Deep In The Heart Of Texas. Linda Warren
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in that room, but if I were you, I’d get out of here as fast as I could. Whoever went to all that trouble will be back.” He pointed over his shoulder. “The closest place is the Maddox ranch. Just keep walking due south and you’ll reach it in about a day and a half, maybe two days. Depends on how fast you walk.”
Two days! Due south! What was he talking about? She didn’t know south from north. Two days!
The hermit tipped his hat, picked up his rifle and walked off, the dog at his heels.
Paralyzed, Miranda stared at his broad back. He was leaving her here! She glanced around at the dense thicket, heard the wind whistle eerily through the trees and felt the cold as it stung her cheeks. She shook so badly her teeth rattled. Oh, God, he couldn’t leave her in this wilderness. She tried to stand and fell flat on her stomach, her legs too numb to support her.
He heard a faraway sound and stopped. Riders. Two. They were coming for the woman.
He looked back. She was trying to crawl on her hands and knees. “Please, help me,” she begged, one hand stretched toward him as her weak body failed.
The soft melodious voice touched something buried inside him. God, he hadn’t heard a voice like that in years, and he didn’t want to hear it now. He didn’t want anything to do with her or her problems.
The pounding of hooves against the earth grew stronger. At that moment, the woman heard the sound. “Oh, no, they’re coming back! Please help me. They’ll kill me.” She struggled to get to her feet.
He watched her futile efforts. Bandit whined in his throat. “Be quiet,” he told the dog to no avail. The whining increased, angering him. Dammit, he didn’t need this. But much as he wanted to walk away, even Bandit knew he wouldn’t leave her here to die.
He hurried toward her and knelt down. “I’ll hide you until they’re gone. That’s all. After that, you’re on your own. Understand?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, but I can’t get up. My legs are too weak.”
He laid his rifle down, scooped her into his arms, ran into the thicket and up a hill. He stood her on her feet beside a large oak. “Hold on to the tree. I’ll be right back.”
Running down to the shack, he used a branch to cover their tracks, then picked up his rifle. He gave the place a last once-over and made a dash for the woman.
“Don’t make a sound, not one word,” he told her, frowning at Bandit. “Quiet, boy.”
As he finished speaking, two riders came into view. Aware that something was wrong, they jumped off their horses and ran into the shack. They came out cursing and waving their arms in anger. The words were muted, but the curses carried on the wind.
His spine stiffened as he recognized the men. He glanced at the young woman and wondered at her connection to the men below.
“Do you recognize them?” he asked.
She squinted. “I can’t make out their faces from here,” she whispered.
That didn’t tell him a whole lot and didn’t make him feel any better.
“Damn.”
“What?” she asked, gripping the tree.
“They’re not giving up. They’re scouring the bushes, searching. I have a feeling they’re not leaving until they find you.”
“Please don’t let them find me.” Miranda stared into his dark eyes—eyes that held a fire and a warmth she felt all the way to her soul. This man would not hurt her. She only prayed he would help her.
He looked away from the pleading in her eyes. “I don’t get involved in other people’s lives. That’s why I live in these hills alone.”
She touched his arm in a silent appeal, and he flinched.
He hadn’t been touched in so long that it caught him off guard, but he almost immediately regained his composure. He knew he had a decision to make.
Bandit rubbed against his leg. He shoved him away. Between that stupid dog and her, he was becoming the crazy person everyone thought he was.
“Please help me,” she begged again. She didn’t make the mistake of touching him this time.
That desperate note in her voice weakened his resolve. Getting involved with her might jeopardize his freedom. But he couldn’t leave her here, at the mercy of the men below.
The two men continued their search. They obviously intended to find the woman. There was one place they wouldn’t look. His cabin. He had no choice. He had to hide her until they were gone. That was as far as he was willing to go.
He knelt in front of her. “Put your arms around my neck and climb onto my back.” She was too weak to walk and he could think of no other way.
Miranda didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until he’d spoken. “Thank you,” she whispered. She did as he instructed, locking her arms tightly around his neck. His dark beard brushed her hands with featherlike touches, and a fresh outdoor scent mixed with wool filled her nostrils.
This time he was prepared for the softness of her hands, and it didn’t bother him. Within minutes they were off through the woods.
Miranda clung to him as he darted through the thicket with a deftness and swiftness that surprised her. He seemed to be part of these woods—the trees, bushes and undergrowth. Her rescuer was different from anyone she’d ever known, and very strong. She could feel the muscles rippling in his back.
When they reached a rickety old fence, Miranda felt as if they’d walked for hours, but she knew it had been only minutes. She slid to the ground and stood on her own feet. Nonetheless, he picked her up and lifted her over the fence.
He pointed to some woods. “My cabin’s right through there. Can you walk?”
“Yes,” she replied, and took several tentative steps, then more as her legs grew stronger.
They emerged from the trees into a clearing where a small log cabin sat nestled among huge trees. Even in the dead of winter, the place had a homey appeal. Different shades of leaves covered the ground and smoke spiraled from the chimney. Bandit raced for the front porch; they followed more slowly.
As they climbed the wooden steps, he said, “Go. They’re not far behind us.”
He opened the door and without hesitation Miranda stepped inside. Her first feeling was warmth. It was divinely warm in here. She wrapped her arms around her cold body and let the heat soak into her bones. Then she took in the single sparse room, which was clean and neat. An old oak table and two chairs sat in the middle of the worn wooden floor. A cot was pushed against one wall, and a pile of newspapers and magazines were stacked beside it. A woodstove and a small cabinet occupied the other wall. The bare necessities were all he had. She thought of her father’s huge lavish house and her own beautifully decorated room. Did material things make one happy? She had a feeling the hermit had all he wanted right here.
The aroma of food caught her attention, and her stomach churned with hunger. When was the last time she’d eaten? She couldn’t remember.
He saw her eyeing the pot on the stove. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded. “Yes. Could I have something to eat, please?”
“Have a seat,” he said as he grabbed a bowl. “Leftover stew is all I have, but you’re welcome to it.”
“Thank you,” she replied, and sat in one of the chairs.
He placed the steaming hot bowl of stew in front of her with a piece of homemade bread and a glass of water. She snatched up the glass and drank thirstily.
“Slow down,” he warned her. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
She set the glass back on the table and picked up a spoon, slowly eating the stew. “What is this?” she asked. “It’s