being given a cruel, malicious soul.”
“Blessed be the peacemakers.” There was a touch of mockery in his tone that was belied by the exquisite gentleness of his touch. “But the mercy you showed your cousin didn’t put your Hilda back together again.”
“No.” There was an unutterable weariness in Anna’s voice. “And I loved her so. I pretended she was my baby, and I would rock her and hold her close — ” She broke off, and when her words came again, they were very soft and touched by wonder. “My baby … ”
She was going to tell him now, Wes thought.
But she didn’t tell him. For a time, only the sound of silence could be heard in the room.
Then she asked, “Why are you being kind to me tonight?”
“I don’t ever remember being cruel to you. Perhaps a little rough last night.” His mouth straightened into a grim line. “More than a little.”
“You didn’t … hurt me. Not really.” Her voice was halting. “You never have.”
Christ, how could she say that? He had hurt her in every possible way since the day he had met her. “No one was supposed to get hurt, Anna,” he said with sudden urgency. “I never meant you — ” His fingers unconsciously tightened in her hair, then relaxed. “Evidently you’re one of the peacemakers too. Don’t you ever get tired of having your toys broken?”
She threw a quick glance back at him. “Do you?”
“I never had any toys when I was young, but no one takes anything away from me now. Not anymore.” His voice was suddenly harsh. “And if you had any sense, you wouldn’t let anyone do it to you either. Not me or anyone.”
“I’ve dealt with the circumstances of my life the best way I’ve known how. I am what I am and I can’t let you twist me into something I’m not. Then you would truly be able to destroy me.”
He was poignantly conscious of the strength shining beneath her gentleness. “I’m not trying to destroy you.”
She didn’t look at him; her tone was noncommittal. “I’ve always known you would destroy me. You can’t help it. You have to destroy everything around you. There’s such anger in you. … ”
“No,” he said sharply. “There are things I want, but I’m not — ”
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” Anna interrupted. “It’s been a difficult day for me. Could we be quiet now?”
He gazed down at her, filled with a wild mixture of emotions. Tenderness, shock, anger, and the beginnings of fear. “Yes, we can be quiet.” His fingers resumed their gentle stroking of her hair.
And the moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the darkness that surrounded them with a naked, relentless clarity.
Chapter 4
Sloan came awake slowly, greeted by fresh waves of pain.
There wasn’t a muscle in his body that was free of the awful, throbbing ache. He tried to sit up, but found ropes around his wrists and ankles. Fear surged through him. Instinctively he struggled even harder until a paralyzing stab of pain in his head forced him to subside.
Brianne was kneeling beneath the lip of the overhang that formed their small cave, gazing out over the meadow. She heard him and turned. “Oh, God, Sloan, what are you doing?” Quickly she hurried back to his side and felt his forehead. He was definitely cooler. The relief she felt was tempered by caution. His fever had been going up and down, and she didn’t for a minute think he was completely out of danger.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, unsure if she would get a reply, and, if she did, what kind of reply it would be.
“Why am I tied up?” he asked.
She stared at him for a moment, noting that his golden eyes appeared lucid. “I had to do it so that you wouldn’t hurt yourself. You’ve been delirious.”
“I have?”
His voice sounded rough and raspy, as if he’d swallowed gravel. She reached behind her for a canteen and cup, and poured out some water. “You’ve been out of your mind with the high fever you've been running. I’ve been spending a lot of time in the last few days just trying to keep you alive. Here, see if you can drink some of this.”
She put her arm under his head and lifted him. He could take only a few sips of the water, but his voice sounded better when he asked, “What day is it?”
She had to think for a minute. “Wednesday. I think. You’ve been in and out of consciousness since Sunday night.”
“Dammit!” He closed his eyes as if the effort of speaking had drained him.
Brianne poured more water over a cloth and sponged down his face and throat. It was an act she’d done so often over the last few days, she did it now without thinking.
Hour after hour she’d been living with the lonely terror that Sloan might die. The burden of his life had weighed heavy on her. But just a minute ago he had actually looked at her with clear eyes and had asked rational questions. She wanted to let go and sob with happiness, but she couldn't afford the luxury. To fall apart now would be disastrous.
The danger hadn’t passed. Sloan was still very ill. For all she knew, he could lapse back into unconsciousness at any moment. And then there was Cummings. He was out there somewhere. She could almost feel his presence.
After a minute Sloan asked, “How safe are we here?”
Another good question. How could she answer it? A gust of wind blew into the cave, making the flames of the campfire bend and sway. Down on the canyon floor the sound of the rustling
grasses mingled with soft noises of nature. “I don’t know if you remember or not, but there's a butte that rises behind the tent city.”
He gave a slight nod, then grimaced at the pain it caused.
“We’re in a box canyon inside that butte. I did everything I could think of to make it as difficult as possible for us to be followed, but … If Cummings and his men find this place, we’ll have problems. We have the high ground, but there're a lot of boulders and rocks that make for good cover. And there’s really only one way out of here.”
Brianne didn't bother with any more explanation. There was no need. As Sloan grew stronger — if Sloan grew stronger — he’d figure it out for himself, and then they’d both know how easily this place she’d brought him to for safety could end up being their death trap.
She sighed heavily. “You should try to drink some broth while you’re awake, then I need to go down and check on the horses and get some more water.”
“Untie me.”
“I can’t.” Sudden panic twisted his face, and she felt an ache of anguish. “Sloan, listen to me, I can’t.”
His eyes widened with fear. “But you’ve got to! I can’t stand being helpless.”
“I know, I know.” Soothingly she pressed her hand to his face. “But for now I can’t take the chance that you’ll slip back into delirium.”
“I won’t. I know I won’t.”
“Sloan — ” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “There’ve been times over the past three days when I thought you were finally on your way to being well, but you weren’t. These ropes keep you from hurting yourself … or me.”
He gazed at her incredulously. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t on purpose.”
“You don’t understand … Brianne.”
His breathing had become labored. She moved her hand over his chest. His heart was pounding like a drum. “It’s all right, Sloan. I’ll stay here with you. I won’t leave you.”
“You’ve got to let me out of these ropes,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t be helpless. Not again.”
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