Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance) (7 page)

“Angel, if you’re cold—”

Her head lifted, revealing the blaze of emotion in her blue eyes. Against her pale skin, her darkened pupils made them appear enormous, filled with accusation.

“Let me go,” she said.

The note of desperation in her plea chipped at his conscience. “I can’t. Even if I wanted to.”

“Why not? You’ve got an extra horse now. Just let me get on it and ride away.”

The very thought of her out there, alone… “I don’t think you understand.”

“Then why don’t you explain it to me.”

“You need me now, even more than I need you.”

Her eyes widened, but then immediately narrowed with suspicion. He waited. Either she would laugh in his face, or begin to nurture the first grains of uncertainty he hoped he’d planted.

A moment passed. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. He didn’t realize that his hands had come to rest against her knees, or that he still held the edges of the blanket, until she jerked it from his grasp. “I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”

“Like yesterday? Like you took care of Jed Wiley?”

The unpleasant reminder doused some of the heat from her anger.

“Like it or not,” he continued, “I’m the only thing standing between you and Lundy’s hired guns. Some of those hombres make Jed look like a saint.”

He meant to frighten her, to scare the unholy hell out of her if possible. Anything to make her think twice before trying to run away again. And he didn’t even have to lie to accomplish it. He’d told her nothing but the truth.

She stared at him with the firelight behind him dancing in her eyes. He expected more anger. He knew how to deal with that. But he wasn’t prepared to see her defenses slip, revealing the yielding, unsure woman within.

In that brief unguarded instant, something tender invaded him. The fragile spark of emotion caught him by surprise. For many years, the forces that drove him had all been tied to basic needs. Hunger, thirst, lust, and most importantly the quest for revenge.

She recovered quickly and firmed her jaw, and then clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders and shivered.

It was too late to block the fleeting glimpse into her soul. He’d seen it. He wanted to reach for her. Wanted to wrap his arms around her and warm her with his body, assure her he would keep her safe. The urge was so strong, he curled his hands into fists and stood in one abrupt motion.

There was no place in his life for this kind of weakness. Not now. Maybe never again.

“I’m taking a walk,” he said for Wolf’s benefit.

“Want company?”

“No.”

Rane stalked into the darkness, trying hard to ignore Wolf’s knowing chuckle. The sound burned against his ears with prickly heat. He was starting to act like a damned fool.

The night opened welcoming arms, cloaking him in blessed darkness while he battled the opposing forces inside him.

Angel was nothing more to him than a pawn in a very dangerous, complicated game. Still, her mere presence distracted him and lured his senses down paths where he had no business treading. Worst of all, she triggered feelings of guilt that had him starting to wonder if he was doing the right thing.

Part of his problem was that he was beginning to admire her.

She’d been through hell already. Yet not once had she whined or complained. Under the circumstances, she’d borne the entire ordeal with a fair amount of poise and dignity.

She wasn’t at all what he had expected.

He’d heard talk about her. Gossip that painted her as a hard-riding, rough talking hellion with the morals of a cat. He shook his head. After spending the past twenty-four hours with her, he saw that the reputation didn’t fit the woman. Perhaps the rumors were nothing more than vicious lies.

Then again, why had her father suddenly whisked her out of Texas and sent her to an eastern finishing school at the advanced age of eighteen? Most young women were already married by then. Had it been a drastic effort to try and “clean” her tarnished name?

Rane stopped walking and expelled a long breath.

Not that it mattered. He didn’t give a damn if she was a firebrand hiding behind a lady’s guise. She’d just spent the past two years learning to be a lady. Evidently, she’d mastered deportment classes and learned to speak with a civil tongue.

****

Angel snuggled deeper inside the uncomfortable bedroll and willed herself to sleep. Her eyes flew open at every pop and crack of the dying embers inside the fire pit. How would she ever fall asleep with three Indians lying just on the other side of camp?

Other night sounds intruded. Crickets in the brush kept up an incessant chirp. Up on the gully rim, a coyote howled low and mournfully.

Most disturbing of all was the sight of Rane seated alone by the dying fire.

I’m the only thing standing between you and Lundy’s hired guns.

Surely, by now, her father had received word of her abduction. If so, he would have men out looking for her as well. She clung to the thought like a lifeline. If they were out there, she could find them. But first, she had to get away from this man who threw her heart into such turmoil.

Get away. Yes, she would escape and go home to her father. He’d be pleased with her now, with her proper speech and pretty finery. At last she’d show him she could be the kind of lady her mother had been...

Angel’s thoughts drifted. Drowsiness closed around her with a warm haze, until a draft of cold air hit her back. Something nudged her bottom. Then the cold air was replaced by warmth radiating from a solid male body.

Someone had crawled into bed with her!

She sprang upright and twisted around. In the murky darkness, she made out Rane’s face against the thin padding. He lay with one arm curled beneath his head, facing her.

“What do you think you’re doing!” Her voice came out shrill, a whispered scream of outrage.

“Going to sleep.” He sounded drowsy.

Panic pulled her sleep-dulled senses to sharp focus. Was her gallant abductor beginning to show his true colors?

“You can’t sleep here!”

“Why not? You didn’t seem bothered by it before.”

She blinked several times while her thoughts tumbled with confusion. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Last night. I woke and found you curled around me like a warm kitten.”

“That’s a lie!”

His unencumbered shoulder lifted with indifference.

Angel’s heart galloped. Last night. Those strange dreams. Dreams of feeling safe and warm, of feeling sensations she’d never before experienced. She had dreamed of being held in Rane’s arms and pressing shamelessly against him. Was it possible she hadn’t dreamed it at all?

Heat engulfed her. Half a minute passed, but it seemed like an eternity.

“Lie down, Angel. It’s cold and you’re pulling off the blanket.”

She sat there fuming. A real lady would never stand for this kind of treatment. The man was compromising her in the worst way. She tried to summon the courage to flounce up and stomp away in a huff of righteous indignation, like a real lady would.

“Lie down!”

His sleepy growl intruded on her inner struggle. She blew out a breath. If she did get up, the brute would doubtless come after her.

After playing tug-of-war with her conscience for another minute, she finally admitted defeat. Slowly, she lowered to her side and scooted to the very edge of the bedding, facing away from him. She tried hard not to touch him and had to brace with her hand to keep from falling onto her face.

The breath left her body in a surprised rush when his hand slid across her hip. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

She wedged her hands against his rock-solid arm and shoved. “Let go of me.”

“No. We need to get some sleep and that won’t happen with you falling out of bed all night.” His voice, coming from just behind her ear, had grown husky. “Besides, after what you tried to do this morning, I’m keeping you right next to me.”

She remained as rigid as a board beneath his arm. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. She found it impossible to draw a normal breath. His nearness threw her heart into an erratic rhythm.

After several moments, sheer fatigue forced her to relax. He had molded his body to the back of hers. His legs and groin cupped her legs and bottom with more familiarity than she’d ever shared with another human. His heat penetrated her clothing and sent pleasant tingles racing over her limbs. He felt better—oh, so much better—than the flannel-wrapped warming pan Aunt Nelda’s maid had slipped beneath her bedcovers on cold New York nights. Her traitorous instincts urged her to snuggle closer, but she willed herself not to move a muscle.

Strangely, the longer she lay there the more acute her senses grew. She felt his breath, hot and moist in her hair. His heart pounded against her, so hard, as if he’d been running. Between them, trapped heat permeated her clothing until it almost felt as if there was no barrier at all separating her feverish skin from his.

Against her waist, his hand moved and he flattened his hot palm against her quivering stomach. The sensation traveled downward and settled deep, igniting a sweet ache in the intimate spot between her thighs. For a breath-stealing moment, she wondered if—and almost hoped—he would dare to do more.

The quickly expanding ridge of male flesh pressed against one side of her buttocks told her that he was no more immune to this disturbing intimacy than she was.

He was just as aware of her. And just as affected.

Was she losing her mind? Or just all sense of right and wrong? Despite the fact that this man continued to drag her across Texas against her will, or the knowledge that he had marked himself for death, her fascination with him seemed to grow by the hour.

Her initial assessment of him had been dead on. He was dangerous. Not only had he taken away her freedom and all but sabotaged her chances of arriving in Clayton Station with her newfound reputation intact. Now he posed an even more serious threat—to her heart, to her very soul.

Worst of all, if she didn’t get away from him before long, God help her, she had a feeling she would soon no longer care.

Chapter Five

The descent into the lower desert basin was like riding into the first level of hell. Barren sand reflected furnace heat. Angel’s uneasiness edged up a notch when the scrubby trees disappeared and even the prolific clumps of prickly pear grew scarce.

On the wide, level terrain, Rane pushed the horses to a mile-eating lope. Angel rode a length behind and to his left, dodging the worst of his dust. Anticipation soared as the paint mare beneath her gamely kept pace with his big stallion. Just being in a saddle again—even a stolen one—with her feet planted firmly in the stirrups empowered her. She now had the means to escape. All she needed was an opportunity.

Scanning the faraway horizon, Angel searched for some sign of other riders. Every mile they traveled carried them closer to Clayton Station. And her father. Surely, he had men out looking for her by now.

But other than Rane, she’d seen no living soul since the Indians had departed camp at dawn.

The sun inched toward its zenith and the little mare showed signs of flagging. Rane slowed the pace, and Angel became even more aware of the intense heat beating down from above.

She drooped and swayed in the saddle. The constant jarring settled into her bones. The ache in her legs had long ago faded into numbness. But the excruciating stitch in her side persisted and stabbed into her with each bounce. Those sedate Saturday jaunts in Central Park hadn’t kept her saddle-ready. Like any green rider, her bottom ached, and the inner sides of her thighs had chafed against the leather until they felt raw.

Around them, the land slowly changed. Outcrops of multi-hued stratum thrust upward from the desert floor, breaking the monotony. Angel no longer watched the horizon—she could no longer see it.

When the sun had climbed straight overhead, Rane halted his horse in the scant shade at the base of a low bluff.

Angel almost wept with relief. Grimacing, she eased from the saddle. Her knees threatened to buckle when she dropped to the ground. She stood there a moment on wobbly legs, braced against the stinging sensation shooting through her limbs.

“You’ll get used to it.”

She looked up. Rane watched her from a few feet away.

“Maybe tomorrow it’ll be better,” he said.

Tomorrow
. It was only midday. She doubted he planned to camp here at the base of this bluff. After a short rest, they’d move on, try to make up some of the time they’d lost while walking yesterday. How would she stand more endless hours in the saddle?

“I’m fine,” she said, unwilling to admit weakness.

An amused spark appeared in the dark depths of his eyes, just before he turned away.

Angel blew out a breath. A fine layer of ashen dust covered her from head to toe. She uncurled her stiff fingers and looked at her hand. Even without peeling back the edge of the shirtsleeve, she could tell the sun had darkened her exposed skin. A mere two days in the Texas badlands had undone two years of Aunt Nelda’s night poultices meant to preserve her creamy, pale complexion.