Tag, You're It! (4 page)

"Fine, you can have it back," he said, although he didn't hand it over. "I'll take the horse."

"You can do that, but he's a horse, not a homing pigeon. He isn't trained to start at one place and end up at another. He goes where you tell him to go, or he stands still."

"I'll take my chances."

"Okay."

"You're not going to try to stop me?"

She shrugged. "I'll track you in the morning."

"I'll be long gone by then."

"You'll be dead by then. It'll drop well below freezing tonight, and it's dark out there—and not city dark, either. No ambient light, and a nice heavy cloud cover so no moon or stars. You won't be able to see your hand in front of your face.

"It's seventy-five miles to the nearest town," she continued between bites. "My coat won't fit you, so how are you going to stay warm? And even if you make it that far, the town consists of a half-dozen businesses, a few homes, and the sheriff's office. What do you think the chances are that A," she ticked off on her fingers, "they don't know Jackass on sight, B, they won't ask you how you came by him, and C, you won't end up in jail within thirty minutes of your arrival?"

Tag blew out a breath, leaning back against the door. "Got all the angles figured, don't you?"

"They're not angles, they're facts. That's the difference between you and me, Donovan. I deal with reality, you seem to think you can create your own."

"This is dealing with reality? Seems to me you're running away from reality."

"You don't know anything about my life."

"And you don't know anything about mine. If you want to stay here and bury your head in the sand, that's fine with me. I got dragged into this thing and I'm going to do every damn thing I can to get out of it in one piece. If you had any sense you'd do the same."

Alex opened her mouth to fire back at him, but he held up a hand.

"Shut up," he said, which would have fueled her temper if she hadn't heard what he'd heard. Another engine, but not a plane. Far, far worse than a plane.

Just like that her anger iced over. She exchanged a look with Tag, and suddenly they weren't opponents anymore. They weren't exactly friends, either, but they were in the same boat, and if they didn't want it to sink under them they were going to have to row together.

"Looks like you were wrong about the helicopter."

She stared at him, speechless, if only for a second before indignation kicked in. "So I was wrong. Why are you listening to me anyway? This is my first experience with… I don't even know what this is."

He slung the rifle over his shoulder by its strap. "Don't go near the window."

"I'm not stupid." But she was afraid, and she didn't like it. 'The roof is made of logs at least twelve inches thick. Bullets aren't getting through."

Right on cue, something thumped on the roof. She didn't know how she managed to hear it around the distinctive whump-whump-whump of helicopter blades, Jackass whinnying and banging in his stable, and the roar of the fireplace from the constant change in air pressure outside, but she did. So did Tag. Both sets of eyes swiveled up then down to collide again, both brains coming to the same conclusion. They weren't shooting.

Tag voiced his suspicion first. "What about fire?"

"There's a foot of wet snow on top of the roof," Alex said.

Tag moved to the door, eased it open, and pointed his pistol up in the air, taking a couple of wild shots at the helicopter.

Alex heard the bullets ping off metal, then a couple more thuds, a muffled whoosh, and the sound of the helicopter beginning to fade.

Tag stepped all the way outside and took a cautious look around the corner of the cabin. "I think it's gone," he said, coming back inside, "but we have another problem. There was a pile of hay on this side of the cabin."

"Was?"

Right on cue smoke began to curl between the chinks in the logs.

"I wish I could create my own reality now," Tag said.

"You can't, so I guess you'll have to come with me." Alex headed for the door. "According to you I'm good at running away."

Tag gave her a look. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"We aren't going to know each other long enough for never."

"Maybe we could put out the fire before we part company," Tag deadpanned.

She shook her head and walked to the door, listening for a second. No whump-whump, so she crooked her finger for Tag to follow her outside. They stood shoulder to shoulder a couple of seconds, watching the conflagration race up the haystack. Before a full minute had passed, the entire wall was ablaze and the flames were starting on the roof. The snowmelt dripping off the eaves did nothing but create steam to add to the smoke curling into the sky.

"This cabin is about a hundred and fifty years old," Alex said.

"That explains the lack of plumbing."

"Exactly. What are you going to put the fire out with? Snow? Or maybe you think we can open bottles of water fast enough to soak wood that's been drying out for a cenand a half and was just hit with a gas bomb?"

He caught her around the waist and shoved her toward the cabin's front door. "You better get whatever you want out of there while you still can."

Alex dashed inside and grabbed her emergency pack— flashlight, flares, first aid kit—and the satchel that held her important papers. Tag was right behind her, but he wasn't doing anything useful. "I'd suggest you get the blankets off the bed," she said to him on her way out the door. "You're going to need them."

By the time she came around front with Jackass half saddled and dragging the supply sled, Tag was coming out of the cabin, one blanket over his head and another wadded up in his arms. "Supplies," he said, opening the blanket to show her about a dozen bottles of water and a case of power bars.

She took six bottles and shoved three into each of the saddlebags, then put some power bars in her pockets.

"What about the rest of it?" Tag wanted to know.

"This isn't Donner Pass," Alex said. "Trust me, I know how to pack for a trip. I've had all that experience, remember?"

"I take it back," Tag said. "I've only been with you for a few hours and it already feels like forever."

Alex opened her mouth, but the sound of the helicopter stuffed the witticism back down her throat. Or maybe it was her heart she was choking on, because it was sure as hell trying to jump out of her chest. She spun around, saw the copter lifting into the air at the other end of her valley.

Tag grabbed her by the wrist, but before he could decide which direction to manhandle her in, the helicopter zoomed off, heading away from the cabin. Alex was relieved—until she heard the growling whine of snowmobile motors. Her mouth was still open, but Tag found his voice first.

"Apparently that thing was carrying more than firebombs."

"DAMN," ALEX SAID TO TAG, HER EYES ON THE snowmobiles. "What did you do to tick them off? Besides being you?"

"That seems to be enough in this part of the world."

"You really think geography is the problem?"

"I'd love to stand here and debate my downturn in luck since I crossed the Mississippi," Tag said, "but you'd have to have an open mind first."

"You blow into my life and ruin it, and you can stand there and accuse me of being overly suspicious?"

"What do you want, another apology?"

"Yes, but it would be insincere, so I'll settle for having my rifle back."

He handed it over, no argument. That seemed odd until Alex cracked it open and saw that the barrels were empty. She held her hand out, but no shells magically appeared on her palm. "Well?" she said to Tag.

He met her gaze, glanced in the general direction of the snowmobiles, then back at her, clearly debating. "How do I know you won't shoot me?" he wanted to know.

"You don't, but I can promise you won't be my first choice." Still no shells. "They're gonna be here in like two minutes. An immediate decision would be good."

Tag didn't come to one so she stiff-armed the Wincheshitting him across the chest with it.

"Oomph," he said, rubbing his ribs. "That hurt."

The look on his face probably matched the irritation in his voice, but Alex didn't stick around to see it. She took a deep breath and held it, heading back into the cabin while it was only filled with smoke. "Bruised ribs you can live with," she said when she came back out, "it's the bullet holes that'll kill you."

She loaded the gun in her hand, sighted down the barrel at the guy on the nearest snowmobile, and shot. In the light from the growing fire she saw him jerk. Another ten seconds and he slumped over the controls. His snowmobile took a sharp left and the other sled crashed into it. Neither of the drivers got up.

"Jesus," Tag said, sounding a little shell-shocked.

"He's not dead." Alex held up her hand, showing him what she held. "Tranquilizer gun."

Tag blew out a breath, ran a hand through his hair.

"Why are you so relieved?" Alex demanded. "And why didn't you shoot at them?"

"I shot at the helicopter."

"But you didn't do it any damage, so you're either a really bad shot or you weren't trying very hard." She walked over to where Jackass had been waiting patiently and picked up his reins. "In light of recent developments, I'm leaning toward Door Number Two. What I don't know is why you're reluctant to shoot at the guys who tried to kill you. Three times."

"Maybe I didn't want to explain a couple of dead bodies."

She gave him a long, level look. "You seem to have an aversion to explaining things. It's irritating."

"You're driving me crazy, too," Tag muttered.

"Then my work here is done." But it wasn't. Alex looked back at the cabin, at four years of her life going up in flames, and got good and ticked off.

"We should get moving," Tag said. "One of those guys is going to be out for…"

"At least four hours," Alex supplied.

"I don't know if the other guy is hurt. If he's not, we can only hope he's less interested in coming after us than he is in keeping his friend from freezing to death by bringing him to warm up at this nice, convenient fire."

She rounded on him. Even if she'd been able to express what she was feeling, words were unnecessary.

"We need to take advantage of the head start," Tag said. "I'm sorry, Alex."

"Yeah, that helps. If you want to make me feel better, tell me this is about world peace or… something equally critical," she finished when she couldn't come up with anything bigger than that.

"It's not world peace," Tag said, "but it's important enough to the guys in the plane to try to kill me."

She crossed her arms and waited.

"Ever hear of the Lost Spaniard?" he asked.

Her mouth dropped open and for a second she gaped at him. Then she did the one thing she never could have imagined under the circumstances. She threw her head back and laughed.

"IT'S COLD BACK HERE."

"We're outside," Alex said. "It's spring in the mountains. It's cold everywhere."

You'd never know it to look at her, swaying along with Jackass's ambling gait, not hunching into her collar or blowing on her hands. Of course, she was wearing sheepskin and she was mounted on a nice, warm horse. Tag was wrapped in a couple of thin blankets and huddled on the supply sled, which spent more time plowing through the snow than gliding over it. His ass was wet. And frozen.

"Isn't this one of those times we should be sharing body heat?"

Alex reached forward to give the horse a couple of fond pats. "Jackass and I have all the body heat we can handle, thanks."

"You're doing this because I pointed a gun at you, right?"

"I'm doing this because you burned my cabin down."

"I didn't burn it down."

She half turned in the saddle to look at him. Even in the darkness he knew that expression. It made him defensive in a way he couldn't ignore. "Fine," he said, "so I had the bad luck to fall on you."

"Bad luck for me," she muttered, turning back around.

"Then I guess you could say it was your bad luck that resulted in your cabin being burned down."

"You could say that 'til hell froze over and I'd still blame it on you."

"This is hell, and it has frozen over," Tag said, peering around and finding nothing but trees and snow. There'd been nothing but trees and snow since they'd left the cabin behind. And cold. You'd think the frigid air would numb some of the pain of falling out of a plane, but no, the cold made his bruises sting and his joints ache like an arthritic granny.

The only good thing about the journey was that it seemed to be all downhill.

"Trust me, this isn't hell," Alex said grimly. "Hell is a long way east of here."

No, Tag thought. Hell was being responsible for the death of the best friend you'd ever had. And if he kept thinking like that he'd have to roll off the sled and put himout of his misery. If Alex Scott didn't do him that favor first. "I'll let you know when I get there," he said, "which will be right after I freeze to death."

She sighed dramatically and reined Jackass in, climbing down from the saddle and pulling out the flashlight she kept in her emergency pack. "Not exactly Indiana Jones, are you?"

Tag peered up at her, blinking in the sudden light. "I never said I was."

He didn't really look the part either. No fedora, no scarred bomber jacket. With his dark hair ruffled by the wind and a day's growth of stubble, he had the scruffy part down, but the physical resemblance ended there. It wasn't the physical that had made her think of Indiana Jones, though. It was the impression that the guy shivering and glaring at her from the sled like a sulky little boy was also a guy who could hold his own when things got rough. The kind of guy who could fall out of a plane, wake up a prisoner, and still proposition her.

The kind of guy she needed to be wary of.

"I'm on the verge of a hypothermic coma. How much farther is it?" he asked. "Where's the town?"

"We're not there yet."

"Then why are we stopping?"

"I'd never forgive myself if you sink into a hypothermic coma."

Tag gave her a look that made her grin. Probably not the reaction he was going for. "Jackass needs a break," she said, "we'll walk for a while."

"We?"

"Walking will get your blood pumping, warm you right up."

"Sure," Tag muttered, sounding even crankier, if possible. He tried to climb off the sled and promptly fell on his face in the snow.

Alex watched him flounder for a minute or so before she hauled him up by his armpit.

"Thanks," he said, scrubbing the snow off his face, "knees don't seem to want to unbend." He looked down, but the joints in question were well below the snow line. "My ankles aren't too great, either, but I'm sure the pain will go away when frostbite sets in."

Alex rolled her eyes, untied her snowshoes from Jackass's saddle and tossed them down in the snow. "Put these on."

He glanced over at the sled and then shrugged. "It'll be a change of scenery, anyway."

Jackass turned his head, baring his big, square yellow teeth in Tag's direction.

"I think you hurt Jackass's feelings."

"Aw, that just breaks my heart." Tag stepped toward the snowshoes—which took him closer to Alex. Which Jackass didn't like. Tag had to jump out of the way before the horse could take a chunk out of his ass. "I can see why you named him Jackass."

"That's not why."

He waited for her to elaborate, but he could have saved himself the trouble. She wasn't the average woman who felt the need to talk a man to death. But she was normal enough to get a kick out of him asking, and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. "If I didn't know better, I'd say your horse is the jealous type."

"Horses don't have a lot of self-control," Alex told Tag. "If he was the jealous type, you'd probably be a lot less happy about being behind him the last couple of hours."

"Good point." But Tag kept an eye on Jackass while he strapped on the snowshoes. He flexed his knees a couple of times and, lulled into a false sense of confidence by the way he stayed pretty much on the surface of the snow, took a step. And fell on his face.

Alex laughed outright. So did Jackass—okay, he bared his teeth and whinnied, but Tag took it for the equivalent of equine laughter.

Alex helped him up, shaking her head and chuckling at the sight of him standing there, feet about a yard apart, arms outspread for balance. "You've never used snowshoes before?"

"Not a lot of treasure hunting goes on in the winter. The only time I had to do any winter work, it was on a snowmobile."

"Kind of hard to track anything wild on one of those," Alex pointed out unnecessarily, adding, "just keep it natural," as she took Jackass's lead and headed off.

Tag took a cautious step. The snowshoes tangled up and he sprawled on his face, Jerry Lewis without the laugh track.

"You have to keep your feet far enough apart so the shoes don't hit your legs midstride," Alex said, coming back to him. She knelt in front of him and tapped the inside of his right knee until his feet were where she wanted them. When she looked up he was grinning at her.

"In your dreams," she said.

"Maybe if you ever let me sleep again."

"You fell out of a plane and got my cabin firebombed, and then you didn't even shoot the guys who did it. If anybody is keeping anybody from sleeping around here, it's you."

She stood and set off again, leaving him to flounder along in her wake. When he got to the point where he was only falling down every five or six steps, he felt like he was making progress. Alex, however, finally felt the urge to ashim.

"When you get to a deep spot, lift your knees a bit higher and shorten your stride," she said without looking back at him.

"It's annoying how you know what I'm doing without looking at me."

"Who needs to look? You're making enough noise to single-handedly end hibernation. Every time you fall down you swear, and you puff like a steam engine when you're trying to get your feet under you again."

Tag righted himself, concentrating so hard on staying silent that he fell over with the first step.

Jackass laughed at him again.

"And try not to let the snowshoes hit in the middle," Alex said.

"Any other brilliant observations?"

"Falling down is bad." He could almost hear her smiling.

"Thanks," he said, struggling to his feet again.

He lost track of the number of times he fell after that. It felt like an eternity, but it was probably about an hour. He was soaked from head to toe, but he wasn't cold anymore. He was warm—steaming, as a matter of fact.

Alex was leading Jackass about fifty yards ahead of Tag. Her feet were sinking in to midcalf but she didn't seem to be laboring at all. That didn't improve his temper any. He chugged along in her wake, eyes glued to her back, resenting the hell out of her and her horse.

Bad enough being in the middle of nowhere, unarmed, and out of contact with people he trusted, he had to get dropped on a stubborn, irritating hellion of a woman who had no real appreciation for the predicament they were in. True, she'd saved his life, and sure, she had no idea she was in a predicament. But a helicopter had just lit up her cabin and sent two guys on snowmobiles after them, and did she get hysterical, or panicky, or whiny? No. Not that he wanted panic and whining, and hysteria never did anyone any good. But sarcasm and snottiness? Who in their right mind reacted that way in a dangerous situation? It just wasn't normal. And it definitely wasn't helpful. Hell, it was downright counterproductive. On top of which she seemed to take pride in beas antagonistic as possible.

Not that he blamed her, considering his grand entrance, and the subsequent violence. Then there was the fact that he was the proud owner of Y chromosomes, which in her book was probably the biggest infraction. No wonder she wanted to see the last of him.