Deep In The Heart Of Texas. Linda Warren
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“Not someone in my family.”
His first reaction was to console her, but he couldn’t afford that luxury. Nor could she. She had to be strong to get through this, and he had to deal with Spikes.
“Snap out of it. We don’t have time for hysteria.”
His callousness pushed her over the edge. Before she knew what she was doing, she hit him with her fists, over and over, knocking his hat off. Her blows stunned him only for a second. In one swift movement, she was on her back, staring up into dark threatening eyes.
His right hand gripped her throat, holding her immobile. “I could cut off your windpipe in just a few seconds.” His dark hair fell forward, almost covering his face, giving him a wild look, but all she saw were his eyes, the warm dark eyes reaching the coldest part of her heart.
He hoped to put the fear of God into her. If she was afraid of him, then she’d forget Spikes and his words.
“But you won’t,” she said with more confidence than he liked.
He continued to hold her. Her skin was soft and the pulse in her neck burned like a steady fire against his hand. Warmth swept through his body from the contact, and he cursed himself for that weakness.
“Don’t count on it,” he replied gruffly, and waited to see fear in her eyes—the fear he’d seen the first time she’d looked at him. But there was only sadness.
“Go ahead, then,” she taunted him. “Finish me off. It’ll be better than what Spikes has in store for me. Did you hear what he said?” She closed her eyes in pain, then opened them quickly. “Promise you’ll shoot me before you let him take me.”
The thought of Spikes touching her body, raping her, was more than she could bear. She was trying to be strong, but she couldn’t handle that.
At the entreaty in her voice, he removed his hand and sagged against the wall. She scrambled to her knees to face him, pushing the hair out of her eyes.
“Please, don’t let Spikes hurt me.”
“I’ll do my best,” he answered quietly, trying to dispel the image of Spikes touching her.
“No, no,” she persisted. “If he has us cornered or something, promise that you’ll shoot me.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Please,” she begged. “I have to know he won’t be able to do those awful things to me.”
“As I said, I’ll do my best.”
“What is it?” she asked in desperation. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes held hers with a numbing force. “I’ve killed before, and it’s not something I want on my conscience again.”
“Oh,” she breathed, her own eyes enormous.
He watched the conflicting emotions skim over her pale face. Her expression wasn’t filled with fear, though, just shock and some other feeling he couldn’t identify. But it was similar enough to fear for his purposes. He leaned in and whispered, “You have reason to be wary, so if I were you, I wouldn’t be asking a man to kill you. A man you know nothing about.”
He didn’t get the reaction he wanted.
“Oh, but I do know you.” Her lips curved softly. “I don’t know your name or where you came from, but I know the man in here.” She laid her hand on his heart. “You’re strong yet gentle, stubborn but caring, and you’ll protect me, a perfect stranger, with your dying breath.”
He looked at the soft fingers pressed into his chest, and without thinking, he let his hand close over hers and hold it tight.
It was the second time he’d freely touched her and she was beginning to like it. They stared at each other, their eyes locked in a silent communication.
He wanted to deny her words, insist that he didn’t care anything about her, but in a matter of a few hours, he’d become fully involved with her. And she was right—he would die to protect her.
Miranda gazed into his eyes and experienced a moment of revelation. She’d been searching for something all her life. She didn’t know what, but her life wasn’t complete. Something had always been missing. Now, as their eyes met and she looked into the warmth of his, she felt as if she’d found whatever she had lacked.
He released her hand and broke eye contact. He raised one leg and pulled the small revolver from his boot. He gave it to her and said, “Put this in your pocket and keep it with you. In case you have to defend yourself.” As she started to protest, he added, “You can. You can do it. It’s a five-shot .22-caliber pistol. It’ll do the job. Just aim at his chest and you’ll be fine.”
She stared at the small gun in her hand. A moment ago her hand had tingled from the warmth of his; now it was frozen, trembling at the prospect of what she might have to do.
Suddenly she noticed the initials engraved on the handle. J.C. Were those his? “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
She lifted her eyes and tried to smile, but failed. He would be with her. That was all she needed to know. For now. Soon she’d ask him about those initials.
If they were going to die together, she had to know his name.
CHAPTER FIVE
SILENCE SURROUNDED THEM as they waited for darkness to fall. He knew she wanted to talk. He could feel it, but she was holding everything inside. Her tortured expression told its own story, and he wanted to help her. That shook him. Most of his life he’d helped people, put his life on the line more times than he could remember, but all that had died one fatal day five years ago. Or so he’d thought. Another inborn trait he probably wasn’t going to outrun. Or maybe it was just her. Something about her was getting to him.
Bandit lay between them. He made a mournful sound, more like a moan than a whine.
The hermit rubbed his head. “I know, boy,” he muttered.
“Go ahead,” he finally said.
She turned her head, a quizzical expression on her face. “What?”
“Talk. If you don’t, you’re going to explode.”
What a difference a day made, she thought. Yesterday he didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. Today he wanted to listen, and she wanted to tell him—everything. Every hurt, pain and bizarre event of her life.
She shrugged. “I’m in shock. I don’t know what to think. Someone in my family hired Spikes to do this to me. Who? I keep asking myself. And why?”
“Tell me about your family,” he invited, and he felt as if he was back at his old job, gathering information, clues, anything to find an answer.
She drew her knees up to her chin. “I have one brother, Tom. There’s fourteen years between us, so naturally we didn’t grow up very close, but we’ve always liked each other and gotten along well. I like his wife, Doreen, and I’m not aware of any hostility between us. I can’t say that about Doreen and Helen—that’s Tom’s mom and my dad’s first wife. Helen’s a very domineering mother, and she tries to control their lives. Doreen even went so far as to send their two children to boarding school to get them out of Helen’s clutches. But that has nothing to do with me.”
“How does Helen feel about you?” he asked.
She shrugged again. “She says Dad spoils me and lets me have my way, but then, everyone in my family says that. It doesn’t mean anything, does it?”
“I don’t know. Is she in need of money?”
“I don’t think so. My dad left her very well off, and she runs a profitable antique shop, but she’s always been extremely jealous of my dad’s wives. Five is the latest