Always You (3 page)

Frantically she tried to keep some sense of her surroundings, but a cloud of terror descended on her when she was tossed up sidesaddle onto a horse, and her abductor immediately swung up behind her, his arms enclosing her like steel bars. She felt the solid pressure of a hard-muscled body against hers and shivered as the horse’s rough coat scraped her bare legs.

This can’t be happening. I’m getting married tomorrow,
she thought in horror as the horse moved forward, its trotting strides quickly lengthening to a gallop. Through the roaring in her ears she heard one—no, two—other horses galloping alongside.

Sharp night wind slapped through the sheer nightgown, chilling her skin, whipping her hair. Behind the blindfold her eyes ached to see. She wanted to spit out the vile gag but could not. She couldn’t even move her fingers; they were growing numb already from the rope.

Melora bit back tears of fear and frustration. Her whole body trembled. Below her the horse gathered speed.

And the stranger behind her tightened his arm around her waist and spoke again.

His voice was even colder than the wind.

“Sit back and enjoy the ride, Miss Deane. We’ve got a long ways to go before we make our first camp.”

They rode for hours through oblique, windswept night.

By the time the horse beneath her at last slowed to a canter and finally halted, Melora was so cold and so weary she felt she would stiffen up like a fence post and simply die. Only the warmth of the man riding behind her shielded her at all from the biting wind. The heat and strength and vitality of him surrounded her but gave her no comfort, for he was not her ally but her enemy. An enemy who would demand from her... only God knew what.

She shivered from her neck to her ankles, and her senses spun dizzily when her captor dismounted and without warning yanked her down from the saddle.

She nearly fell, her knees crumpling beneath her weight, but strong arms caught her and kept her upright.

“Take it easy, Miss Deane.” That cool, deep voice again. She wanted to see the face it belonged to; her fingers itched to slap it. She was afraid, afraid of what was in store for her and of what would happen next, but rage curdled beneath the fear. And she made a vow to herself: She would not cry, would not plead, would not show the terror that tasted sharp and metallic on her tongue. No matter what this man and his companions did to her she would show no weakness. None!

Steeling herself as she felt him loosen the gag, she tensed her shoulders. Pop had always said:
Hold your ground, Mel, and fight for what you believe.
He’d lived and died by that code. And so would she.

They’ll find out quick enough that they can’t intimidate Melora Deane,
she thought, summoning all her wits and her courage.

Her heart thumped in double time as her captor stripped off the gag. Coughing a little, she swallowed several times and flexed her cramped throat muscles. Her tongue dabbed over dry, cracked lips that were so sensitive they quivered.

“You all right?” The voice sounded gruff.

“All right? Of course I’m not all right. I’ve never been treated so abominably in my entire life! Take off this damned blindfold now—this instant!” she ordered in a hoarse croak so unlike her own usual tone it infuriated her even more.

“I think the lady likes to give orders,” she heard that same cool voice drawl, and it was full of mockery. From a few feet away she heard guffawing.

But she felt hands at the back of her head, unknotting the blindfold.

Melora blinked rapidly as her captor whipped off the silk neckerchief that bound her eyes and her vision adjusted to her surroundings. She was in a clearing, in the middle of nowhere. An icy canopy of stars glittered overhead, and their light along with that of a crystal half-moon revealed low surrounding hills and trees etched in darkness and an expanse of open plains beyond. Faint moonlight cast an eerie glow upon the clearing in which she stood and partially illuminated the shadowy figure of the man standing before her.

“You low-down cowardly bastard,” Melora grated out, her mouth and throat so dry and raspy that the effort of speaking brought tears to her eyes, but that didn’t affect the unstoppable torrent of words that poured out.

“Just what in the world do you think you’re doing? Do you know who I am? Do you realize what you’ve done?” She coughed, then spoke again, her voice stronger, fueled by the outrage that poured through her in crashing waves. “How
dare
you do this to me? I demand that you untie my hands this instant, give me a horse, and let me go.”

He merely stared levelly at her, this man who had so callously trussed her and taken her from the safety of her own bedroom, who had brought her here to this lonely, chilly place wearing only her nightdress and a cameo necklace from the man she loved.

“Bastard, untie me!” she ordered when he continued to make no move. Her eyes blazed with hate as she stared into his face.

He set his lips together, shooting her an implacable look. He was a complete stranger to her, a six-foot cowboy in snug-fitting black pants, a wide-brimmed black hat, and a gray shirt. His demeanor radiated cool nonchalance. Melora took his measure quickly, noting that he was perhaps twenty-five or thirty, sun-bronzed and hardy-looking, with a day’s growth of beard stubbling his strong jaw. He was rangily built, lean but with a muscled chest and broad shoulders.

And strong arms, which were firmly holding her around her waist, supporting her.

His face was not at all handsome, she decided, her eyes narrowing. Especially in comparison to Wyatt’s vivid, chiseled features. It was a blunt, tough, rather ordinary face, she observed angrily, the features even and clean-cut, unexceptional—except for his eyes. These were intelligent and unusually keen, of a light, clear green color that reminded her of a frozen river.

And they were fixed on her with unrelenting calm.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Melora flushed as he still made no move to cut her bonds. “I said untie me—
now
!”

“I heard you.”

Fury flared in her eyes. She wanted to kill him. Her wrists, bound behind her, were chafed raw; they were probably bleeding. The cold night air was slicing right through her sheer nightdress, and she knew that if it weren’t for his arms around her, holding her up, she would most likely collapse. And she knew that he knew it too. That made her only more furious as she stared up at him with undisguised scorn, hating the intimate feel of his corded arms around her, and the nearness of that maddeningly steady countenance, and, most of all, the raw strength and ease that radiated from him.

“Look, you obviously know who I am.” She bit out the words, using the tone of a schoolteacher whose much-tried patience with her wayward pupils is nearly exhausted. “But you may not be aware that tomorrow I am getting married. Not just to anyone, but to one of the most prominent men in the territory.
Do you understand what that means, you lame-brained half-wits
?” Her voice rose on the words. She shook her head to toss her windblown hair from her eyes and sent a searing glance around the group to encompass the two men standing behind him as well.

They were gaping at her as if they’d never seen an enraged female before. Melora ignored her captor and fixed them both with her most commanding stare and spoke slowly and distinctly so there was no mistaking her meaning.

“If you don’t let me return home this very minute, I guarantee that my fiancé will have every man in Rawhide searching for me by morning. And when they catch up with you, you’ll wish you’d never been born!”

The two other men said nothing, just stood there like mangy dolts, watching her with a mixture of amusement and pity on their ugly horsey faces.

Then the cowboy gave her a shake. “Simmer down, Miss Deane. Your threats don’t impress us; your tantrums neither. You’re with us now, so you can forget about your fancy fiancé and your fancy wedding. Zeke, cut the lady’s ropes,” he said, and the taller of the other two stepped forward. “Keep an eye on her while I give Ray a hand with the horses!”

He released her then and turned away. Just like that he turned away. Melora watched his broad back in furious amazement as he strolled across the clearing and busied himself with the horses, moving about with brisk, smooth purpose, as unconcerned as if she were a passerby he had casually encountered in a general store, someone with whom he had discussed the price of potatoes.

“Who is he?” she demanded in slow, frigid accents as Zeke sawed at her bonds.

“Guess you could call him the boss.”

The last of the rope fell away. Zeke watched her wince as she rubbed the raw skin of her wrists, his long, bony face impassive. Then he led her to a tree stump. “Here, have a seat, Miss Deane. Take it easy. Reckon you’re all tuckered out. And while you’re at it,” he added in an almost friendly tone, shuffling his big booted feet in the grass, “let me give you a word of advice.”

His eyes glistened down at her like wet black grapes. “Don’t cause no trouble, and you won’t get hurt.”

“That’s your advice?”

“Yep.” He nodded and swatted at a mosquito. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about; the boss ain’t got a mean bone in his body.”

“Not much he doesn’t,” Melora muttered. This man was obviously an idiot, in the pay of the other, with no personal interest in her or the kidnapping. She wondered if he could be persuaded to give her some answers and maybe, possibly, if he might be bribed to help her. “Zeke, please,” she said in a low, heartfelt tone. “I don’t understand. Who are you? Why did you kidnap me?”

“That’s for the boss to say. This here is his deal.”

“Please tell me. I don’t understand. Are you rustlers? What can you possibly hope to—”

“We’re no rustlers!” He interrupted her indignantly, snatching off his hat and scratching his ear. “Never heard anything so insulting.”

“I’m sorry, forget I said that. I didn’t mean to insult you.” She hurried on, keeping her voice low enough so that the others couldn’t hear. “Zeke, it’s clear that this wasn’t your idea, and that
he’s
in charge. So I’ll tell you what. If you let me go tonight, I’ll see to it that no one arrests you. You won’t get in any trouble—none at all. Just let me slip away. Distract him for a few minutes so that I can get to one of the horses and—”

“Aw, keep quiet.” He sighed, waving his hat at her in disgust. Then he plopped it back on his head. Beneath it his thatch of rough brown hair hung to his shoulders like a clump of dirty straw. “No one’s going to let you go, so quit wasting your breath. If you just wait a bit and don’t try anything stupid, he’ll probably let you have some water soon, and maybe some coffee. Then, missy,” he added, slanting her a warning glance, “you’d best get yourself some shuteye. Tomorrow’s going to be a real long day.”

Frustration washed over her as she stared at this gangly, homely man in the brown shirt and overalls. There was no mistaking his sincerity. He wouldn’t help her. She felt the last shreds of her self-control slipping away.

“Why are you
doing
this?” she asked, her voice carrying in a low, frenzied wail that reached the other two men. Through the gloom she saw them glance over their shoulders at her.

“Ask
him
,” Zeke replied, jerking his thumb backward with a shrug. “Cal’s in charge of this outfit.”

Cal.
So that was his name. “What does he want with me?” Melora persisted, desperately clutching Zeke’s sleeve as he started to turn away.

“That’s for him to say.”

“Who is he? An outlaw?”

“Reckon so. Me and Ray met up with him in jail. But that’s all I’m going to say,” he added, glaring. Then his expression softened to one of wry concern. “Say, you’re lookin’ mighty cold there. I’ll just get a fire goin’.”

And with that he shambled off and started gathering twigs and sticks, leaving Melora alone on her tree stump, her arms crossed around herself in a futile attempt to keep warm—and to preserve some minuscule shred of dignity.

Her thoughts raced ahead as Cal and the others went about the business of making camp.
Look around. Think. Maybe you can slip off and disappear into the brush,
she told herself desperately, even as the numbing cold crept through her bones, and clouds above obscured the moon, shadowing the clearing in deeper darkness.

She’d have to do some fancy hiding to keep them from finding her, but it
was
dark, and if she found the right place to conceal herself—

“Don’t even think about it.”

Cal’s tall form loomed over her. His booted feet were planted apart, his thumbs casually hooked in his low-slung gun belt.

How had he appeared like that, out of nowhere?

Melora stared up at him through shimmering, hate-filled eyes, taking in the rough stubble on his dark face, the brown hair that just touched his shoulders, his straight, arrogant nose, and his sensual mouth, which curled ever so mockingly as he studied her. But most of all at that moment she noted his eyes, those striking, miss-nothing eyes. His gaze was clear and shrewd as a puma’s.

“Don’t think about what?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Running away. It won’t do you any good. I’ll just find you again.”

“That so?”

“That’s so.” Cal reached out and cupped her chin to tilt it upward, noting as he did so the trembling of her lips and the heat of those incredibly beautiful golden brown eyes beneath their thick fringe of lashes. “I’m not letting you go, Miss Deane,” he said quietly. “Not until I’m good and ready.”

She snapped her chin back from his hand. “When will that be?”

“I’ll let you know.”

She vaulted off the rock, her fingers clawing for his eyes, his cheeks, his neck, but he grabbed her wrists before she could inflict any damage. She winced as his fingers pressed into her raw skin.

He saw the pain flicker across her face and glanced down. Beneath his fingers, the tender skin of her wrists was scraped and bruised from the rope.

Cal swore under his breath. He released her and forced himself to step back a pace. “Sorry I hurt you.”

“If you were sorry, you’d let me go,” she cried bitterly.

He shook his head, and for a moment she saw a fleeting sadness in his eyes, a glimpse of pain that softened the infuriating arrogance of his demeanor. Then it was gone, and the flat calm was back.

“You’ve had a rough night, Miss Deane,” he said curtly. “Let’s not make it any rougher. Looks like you could use some blankets and a cup of coffee.” He took her elbow and steered her toward Zeke’s campfire. “You won’t be much use to me if you freeze to death.”

His words stirred more questions and rekindled her fear.
Use to him? What possible use could I be to him?

But suddenly Melora was too overwhelmed by cold and fatigue to argue anymore. She let him lead her to the fire, sit her down near the glowing opal flames, push a mug of steaming black coffee into her icy hands. She felt the heavy woolen saddle blanket he draped around her shoulders and gave a tiny, quivering sigh as she snuggled into its thick, scratchy warmth.

She was tired. Bone tired. And utterly confused by what was happening to her. A few hours ago she had been home, safe and secure on the Weeping Willow Ranch, looking forward to her wedding, and now...

Now she gulped coffee at a strange campfire in the middle of nowhere, the prisoner of this quiet-voiced, cold-eyed outlaw. Now she had no idea what the future held for her or if she had a future at all.