Fires of Paradise (2 page)

"Oh, damn!"

"Lucy!"

They were simultaneous wails. Lucy stumbled out, thoroughly flushed now. "Are you all right?" she cried, barely able to believe they'd gotten off to such a start. Joanna assured her she was, although she was quite white, and shaking. Lucy inspected the car. The dealer and the three salesmen also came running out, the dealer screaming incoherently because they'd somehow cracked the big display window. Lucy ignored him, worriedly regarding the automobile's front fender. Miraculously, mere were only a few scratches—and one perfectly round, melon-sized dent. "Why didn't you turn!" Joanna cried.

"I didn't have time," Lucy explained, rubbing one of the scratches as if she might erase it.

Joanna consoled her. "You can always buy another motorcar."

Lucy gave her a look.' T just spent my entire allowance— and then some."

Lucy gave the dealer another hundred dollars, along with a bright smile, and they were on their way. Joanna said nothing, even though she knew Lucy had overpaid the dealer for the damage they'd done to his window.

They drove down the road at ten miles an hour. It was wonderful, despite the heat and the humidity; they actually caught a small, hot breeze. Lucy sighed, relieved to be finally on the road. She would never admit it, but she was a bit shaken from the accident. However, she was sure the rest of their trip would pass without incident.

Lucy decided to forgo her original intention of driving down Main Street. Traffic was often heavy in the city, a few roadsters, many horses, riders and carriages, and many business conveyances, wagons, buses, and the like. Sometimes there were even cattle, a hangover from days gone by. She had learned her limitations, and would stick to the relatively quiet open roads leaving town. An hour later, they had left the last residential homes behind them. It was blazing hot.

"The train was cooler," Joanna said quietly.

Lucy didn't answer. The train had been cooler.

The car was bouncing over each rut and hole in the road, and they hadn't seen another rider or carriage in ages. Lucy's backside was already sore, her back stiff and aching. Why was the road so quiet? The hills around them were dry and yellow from the summer sun. Stunted trees dotted the landscape. Not a cloud marred the sky. Above them, buzzards circled, and Lucy didn't want to know what they were scavenging. So it wasn't exactly like a picnic in Oyster Bay, she thought, but it was still an adventure.

"I wonder if these roads are always so quiet," Joanna remarked uneasily.

"Of course they are," Lucy said cheerfully, hiding her own unease. "Joanna, what time did we leave San Antonio?"

"At two," she said, automatically looking at her eighteen-carat pocket watch. "It's almost four-thirty."

It didn't seem like they had been driving for two and a half hours. It seemed like they had been driving for ten hours. Lucy was starting to have doubts, which she refused to entertain. "See how the time just races by! Before you know it, we'll be in Paradise!"

Joanna just looked at her.

Lucy could see that they were approaching a man on foot. Instantly worry arose. A man on foot this far from the city? They were in the middle of nowhere! It became evident that he was carrying a saddle, but she did not relax. Because of the depression, there were too many tramps around these days, even armies of violent unemployed drifters. It was only last year that "Coxey's army" had marched on Washington. Caution and determination won the moment. In order to give the man a wide berth, Lucy steered the car carefully to the other side of the road, and landed hard in a pothole. The car bounced rigidly and Joanna groaned. Lucy darted a glance at the man. He wore faded, formfitting Levis, boots, a bashed Stetson, and an unbuttoned shirt, hanging open. He had been looking over his shoulder; now he stopped to watch them approach. Lucy told herself she was ridiculous for suddenly feeling afraid. She wished the Duryea would go faster.

"Lucy," Joanna whispered, staring at the stranger. "He wants a ride."

Lucy saw, with a sinking sensation, that he was thumbing for a lift. "I will not stop."

"Don't! He looks dangerous!"

Lucy hushed Joanna as they were drawing alongside, because she didn't want him to overhear. Of course, inwardly she agreed with Joanna and even condemned him as a thief, or worse. However, sensing Joanna's real and rising fear, she whispered, "Don't be silly, he just needs a bath. He's probably a cowboy from one of the ranches around here." She caught a glimpse of tightly clad thighs and hips and a bronze, slick torso, and then they were past.

Lucy let out a breath. There was something menacing even in the man's stance.

Fifteen minutes later, Joanna cried out, "Lucy! Watch out!"

Lucy had been admiring a roadrunner darting into the shade of some brush. She jerked her eyes to the road just as the automobile crashed hard into a huge hole, jamming both girls up against the dashboard. A few yards later, a slapping, irregular noise signaled that this time they had done some damage to the auto. Lucy could feel that something was dragging on the ground. She stopped the car and slumped at the wheel. "Oh, damn," she whispered.

It was so hot and they had been driving forever and there was not a house in sight and how could she have been so stupid to think up this whole scheme? "Please just stop and think before you act, Lucy," she could hear her mother saying.

Lucy took a deep breath, managed a smile for Joanna's benefit, and climbed out of the cab. She looked at the car and noticed that it was sagging on the right in front. Something was surely wrong, but what? And even if she could find out what, how was she going to fix it? She circled the car. The other side seemed fine, upright, except for the scratches and the dent. She came back to the driver's side and saw again how the chassis sagged over the big spoked wheel. "Something's broken," she said, trying not to sound despondent.

"Lucy, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

Lucy stared at the car for a few minutes, thinking. She immediately ruled out walking. They were two young women, unchaperoned and unprotected, dressed in their eastern finery. Impossible! Even if they escaped mishap, should they somehow arrive at the DM safely, her father would kill her once he found out.
And
never trust her again. It was one thing to travel by rail or auto, another to travel alone on foot. And besides, what about all their luggage? How could they leave behind all their clothing for their holiday? By the time Grandpa Derek sent someone to fetch their things, undoubtedly they would be stolen.

"Damn," Lucy said fervently.

She would have to fix the car herself.

Determined, Lucy began taking the pins out from her hat. She was horrified when she saw that dead bugs had accumulated on it, and went crimson thinking of how she had looked to the cowboy they had just passed. She threw it aside.

Her head gleamed like golden fire in the sunlight. Her chignon had become loosened, and tendrils were spilling around her face. It was a face that captivated and mesmerized men everywhere.

She was more than beautiful. Her face was classic—oval shaped with high cheekbones. Her eyes were big and sapphire blue. Her lashes were a dark gold, like her brows, startling against the pale ivory of her skin. Her complexion was flawless. Her nose was small and straight except for a slight tilt at its tip. Her mouth was lush and full and coral— too lush, too full, for it drove men crazy.

Lucy dropped to her knees and peered under the car's carriage. It was dark and she couldn't see anything. On her hands she crawled forward, straining to see. Joanna started giggling.

Angrily Lucy raised her head and slammed it into the car. "Ow!"

"You looked so funny, with your fanny in the air like that! If Leon could see you now!"

Lucy sat on her haunches in the dirt, mad, her head throbbing. Then her gaze widened and she stared.

He stared back.

Her breath caught. She hadn!t heard him approaching, and he stood so close, she could see, for the first time, his face beneath the battered cowboy hat. It was roughly chiseled, stark, completely masculine. His skin was dark bronze, and his eyes were so light that they seemed silver. The contrast was stunning. She was ensnared in the hot light of his eyes for a long moment.

The corner of his lip curled up unpleasantly. Lucy didn't move. She couldn't. Joanna was stock-still, too. But he never looked at her. His gaze released Lucy's eyes and slid down her face to her mouth. There it paused, and Lucy's heart began slamming wildly in her chest.

His gaze slid lower lazily. No man had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her. He eyed her full breasts, straining against the confines of her traveling suit, the jacket opened now. It slipped quickly down her to her dainty pearl-buttoned shoes, then back up. He hefted his saddle up to his shoulder and started walking on.

He was leaving them.

Lucy was so stunned, she blinked.

"Maybe he can help us," Joanna whispered urgently.

Lucy was staring at his masculine swagger. That very thought was also occurring to her. "Or maybe he'll kill us," she whispered back. "Or—worse."

She suddenly realized that he might have heard her, and she flushed. But if he did, he never broke stride. Rapidly she weighed her choices. He was a tramp, or worse, there was no doubt about that. Still, he hadn't hurt them ...

She leapt up. "Wait! Mister, wait!"

Chapter 2

He didn't stop, or even slow down. He just kept walking away as if he hadn't even heard her.

Lucy was shocked. No man had ever ignored her before. Amazed, then with a rush of determination, she lifted her skirts and stumbled after him. "Wait! Mister!
Sir!"

That stopped him. He turned, thrusting out one hard hip and resting his saddle upon it. He waited.

Lucy paused when she was still a good distance from him. There was no expression on his face. Nothing. And the way his hips were cocked, so arrogantly... Frowning, Lucy came forward so she would not have to shout, but remained far enough away to dodge him if need be.' 'Excuse me." She tried out a brilliant smile, but there was no response.

"Do you think you might be able to help us?" He stared.

When he did not respond, she grew uncomfortable and began to have serious doubts about approaching this rough-looking drifter for help. The way he was branding her with his gaze made her shift uneasily. There was no one around for miles, except for Joanna, and Lucy could not help but be aware of the two of them face-to-face and alone, in the overwhelming space of the Texas desert, which stretched as far as the eye could see. It made the situation disturbingly intimate.

They needed his help. Lucy took a breath and smiled charmingly. It never failed with the opposite sex. "Our roadster has broken down, as you can see. We can't leave it, because of all of our luggage. I haven't the faintest idea what to do!" She gave him an appealing, helpless look. "Do you know anything about autos—sir?" "Not a thing."

She hadn't expected that short, flat response. In truth, she hadn't really crossed paths with his sort before and therefore didn't know what to expect. The social circles in which she traveled were very exclusive. As a little girl, she had attended some rallies for workers, and had even gotten caught up in a strike, but she could barely remember those events. Despite the man's station in life, whatever it might be, Lucy had anticipated a certain amount of chivalry from him. She stepped back in surprise.

His eyes blazed briefly in what looked like anger, and then they went flat. When he eyed the roadster, Lucy rushed on. "Would you examine the motorcar? Please?"

For one long moment, Lucy thought he was actually going to refuse. He looked at her, his mouth curling slightly. Lucy's heart was slamming thunderously. He unnerved her. It was a new experience, one she did not particularly like.

Wordlessly he moved past her, so closely, his body brushed hers. Lucy didn't jump out of his way in time to avoid the contact. She ran after him, following him to the auto. He laid his saddle carefully down, then squatted, regarding the carriage.

"Can you fix it?"

"Yes."

Lucy and Joanna exchanged bright, relieved looks. Then he rose to his full height, lifting up his saddle. "But I won't."

Lucy gaped at him. He appeared madder than hell. "In about an hour you'll reach a ranch," he said. "I imagine the walk will do you good."

He began striding away. Lucy stared incredulously at Joanna. He would leave them now?

"Go after him!" Joanna cried. "Quick!"

"Damn," Lucy exclaimed, torn. He was very rude; worse, she was sure he was dangerous. He did not look like the typical unemployed worker, oh no. And he was certainly not like any man she had ever met before. In addition to the obvious difference of background, no man had ever turned a deaf ear to her appeals before. But they were desperate. Her mind made up, she was about to run after him.

Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, cursing audibly, throwing his saddle on the ground. Lucy jumped involuntarily as he came striding back to her, his open shirt swinging around his narrow hips. His stomach above the tarnished silver belt buckle was flat and looked as hard as a rock. A sheen of perspiration covered his skin. Realizing where she was looking, Lucy blushed and met his smoking gaze.

He came to an abrupt halt. "Don't tempt me."

"What?"

"I must be out of my mind." "You'll help us?"

"Like I said, I'm out of my damn mind." "Thank you!"

"Don't thank me, I don't have a kind bone in my body.
Comprende?"

Lucy didn't understand. Not really. She stared at him. Why was he so angry? Why did he seem to dislike her so? He didn't even know her.

"Turn those baby blues elsewhere, princess," he said. "I'm not doing this for nothing. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for me."

She stiffened. "Of course, how silly of me. How much do you want?"

He laughed as he took off his shirt. "I don't want your money." His gaze slid over her.

Lucy's head went higher; inside, she shook. His look was scathing . . . and something else. Something unfamiliar and scalding. She decided she disliked him. He was terribly rude, the lowest sort of riffraff. She didn't want his help, but she needed it. "I don't understand. If you don't want money...?"

He threw his shirt on the auto's hood. He whipped around. "If you'd lowered your little nose a ways back and given me a ride, I'd have fixed your axle right away."

She stared at his gleaming, thickly sculpted chest, his powerful rippling arms. Her body temperature, already high, went higher. She had never seen a man half-naked before. She knew she should not stare. Now she was being rude.

He stood very still. A silence had suddenly descended. He broke it. "Take your time. Take your fill."

Aghast, Lucy realized what she had been doing, and worse, what he had caught her doing, and she looked away, her face flaming. "We'll give you a ride." The words came out breathless and low.

He turned away.

Lucy covered her pounding heart with her palm.

Lucy and Joanna stood side by side while he jacked up the Duryea. Lucy used the respite to regain control of her emotions. Logic intruded, and with it, a few tiny warning bells went off. Now they were going to have to give him a ride. If anyone ever found out that they had given a stranger a ride ... It would be bad enough if he were a gentleman, but he wasn't, and this was much, much worse. If he could fix the car. Lucy almost hoped that he would fail. Then he would continue on his way—and she and Joanna would be stranded. They could not win. She supposed that giving him a ride was better than being stuck in the middle of the desert with a broken car. She just had to make sure that no one ever found out.

He had elevated the auto with stones, and now he laid a hand on the nose and pushed. The auto swayed precariously.

"What are you doing?" Lucy cried.

The look he shot her made Lucy sorry she'd asked. "You're going to knock it down," she managed.

"Better it falls now," he said, "or would you rather it crash down on me?"

He dropped to the ground and shimmied under the auto. She understood and she wanted to protest. He might be a tramp, and a nasty one at that, but she didn't want him crushed beneath her car.

Joanna nudged Lucy for the fifteenth time. Her blue eyes were wide in her pale face. She mouthed a silent question: What are we going to do?

Lucy knew Joanna was also just as worried about being stranded out here, in the middle of nowhere, as she was about their "savior." Now it was past five, and in a few hours it would be dark. Even if he fixed the car, then what? Before, when they'd left San Antonio, she had just assumed they'd find a hotel to spend the night in. But now she wasn't sure they were anywhere near a hotel. It appeared that the road to Paradise wasn't the same as the rail route, because didn't she remember passing a few quaint little towns after San Antonio in the years past? Or, come to think of it, were all those white picket fences
before
San Antonio?

If he fixed the roadster and they didn't find a hotel—then what? She would have been horrified with the possibilities, so she decided not to think about it and to deal with that problem later.

He pulled himself out from beneath the auto and rose to his full height. This time Lucy carefully kept her gaze on his left shoulder. "Is it fixed?"

He eyed her averted profile. "For now."

Lucy's gaze was drawn to him, met his, was riveted there. "What was wrong?"

"The axle is broken. It should hold until you can have it fixed properly. Where are you headed?"

The Duryea was repaired. Lucy hesitated, her mind filled with the new crisis facing her—giving this hard, rough stranger a ride.

"We're going to Paradise," Joanna ventured shyly from the background.

He was staring at Lucy so intently that she flushed, sure he could read her thoughts. She couldn't meet his gaze.

"Planning on welching?"

He spoke so softly, Lucy wasn't sure she heard him correctly. "What?" "You heard."

The anger in his tone made her glance quickly at him. "Of course not. I promised you a ride, didn't I?" She attempted a bright smile.

"Don't look so damn happy about it."

Her bosom rose. How did she dare go anywhere with this man? She exchanged glances with Joanna. But she wasn't a liar, she always kept her word. She took her friend's elbow. "Let's go."

"Lucy?" "It's all right."

"Dammit, just get in the car!" he said from behind them. Joanna obeyed with alacrity. Lucy dug in her heels. "Your manners are questionable!" "Lucy!" Joanna cried in fright. "Really?"

Lucy regretted her outburst, and turned to get in the roadster. He stopped her by actually grabbing her shoulder. She was stunned.

"My manners may leave a lot to be desired, but so does your attitude—princess."

It was intended as a slur—it felt like a slur. "Why are you insulting me?"

"Did I insult you? No one ever call you 'princess' before? Fancy that! Betcha this is the first time a man didn't swoon and become cow-eyed over you, too."

Angrily Lucy wrenched free. "Your manners do belong in the slums!"

"You might say that,
princess."

"I regret promising you a ride!"

"I'm sure you do." He pulled on his shirt. "Now, get in the car."

Lucy considered refusing.

"You can get in under your own steam," he said flatly, "or I can put you in." He meant it. She got in.

"Paradise." He suddenly grinned, with real humor. "Paradise." He chuckled. "You girls really going to Paradise?"

Lucy was too angry to respond, but Joanna said, "We're going to the DM."

Lucy jabbed her hard in the ribs with her elbow. Joanna gasped, and Lucy bit her lip. But she was looking at the stranger, who was staring at them. At her.

"Fancy that," he drawled. "You two belong to that spread?"

Joanna didn't dare speak, and Lucy cried quickly, "No!"

He sort of smiled. He had stopped when Joanna had mentioned her grandfather's ranch, and Lucy felt the knot of fear increasing. What if he made the connection between her and Derek Bragg and kidnapped her for ransom? He cranked up the car, and the engine roared immediately to life. He jumped into the cab, jamming his big body down.

He smiled at Lucy, baring his white, even teeth. "Just for your information," he said, "Paradise is that way." And he pointed back the way they had come.

"What?" Lucy cried. "Paradise is north of San Antonio, not south!"

"That's right," he said. "That way." And he pointed back down the road again.

"Oh, Lucy! We spent the entire afternoon driving the wrong way!"

Lucy was red with embarrassment. How had she made such a mistake? The auto was idling and he reached for the tiller. His hand brushed her thigh. Lucy tried to shift away from him, but there was nowhere to go in the cramped front seat.

They drove away. Mutinously she stared at the endless road ahead. Her anger cooled rapidly. She darted a glance at him, but his expression was inscrutable. He was watching the road, carefully steering. His elbow brushed her arm. She became aware of the length of his thigh from hip to knee pressing against hers.

All thoughts of their awful predicament temporarily fled. His leg was hard, warm, and big, straining the worn, near-white denim of his Levis. There was a hole on his knee, and soon there would be another rent on his thigh. The fabric was pulled so tightly over his groin, it looked like it might rip asunder at any moment. Quickly Lucy averted her gaze. She tried to remove her body from all contact with his.

"Stop wriggling," he growled.

She went very still. God, how had she ever gotten into this mess?

Lucy's heart was slamming too fast and too hard. She didn't like sitting there next to him, squashed in together like fish bait in a can, much less giving him a ride in the middle of nowhere. With no one else around. No one to help them—if they needed it. How had she ever been so stupid as to promise him a ride? He had practically forced them into the car. What if he did something to them, something terrible? What if he realized who she was, and kidnapped her? What if he was worse than a tramp? What if he was a down-and-out criminal? He looked like an outlaw.

Lucy had a gun. She had a small, pearl-handled derringer in her purse, and she was a dead shot. Her grandfather had made sure of that. But she was not reassured. On the contrary, to even be thinking about the gun now, to even consider that she might need it to defend herself, fueled her fears. It pointed up just how bad the situation might actually be.

She and Joanna must escape—tonight.

She sat, rigid and breathless, scheming. He appeared just as rigid, his mouth pressed in a hard line, his gaze glued to the road with utter concentration. There was no conversation for the next hour. Then the auto suddenly ran out of power and coasted to a halt. He cursed graphically, but both girls were too upset to blush. He got out and began to turn the crank. It started, but when he stepped on the accelerator, there was nothing. The auto rolled an inch or so and then the engine died.