The Hopechest Bride (7 page)

“Two horses?” Emily spoke in spite of herself, hope flaring that Josh Atkins had found her Molly. “Are they both yours?”

“Only if I was into horse thieving, which I'm not.
I found your mare down near the base of the hill. What happened? Did she throw you? Or are you dumb enough to leave a horse's leads trailing in the middle of a storm? Horses aren't dogs, Miss Colton. They don't sit or stay on command.”

“And just when I thought I was going to have to thank you for finding my horse,” Emily said, one corner of her mouth definitely trying to slide into a sneer. “Well, don't just stand there—get them in here.”

“Used to giving orders, are you?” Josh tipped his hat back on his head, his harshly handsome features clearly shown in the light from the fire. “Funny, but that's not how it works out on the range. Each man takes care of his own horse.”

Emily tried to hug the blanket even closer. “I—I can't. I…I'm not…”

“Yes, I had noticed that,” Josh drawled, his gaze going to the shirt and jeans and underclothes spread out to dry near the fire. “In that case, we'll make a trade. I bring in your horse, and you open another can of that ravioli I must have been smelling even halfway down the hill. Deal?”

Mutely, Emily nodded. “And then you'll leave?”

She watched as Josh tipped back his chin and laughed, a clearly amused yet rather sarcastic sound that put her teeth on edge. “Leave? Miss Colton, there's the mother of all storms going on out there, in case you didn't notice. It'll probably go on for days. Leave? I'm not going anywhere. Neither of us
is going anywhere. Which is pretty handy, because you and I have a few things to talk about, don't we?”

Emily actually felt the blood draining from her face, even as her body grew hot. “I have nothing to say to you that you'd listen to, Mr. Atkins. You've already drawn your own conclusions, not that I care what you think.”

“You care what
everybody
thinks, Emily Colton, or you wouldn't have been riding up here to hide with a storm coming in. So let's not kid ourselves, lady. I'm here to tell you about my brother, to let you know just how much you destroyed when you let him walk blindly into that death trap. And then, if you have the guts, the gall, you can tell me why you did it, try to make me understand.”

Emily blinked back tears even as she bit back a sharp reply. She just looked at him levelly and said, “The horses won't get any drier standing outside, Mr. Atkins.”

He returned her stare for a few moments, then replaced his Stetson, lifted up the hood of his slicker, turned on his heel and headed out of the cave.

“Oh, God,” Emily groaned, sinking to her knees. She had nowhere to go, nowhere else to run. She was here, and Josh Atkins was here, and neither of them were going anywhere until the storm passed. Days. He said it might be days. How could she possibly survive in this cave with him for
days?
And nights…

Emily got to her feet, quickly gathered up her still-
damp clothing and ran to the back of the cave, out of the light, to get dressed.

 

Meredith stood at the French doors, her arms folded tight over her chest, and watched the rain that lashed across the patio. She heard footsteps behind her and asked, without turning around, “Did you hear the latest weather report, Joe? Is there any sign of this letting up?”

His large hands touched her shoulders, began kneading the tightness out of them, and she relaxed as much as she could, leaning back against his strength. “No change, sweetheart. This storm is going to hang on for another day and night, and then a second storm could come in from offshore. Or it could miss us entirely, go south.”

“In other words, they don't know,” Meredith said, sighing. “Why do they say it
might
go here, or it
might
go there? Why don't they just admit it—they have no idea what the weather is going to do. All their computers, all their science, and my grandmother Portman's bunion was a better indicator.”

Joe bent and kissed the side of her throat. “That's it, sweetheart, take out your anger and frustration on the weatherman. He probably deserves it.”

Meredith turned in his arms, smiled up at him. “I know I'm being silly, Joe. Did you make that call?”

“To Austin? Yes, I caught him just as he was heading to his father's house for the weekend. Peter's fine, by the way, as are all the McGraths. Anyway, Austin
said he'd postpone his trip and stop by here tomorrow, to get as much background information from us as he can.”

“It's difficult to believe that the Austin I remember as a child has had such a full and sometimes tragic life. But I'm really amazed that he's actually a private investigator, and that he was so much help to you when Emmett…”

“When Emmett tried to kill me,” Joe finished for her, leading her over to one of the overstuffed couches. “Austin was a great help to us all, Meredith, and when he and Rebecca fell in love, well, I wish you had been here to see the way she blossomed, began to glow.”

“I'm just glad they're here now, that Austin agreed to move here from Portland so that Rebecca could stay near us. So, he's coming here tomorrow?”

“Eight o'clock,” Joe confirmed, nodding. “Rand has faxed me copies of a lot of information that was found in Patsy's papers, although what they do is just pretty much rule out a lot of leads. No, don't frown, sweetheart. If this Jewel is out there, Austin will find her.”

Meredith smiled wanly, shaking her head. “I can't seem to get rid of my memory of the way Patsy sounded as we left her. She means it, Joe. She will kill herself. And let's face it, she's never getting out of that institution. With us taking care of her boys, the only thing keeping her going is the chance to maybe see her Jewel again. I can't help wondering,
Joe, if she'd never gotten pregnant, if that man hadn't sold away her baby only hours after her birth…well, maybe Patsy wouldn't be so sick and none of these past ten years would have happened.”

She looked down at her hands that twisted in her lap. “And if I had told you I even had a twin sister…”

“Don't,” Joe said, gathering her into his arms. “Patsy wanted you to leave her alone. She even faked her own death so that you'd leave her alone. We can't look back, see how things might have been different if we'd acted differently. They happened, sweetheart, and now we're together again. I don't want to waste a moment of our new time together, thinking about the heartache of the past.”

Meredith lay her head on Joe's shoulder and looked toward the French doors, toward the lightning that flashed in the night. “It's what we want for Emily, isn't it?” she asked quietly. “That she put the heartache of the past behind her and get on with her life. Her timing could have been better, but I guess she really needed to be alone, to think things out before she speaks with Martha. Do you really think she's safe out there?”

“Safe and dry, sweetheart,” Joe said confidently. “Our Emily's had a lot of experience in taking care of herself, being on her own. She'll be fine.”

I
t was while unsaddling Molly that Emily saw the gash. “She's cut,” she said, automatically turning to Josh Atkins, a man—she had just silently sworn to herself—she wouldn't speak to even if her hair caught on fire and he was the only one within fifty miles with a canteen of water.

But this was different. This wasn't about her, this was about Molly.

Josh deposited his mount's saddle near the fire, obviously planning to use it as a pillow, and walked over to look where Emily was pointing.

“She was so wet, I didn't notice at first, but this is blood,” Emily said, her stomach twisting into a knot as she withdrew her hand, looked at the blood on her
fingertips. She bent closer to the mare's neck, trying to see the severity of the cut. “God. Do you think it needs stitching?”

“Hard to say,” Josh told her, then took a folded blue-and-white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the wound. “First we clean her up, then we decide.”

“It's my fault,” Emily said, her bottom lip trembling. “I never should have listened to Weather Willie.”

The makeshift compress held tight against Molly's neck, Josh turned to look at Emily. “You want to run that one by me one more time? I don't think I understand.”

“Weather Willie,” Emily said, clumsily wiping her hands on her jeans, then dragging the backs of her hands across her cheeks, to rid them of the tears that had escaped her stinging, rapidly blinking eyes. “I listened to the radio this morning, and Weather Willie promised that the storm would go south of us, would miss us. He's never right, and I know it. I just wanted out of there so badly.”

“Yeah, you are pretty lousy at running, not that it seems to have stopped you. And damn if each time you run somebody else doesn't go and get hurt,” Josh said, and Emily's shoulders tensed, as if preparing to ward off a blow. “Here, take a look at this,” he then said, obviously not caring whether or not his last words had offended her, hurt her. “It's not that bad a cut, although she does have several scrapes, doesn't
she? Probably ran too close to a tree, and probably when she lost that sack of food you were telling me about—all that fried chicken we aren't going to get to eat. I've got some antiseptic in my saddlebags. That ought to fix her up.”

“Don't bother,” Emily replied stiffly. “I have my own first-aid kit. I'll take care of her. I'd phone down to the ranch, for help, but the phone's broken. Molly must have rolled on it. Yeah, well, you just go make up your bed, so that I know where to make up my own—which will be as far from yours as I can get it.”

“I don't think so,” Josh told her, shaking his head. “Or maybe you haven't noticed. It's raining out there, Miss Colton, and in here, that fire of yours is dying for lack of fuel. Unless you've got another stash of dry wood, I think we're going to have to be a lot closer together than you're planning on, if we want to get through the night without hypothermia. In case you were wondering if yet another Atkins was willing to die for you. Because this one isn't, even if staying alive means also keeping you alive.”

Emily looked at him, looked over at the fire, and then turned her back, picked up her backpack and stomped to the other end of the cave. Once there, in the semidark, and feeling safer, she said, “You have a sleeping bag strapped to your saddle, and mine is guaranteed for temperatures a lot colder than we're having tonight. I'll be fine.”

“Good for you,” Josh said, unrolling the sleeping
bag tied to the back of his saddle, then using it to cover his mount's bare back. He then picked up the heavy wool army blanket Emily had been using earlier and draped that over Molly's back. “Now, guess who has the only sleeping bag left? Unless you don't care what happens to these horses?”

“I don't care what happens to
you,
” Emily said, knowing she was being ridiculous, petty, spiteful. She took in a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Isn't there any other way?”

“Sure,” Josh said, efficiently arranging the remaining articles—Emily's rifle, his own saddlebags—then picking up Emily's saddle and placing it next to his. “In the old days, men used to kill their horses, gut them, then slip inside their bellies to get out of the wind and snow. Supposedly, the warm bodies kept them safe for hours.”

Emily's eyes narrowed as she glared at Josh across the dying fire. “Was that really necessary? Did you have to tell me that? No, don't answer me, of course you did. I do really hate you, Mr. Atkins,” she said, turning off the propane in order to save fuel.

They'd need that camp stove again tomorrow, and for more than heat, and she knew it. Josh knew it. Josh knew the fire was going out. Josh knew the only way they could both stay warm was to crawl into that sleeping bag together. Josh knew too damn much!

“What are you doing now?” she asked as he gathered up his flannel-lined slicker, and her own thin plastic poncho.

“We need to keep as much of the weather outside as we can, although we can't block the whole entrance, not with the fire still going.” He reached for the length of rope he'd untied, recoiled, after moving the branch. “Here, give me a hand with this.”

After several false starts, Josh somehow managed to secure the ends of the rope across the mouth of the cave, tying them to stout bushes at either side of the entrance. He was drenched to the skin by then, once he was done, but the rope finally held taut and tight. When he hung the slicker and poncho over it, like clothes drying on a line in a suburban backyard, the opening of the cave was covered by at least half.

“That should hold,” he said, heading for his saddle bags, rain dripping off his long brown hair that now lay plastered to his well-shaped head.

He pulled out a length of toweling and rubbed at his wet head, then smoothed his hair back with both hands. Emily involuntarily inhaled a quick breath as she watched as he then stripped off his vest and shirt, so that he was bare to the waist, his tanned, sleekly muscled skin glowing in the firelight. She saw a long, whitish scar on his side, another riding high on his chest, probably trophies from the rodeo ring. “Wh-what do you think you're doing?”

“Trying not to freeze to death,” he said, pulling a clean, plaid flannel shirt from his saddlebag. “The jeans have got to go, too, so unless you're into free shows, I suggest you turn your back.”

He hadn't finished speaking before Emily did just
that, her face burning even as it was turned away from the fire. She could hear him pulling off his cowboy boots, and listened as he grunted a few times, probably having to wrestle with the tight, wet jeans in order to remove them. Then the slap of heavy denim being unfolded and shaken and, at last, the sound of a zipper being zipped.

Emily exhaled, not realizing until then that she'd been holding her breath. She turned and looked at him as he sat down on the saddle, began pulling on warm woolen socks before reaching for his boots.

“All done, and you didn't peek. Good for you, Miss Colton. Now, if you give me a minute to pull on these boots, I can turn around so I can do you the same favor. Unless you plan to sleep in those damp clothes?”

Did she trust him? Perhaps more to the point, did she really want to climb into her sleeping bag while wearing jeans damp at the hips, nearly dripping wet at the hems? No, she didn't. Not really.

Glaring at him, she unzipped her backpack and pulled out her only change of clothes, a flannel shirt in a plaid closely resembling the one he wore, and a pair of jeans. She withdrew two pair of woolen socks and some fresh underwear, which she first rolled into a ball inside the backpack and then hid inside her folded shirt before he could see them.

The last thing she needed was for Josh Atkins to learn that she'd brought along tiger-patterned bikini underpants and a matching underwire bra.

“Turn around, please, Mr. Atkins,” she ordered, tipping up her chin.

Josh's smile was rather like Toby's, except not quite so innocent. “For a quarter,” he said, holding out his hand. “One of those from the Denver mint, with the states printed on the back. I still need Pennsylvania to complete my set.”

“Go to hell,” she said, heading for the darkest part of the cave. She undressed quickly, trying to stay as “dressed” as possible even as she stripped, pulled on dry clothes. All the while, she had one eye trained on Josh Atkins, making sure his back stayed turned.

“You may now resume your customary sarcastic stance,” Emily gritted out, knowing she was being petty.

“You're welcome,” Josh answered brightly, and Emily shivered, her nerves bristling. There was no dealing with this man. None.

She peeked at her slim gold wristwatch as she walked back toward the fire, skirting the now cold camp stove, the plastic container and her unzipped backpack. The cave was large, but getting more claustrophobic by the minute. She hesitated, stopped and then laid out her damp clothes over the container, before stuffing her discarded underwear in a zippered compartment of her backpack.

She unzipped another compartment, bringing out her wide-toothed comb and a fabric-covered elastic band, plus her folding toothbrush and travel-size tube of toothpaste. A small burgundy hand towel, a
squeeze tube of liquid soap, and she was ready for her nighttime rituals. She might be in the wilderness, but there were certain amenities of civilization she would never abandon.

Surprisingly, she saw that Josh was holding his own toothbrush as she joined him at the fire. “I didn't know cowboys paid much attention to the National Dental Association recommendations,” she said, reaching for her cup of water that she'd left on the ground.

“What's the matter, Miss Colton? Too domestic for you? Don't worry, I won't be asking for a kiss good night…or anything else.”

There was nothing to say to follow up such a statement, so Emily chose not to answer, possibly prolong this uncomfortable conversation. She just sat down on her favorite flat rock, turned her back and brushed her teeth, the sound of the brush seemingly echoing off the walls of the cave. She rinsed her mouth with water from the cup, but couldn't bring herself to spit it out on the ground, so she swallowed it. He was right. This was all just too domestic, too intimate…too unnerving.

She kept her back to him as she combed her hair, dry now, and a riot of tangled curls. She didn't know that those curls shone brightly in the firelight, that her head looked topped by fire itself—warm, touchable fire that flowed down onto her shoulders.

“I'll…check on the horses,” Josh said from behind her, his voice sounding a little strained. Or maybe,
Emily thought, it was the sound of the storm raging outside that had put this edge in his voice.

“Okay,” Emily said, pulling back her hair, ruthlessly securing it in a ponytail at the base of her hairline. “I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted, even if it is only nine o'clock. Besides, I'm hungry and we can't eat anything else if we want the food to last, and I'm getting cold again and want to get inside the sleeping bag.”

“Yeah,” Josh said. “We can do an inventory of your food and mine in the morning, combine what we've got. Oh, and about the sleeping bag? I see that you've got a ground sheet, and so do I. That'll keep us dry, but it won't do much to hold off the cold of the ground in here, because sunless caves don't exactly collect any heat during the day. Doubling them up will help some, but since we can't both fit inside your sleeping bag, we're going to have to unzip it completely and use it as a blanket for the both of us. It's our shared body heat that's going to keep us from hypothermia. But you've already figured that out, right?”

Emily watched as Josh went over to the horses, adjusting their blankets, making sure their leads were well-secured beneath the rocks he'd used to keep them at least superficially tied. He checked the bandage on Molly, obviously satisfied with what he'd seen.

He was so tall, his shoulders so broad, even as she could see that his upper body was in the shape of a
T, narrowing to a flat stomach and tight waist, a compact backside and long legs hugged by his tight jeans.

He was all whipcord muscle and easy grace. When he walked, in those boots of his, his entire body moved with each long stride, carrying his energy with him, his confidence swinging along with his arms. He was the Marlboro man without the dangerous cigarettes, the rugged, solitary hero on the cover of a Louis L'Amour novel, the secret dream of every silly teenage girl who'd ever been to the rodeo.

And he was going to be sleeping next to her tonight, sharing his body heat with her tonight.

Would sleep ever claim her?

Would morning come soon enough?

Would she wake in his arms, turning toward his heat during the night?

If she did, what then?

“He hates you, remember?” Emily muttered under her breath, and then reached for the folded ground cloth, knowing she would have to make the bed she would lie in. “And you're not all that cracked up about him.”

 

Josh stayed with the horses longer than necessary, fussing over them, checking each of their hooves, quietly talking to them as the storm kept them both skittish. Then he went to the front of the cave, inspecting the makeshift windbreak, looking out into the night sky, watching the rain that showed no sign of letting up.

They could be here for at least one more day and night, as the hillside was rapidly turning into a mud bath that would make it nearly impossible for the horses to safely get down to flat country.

Could he do this for another day and night? Hell, could he make it through this one night?

He hadn't counted on being in Emily Colton's company for more than a few hours. He'd wanted to talk to her, tell her about Toby, make her see how gravely she'd injured his brother, injured him.

And, yes, he'd wanted to hear her side of the story. He figured he owed her that much, if only because Toby had loved her. Maybe there had been some sort of extenuating circumstance, some reason she'd run away, left Toby to die alone. If there was, he needed to hear it.