Ride the Thunder (43 page)

The circumstances had changed dramatically in the last hour. Before, he had been angry enough to use her as a shield—angry because he had believed she was a part of it—angry because he had known it and let himself get maneuvered anyway—and angry because he had continued to feel desire toward her. Only none of that was true. Jordanna hadn’t been deceiving him. She, too, had unwittingly been used by her father all along.

His first step toward the door brought a stabbing protest of pain from his wound. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. Brig stopped and waited until the piercing fire had receded. He tried again, using his
left leg much more gingerly. Outside the cabin, Brig wiped the sweat from his face and breathed deeply of the sharp, cold air. Wounded, he had walked to this cabin, and wounded he would walk away from it.

But he was worried about Jordanna and what would happen when her father found them. A ricochet, a stray bullet, and she could be seriously hurt. Brig still did not believe that Fletcher would risk hurting her, but inadvertenly he could. By bringing her with him, he had endangered her. He had to get both of them out of this alive, not just himself. If anything happened to Jordanna, it would be his fault, and Brig didn’t know if he could live with that. He didn’t know if he could live without her.

He scanned the wooded area around the cabin. Looking up, he studied the wisps of smoke rising from the chimney. The wood was dry and burning with little smoke. But how far away could it be seen? And how close was Fletcher?

It was time to do some scouting, whether he felt up to it or not. Keeping to the cover of the trees and rocks, Brig worked his way to the mouth of the high canyon. Caution dictated that he never expose himself for too long a period and risk being seen by a pair of high-powered binoculars. He had to take it slow as well, so that he wouldn’t start bleeding again.

Near the mouth of the canyon, he crawled up a rock incline for a better view. Brig wished for a pair of binoculars as he slowly scanned the ridges and plateaus. Nothing stirred. It looked like a Christmas card painting of snow-covered mountains and trees. He glanced in the direction of the cabin. The thin trail of smoke from the chimney was just barely visible against its background of white. He waited and watched for fifteen minutes. Then his snowy chair began to numb him with the cold.

Before he started back, Brig broke off a bough of an evergreen and brushed out his tracks in the snow, following the same route back to the cabin. Anyone looking at it from a distance, and through a pair of
binoculars, would never notice the brush marks in the snow. But if Fletcher got close enough to see it with a naked eye, he’d recognize it for what it was.

Outside the cabin, Brig stopped to rest, then loaded his arms with logs from the woodbox and carried them inside. The long walk had tired him considerably. He badly needed to rest, but he had worked some of the stiffness out of his leg, if not the soreness.

Jordanna was standing in front of the fireplace, facing the flames, a hand braced against the stones. Dejection showed in her slumped shoulders and her downcast eyes. She didn’t turn when he entered or indicate that she knew he was back. Brig dumped the firewood in the corner and limped over to stand beside her.

“Is that soup ready?” He took off his gloves to rub his hands and hold them out to the heat of the fire. His sideways glance noted her quivering chin.

“It’s ready—for all the good it does us,” she answered tightly. “We don’t have any spoons or cups or any way to eat it. And we certainly can’t drink it out of that kettle.” There was no mistaking the defeat in her voice.

“Hey,” he chided her softly. She had been through hell in these last twenty-four hours. The strain was beginning to take its toll. He cupped his hand on the back of her neck and made her face him. A tired smile of reassurance curved the corners of his mouth. “The worst is over, Jordanna. You saved my life yesterday. You helped me make it to this cabin; you built the fire after I passed out; you got me out of those wet clothes and bandaged my wound; you gathered firewood and water and stayed awake to keep the fire going; and this morning, you went out and helped yourself from nature’s larder. You are a helluva woman, Jordanna Smith. Don’t fall apart on me now. I need you.”

His gaze slid to her tremulous mouth. Brig bent his head to kiss those soft lips. At first they were passive to his touch, but gradually she submitted to his gentle
persuasion. A surge of protectiveness welled within him, a sweetly fierce emotion. When he lifted his head, Brig discovered there was a lump in his throat, choking him up.

“Let’s do a bit of scavenging,” he suggested huskily. “Whoever built this cabin must have left some tin cans around or some broken pottery. We’ll find something.”

Jordanna nodded a mute acceptance of his suggestion, a liquid brilliance to her eyes. Together they searched the dark and filthy corners of the cabin. Rust had eaten holes in the tin cans they found. Brig was starting to get discouraged when Jordanna found a pottery shaving mug with a corner chipped out of the lip.

While she went outside to wash it in the snow, Brig returned to the fire and carefully lowered himself to sit on the floor, his back resting against the table. His leg was throbbing and it felt three times its normal size. But the swelling was only slight and the heat felt normal for an injury, something he remembered from previous wounds.

When Jordanna returned, she insisted that he eat first. Brig was feeling too tired to argue. He drank two cups of the soup, chewing the bits of cooked bark. It tasted good, considering, and filled the emptiness in his stomach. Handing her the mug, he took off his jacket and arranged it as a pillow, then stretched out on his back.

“Dry out that wood I brought in before you put it on the fire. I don’t want any more smoke coming out of the chimney than is absolutely necessary,” he cautioned before he closed his eyes to let the tiredness claim him.

Jordanna sat in front of the fireplace, her knees bent, her arms hugged around them. It was late in the afternoon by her watch and Brig was still sleeping. She bit at her lower lip, remembering all the accusations he had made. Some of them had made sense. She raked her fingers through her hair. She just couldn’t believe
her father had killed Max. But who had shot at Brig? Torment darkened her gaze as she looked at him.

Suddenly she realized he wasn’t sleeping. How long had he been watching her through the narrow slits of his lashes? She untangled her fingers from her hair and smoothed them nervously over her thighs. Jordanna stared quickly into the flames.

“You still doubt what I told you.” His voice was low, neither accusing nor condemning.

“I can’t help thinking you made a mistake.” She didn’t turn, but she heard him sit up. “I’m sure there is a logical and rational explanation for everything that’s happened.”

“Naturally, one that would exonerate your father,” he murmured.

“Yes.” Her lips felt dry. She moistened them.

One of her hands was swallowed in the grip of his. Startled, she turned to find him sitting parallel, facing her. He was studying her hand, tracing the length of her slender fingers, caressing it in a curious fashion.

“Once you told me that you couldn’t make me believe you.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “But you were wrong. I believe you meant the things you said to me. You weren’t lying to me, Jordanna. And I’m not lying to you now.”

Brig lifted his gaze. The intense look in the dark sheen of his eyes caught at her breath. The tension in his body communicated itself to her. A muscle worked in his lean jaw as his gaze roamed possessively over her face.

“You were my weakness, Jordanna,” he continued. “Even when I believed you and your father were using me, I couldn’t resist you. You ate at my heart, my mind, and my body. The hunger started that night in New York at the party. When I came back, I couldn’t forget you. There were feelings that I thought had died within me, but you made them come alive. But I didn’t like the idea of just being your stud, so I tried to hate you.”

“My stud?!” The term hurt. Jordanna tried to pull her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“Don’t forget I believed I was being used, the rich girl getting her kicks with a mountain guide, ex-soldier of fortune. If you were one of the fringe benefits for accepting Fletcher’s deal, I wanted you enough to accept—no matter what it made me. I said some things, deliberately, to hurt you.” He shook his head glancing to the side to swear softly. “Damn. I’m not any good at long speeches. I’m in love with you, Jordanna.”

An incredulous light entered her eyes. She wanted so desperately to believe him that she was afraid. It tied her tongue and her silence made his features grim and tight, thinning his mouth to give it a ruthless look beneath the dark mustache.

“You once said you loved me. By God, you hadn’t better have changed your mind.” His eyes blazed suddenly as he shifted his hold on her hand to lock their thumbs together. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

Jordanna didn’t mind the pain in this grip. “I don’t want you to let me go.” Her voice wobbled.

She curled her long legs beneath her so she could sit closer to him. With her other hand, she reached out to trace and smooth the grimness from his mouth and jaw. He shuddered violently at her touch and hauled her into his arms. Crushing her against him, the pain be inflicted was a sweet sting of love. His hard, demanding kiss was almost cruel from the lack of self-control. Brig stamped his ownership on her lips before he eased the pressure to permit a response. The hammering of his heart seemed to drive itself right through her, until her heart was thundering as loudly as his. Jordanna gloried in the reason for his roughness. His declaration had exposed himself to pain and hurt. He had permitted her to see his vulnerability and given her the power to bring him to his knees. But that wasn’t where she wanted him. Trembling with the beauty of his gift, she pressed light, adoring kisses over his eyelids, cheek, and jaw.

“I used to have this aching pocket of emptiness in
me,” Jordanna told him in a throbbing whisper, reveling in the rasp of his cheek against her sensitive lips. “Sometimes it would get so big that I wanted to slip into its loneliness and die. Physical satisfaction never filled it. Then I met you at the party. That emptiness became filled with so many sensations, emotions, and feelings that it overflowed. You were a total stranger. I didn’t even know your name. I looked all over for you afterwards, but you’d gone.”

“I thought I’d just made love to my host’s mistress.” Brig lifted his head to let his gaze roam over her face. His hand was caressing the sleek curve of her neck, a finger following the wild throbbing of her pulse down to the hollow of her throat. “It wouldn’t have made any difference, if I had known you were his daughter. It isn’t the accepted thing to do in polite society to take a man’s money and his daughter.” His mouth twisted in self-derision. “All I intended to do was kiss you, but it got out of control. When I came to my senses, I wasn’t very proud of myself. God knows, I tried to forget you.”

Jordanna traced the cruel thinness of his upper lip and the sensual fullness of the lower one. A twinge of pain flickered through her.

“Did . . . that girl at the bar help you? Trudie?”

The pause became so long that she had to lift her gaze to his eyes. They regarded her steadily. “Yes.” His honesty hurt, but it was a measure of his love that he didn’t deceive her. “She had about as much success as a teacup of water on a forest fire. Did you find help?”

Jordanna gave a brief, negative shake of her head. “I couldn’t seem to settle for second-best anymore,” she admitted. “I was almost convinced I’d never see you again.”

“Didn’t you ever ask who I was?” There was a curious flick of one eyebrow.

“I started to ask Olivia, but . . .” Jordanna remembered the painful misconception she had made. She didn’t want to go into that now. There would be other
times to air the family linen. “. . . how do you say . . . there was this stranger who made love to me. Do you know who he was?”

The half-mocking smile she wore began fading as his fingers deftly eased the buttons of her blouse free of the material. Her skin began to warm in advance of his caressing hands. His mouth teased the curves of her lips, brushing over their outline, the warmth of his breath mingling with hers.

“As I recall,” Brig murmured, “the stranger had a lot fewer clothes to contend with.” He pushed the blouse from her shoulders, leaving Jordanna to free her arms from the sleeves.

“I think you’re right.” Her heart was altering in rhythm with her shallowing breath, quickening and skittering across her ribs like a stone skipping across the surface of a pond.

While his mouth continued to tantalize her lips, Brig slid one hand under the thick material of her underwear top. The roughness of his calloused palm was a pleasant rasp against the smoothness of her stomach. Soft tremors quivered through her at the evocative caress.

“Does a man who loves you get a little cooperation or does he have to struggle without help?” His mouth followed the curve of her jaw to take a sensuous bite of her earlobe in mock punishment. The action drew a gasp of pure pleasure from Jordanna.

“I’d love to have you undress me.” The husky pitch of her voice revealed the havoc he was creating with her senses. “But, under the circumstances . . .” The words trailed away, the need for them gone.

By mutual consent, they drifted apart to undress themselves as they sat in front of the fire. One watched as the layers of clothing came off the other. Jordanna studied the firelight playing over Brig’s face. Its flickering light seemed to soften the angles of his features. Or was it the love, she wondered, blazing in his dark eyes, that had melted the hardness?

Brig was taking longer to undress than she was, although
neither hurried. As she pushed her longjohns over her knees, his gaze burned a path from her hip down the length of her thigh. He winced, gritting his teeth against the sudden shaft of pain that accompanied his attempt to ease his Levis down his hips. Brig quickly concealed it but Jordanna had caught the brief flash of white teeth against the dark of his mustache.