Deep In The Heart Of Texas. Linda Warren
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she was creating doubts about the sentence he’d imposed on himself. All those emotions and feelings he’d left behind and thought dead were threatening to surface. But that was okay. He could handle them and he could handle her.
Sometime later he awoke with a start. He had fallen asleep. Damn. He listened closely. No sound of riders. Spikes wasn’t on their trail yet. The first thing he noticed was that it had stopped sleeting. It was a clear afternoon. The temperature had risen about ten degrees. Texas weather. Always a mystery.
The second thing he noticed was the woman asleep at his side. Her blond head rested on his shoulder, and her arm was linked through his. The blanket was still wrapped around them, and Bandit lay like a babe in her lap.
She moaned softly, an erotic sound he couldn’t help reacting to. A sound she probably made when she was—No! Don’t even think it. A woman with the same sexual appeal had destroyed him, broken his heart, crushed his soul. He had no desire to go down that path again, no matter how attractive the woman.
He shifted uncomfortably and she stirred. Her bright brown eyes glistened with beautiful dreams—and then they darkened with the reality of their situation.
“Oh, it’s not sleeting anymore,” she said. “And it doesn’t feel as cold.”
“It isn’t,” he replied, disengaging his arm from hers.
The movement didn’t escape her. The man had a thing about closeness. An impish idea lit her eyes. When he got her safely back to her father, she was going to give him the biggest kiss of his life. It would be her thank-you, her goal at the end of their journey.
“Shh,” he said, instantly alert, and grabbed his rifle, which was never far from him.
She bit her lip, not saying a word, her arms tight around Bandit.
“Riders,” he whispered. “Damn, Spikes caught up with us faster than I expected. The rain and sleet didn’t even slow him down. Damn fool’s determined not to let you make it back to the ranch.”
Miranda’s insides quivered uncontrollably. “Can he find us?”
“Not unless he’s a better tracker than I give him credit for. The rain washed away all our tracks. He’s just going on instinct. Get your shoes,” he ordered, and she quickly obeyed, remembering her sneakers lay where he’d removed them to massage her legs.
“How close is he?” she asked, lacing up her sneakers, then moving back to his side.
“Less than half a mile and riding hard,” he replied, and turned to face her. “Not a word, not a sound—not even if a rat runs up your leg. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her eyes like saucers.
“What about Bandit?” she had to ask, thinking he’d start barking if the riders were close enough.
“Bandit and I have hidden from Spikes before. He knows not to bark.” He rubbed Bandit’s head. “Don’t you, boy?”
Bandit whined low in his throat.
“Not a sound, boy.” The hermit held his finger to his lips.
They were conversing. Dog and man. They understood each other. She’d never seen a master and animal so in tune with each other.
Her concentration shifted as she heard the riders, the sound of hooves hitting the ground like distant thunder. Her muscles tightened in trepidation. What would happen if Spikes found them?
The hermit laid the rifle on his lap and pulled the .38-caliber pistol from his shoulder holster. He released the safety with a silent click and held the gun in his right hand. They waited. And waited.
The horses slowed, came closer. So close they could hear voices.
“Why you stopping?”
“This branch has been broken.” Spike’s voice was loud and clear.
Miranda clamped a hand over her mouth. Oh, no. They’d found it. Now they’d probably find them. She tried to breathe normally and to control her fear, but nothing worked until she looked into his dark determined eyes and knew he could take care of this situation. Knew she could trust him.
They listened carefully.
“So? Probably an animal,” the other man said.
“Or a person.” They heard the creaking of leather as Spikes obviously dismounted. “Let’s check it out.”
“The hermit’s not that dumb. He ain’t gonna leave broken branches.”
“He doesn’t have time to be careful. Now get off that horse and help me.”
The sound of creaking leather reached them again. “Whata we looking for?”
“We’re looking for them, you idiot. Check this thicket and those bushes. They could be hiding anywhere around here.”
They heard the two men moving and Miranda’s throat locked tight. The hermit remained completely still, his eyes on the cave entrance.
Any moment those man could find them. Any moment…
The voices grew faint as the men searched, then suddenly Spikes’s words came nearer, and nearer and Miranda thought her nerves were going to snap.
“Dammit to hell, Peavy, where the hell could they be?”
“Told ya the hermit ain’t gonna leave no broken branch.”
“Shut up, Peavy, I need to think.”
“’Bout what? That dang hermit’s takin’ her to Maddox.”
“But they’re not there yet. We gotta stop ’em or we’ll never see a dime of that money.”
“How? That hermit, he knows these hills fer better than us and he ain’t gonna make it easy.”
“You’re the most pessimistic bastard I’ve ever met. They’re walking south, so they have to be in this area. We’ll find ’em. We have to.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Putting a bullet in that hermit is gonna make all this worthwhile.”
“What about the little princess?”
The horses stomped and snorted as they mounted again.
“Ah, the little princess and me are gonna have some fun, and right before I slit her throat, I’ll give her the good news that someone in her family made all this happen. I’m sure she’ll be glad to know who’s paying us.”
There was complete silence as shock wave after shock wave washed over Miranda. Someone in her family had done this to her? Who? Who hated her that much?
“Where the hell could they be?” Spikes’s voice seeped into her nerve endings, making her want to scream—but she didn’t.
“They hidin’ real good.”
“Yeah,” Spikes agreed. “There’s only one thing left to do. You ride over to Beaver Creek and try to find Blackhawk. It’s not far from here and he’s the only one who’ll be able to track the hermit. I’ll keep searching south.”
“Blackhawk? He’s probably drunk. Why do you pay him, anyway? He never does a lick of work.”
“Who says I pay him?” Spikes laughed. “I give Blackhawk money for liquor and pocket the rest. Blackhawk doesn’t complain and Maddox doesn’t have a clue. He leaves all the ranching business to me. He’s busy trying to juggle five wives and an oil company.”
“You a smart son of a bitch.”
“I just know Maddox. The older he gets, the more interest he has in women—and the less interest in business.”
“What if Blackhawk talks?”
“No one’s gonna believe