Fires of Paradise (3 page)

"What is it?" Lucy asked, alarmed.

"Damned if I know."

Suddenly he gave Lucy a look and went behind the front seat and peered at the fuel tank. "Damn!" "What is it?" "We're out of gasoline."

"But. .." Lucy started. Slowly she went crimson. "You fill this monster up in San Antone?" Miserably, she shook her head.

He laughed mirthlessly. Then he reached into the car and withdrew his saddle, hoisting it on his shoulder. He eyed the girls.

    Lucy scrambled out of the car. "Are you going to get fuel?" she demanded. "No, I'm not, princess." "Somehow I didn't think so." "You're learning. Leave your stuff. Let's go." Lucy and Joanna exchanged glances. Joanna needed no encouragement; she nearly leapt from the car. Lucy grabbed the stranger's sleeve to halt him. "How far are we from San Antonio?" Suddenly she was overjoyed and thoroughly relieved—they had been backtracking, so they had to be close to town. Town—where they could get rid of this stranger, find a bed and bath,
and
take the spur to Paradise tomorrow. He smiled. "We're not."

"What do you mean? Of course we are! We've been driving for an hour back the way we came!"

"Don't have much sense of direction, do you?"

Lucy had enough. She intended to put him in his place, once and for all. ' T was born and raised in New York City on
Fifth Avenue."
Her tone was superior.

"Guess that explains just about
everything,"
he said with contempt.

Somehow, she had lost that round. They stared at each other. Lucy would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her drop her gaze first. As the standoff lengthened, the amusement she saw sparking in his gray eyes riled her. "Where are we?"

"About eighty miles dead west of San Antone," he drawled. "To make up for lost time, I took a turnoff a ways back. We've been heading straight north, princess, and if you'd been paying attention, you'd know it."

Lucy backed up a step. Stuck. They were truly stuck, out in the middle of nowhere with this dangerous-looking stranger—and it was almost dark. They both looked up at the dusky sky.

"Let's go," he said. "We've got another hour of light left.'' Then he smiled. ' 'And whatever it is you're planning, I would think twice about it if I were you."

Chapter 3

She was near tears.

Generally he despised sniveling females, but surprisingly, he felt sorry for her. He hadn't known he could still feel compassion for another human being; he had thought any empathy had been beaten out of him long ago, in prison. He supposed it was because she was so plain, and just an innocent victim of the other one's schemes. He had already sized up the girls' relationship. The plain one was the supporting act, the other one was the leader.

The other one.
Shoz stopped and turned to let the two girls catch up. The other one, the princess, was not crying, oh no. Her mouth was set in an expression like a mule's, telling him she wouldn't give an inch. This, too, was a surprise; he would have assumed she was all fluff.

"When are we stopping?" Lucy demanded. She was supporting Joanna. The smaller girl did not have her strength. "Joanna is exhausted."

"But you aren't?"

"Not at all."

"Sheathe your claws, princess; we'll stop for the night here." He turned away with a hidden smile. It was a downright lie. Her face was red with exertion. And she was glaring at him as if he'd just told her they'd go another few miles, while her friend, the pale, mousy one, was gazing at him with wide teary-eyes.

Shoz began gathering wood for a fire while the two girls sank down in exhaustion. He watched the redhead strip off her expensive suede shoes without a thought for modesty; in fact, he paused to admire her stockinged ankles and the hint of calf she was showing him. On purpose? He was sure of it. She was a practiced flirt, used to gaining male attention whenever she wanted it. If she thought she could manipulate him, she had another thing coming. And if she wanted to play with fire, it was okay with him. Someone should warn her that he hadn't had a woman in two weeks, not since he'd left Carmen in Death Valley.

"Lucy," Joanna protested, tugging at her sleeve.

Lucy followed her friend's glance to Shoz and saw his interested gaze. A flush rose to her cheeks while a tingle ran down her spine. She hastily let her skirts fall and cover her nearly bare legs.

"What are you doing?" Joanna scolded.

Lucy looked at her. "My feet hurt. I don't care."

"Do you think we'll be safe tonight?"

There was tension in Joanna's voice, and Lucy followed Joanna's gaze to look at the stranger as he dumped a pile of wood and brush. He squatted. His faded jeans stretched taut over his powerful legs, and Lucy realized there was a constriction in her chest.

Joanna did not know their plans to escape, because there was no way Lucy could tell her without risking being overheard by the stranger. Lucy knew Joanna would willingly follow her when the time came. It was just a matter of finding the right moment. Having made the decision to escape earlier, Lucy did not question it now.

But she debated Joanna's question. If they were to remain here, she wasn't sure if they would be safe or not. She was filled with doubts. He confused her. She sensed he didn't like her. He was so different from any man she had ever met before that he was impossible to fathom. And his gaze was unnerving. Predatory. Lucy wasn't exactly frightened, but she wasn't exactly calm, either.

It was almost dark, and they were going to escape as soon as possible. But how?

Shoz stood, his pale gaze sweeping over her. Lucy rose, too, as if on a puppet's string. He had a way of making her feel naked. It raised goose bumps on her skin, and she didn't like it.

"Can you cook?"

Lucy blinked.

He repeated the question. "We have servants who cook."

He picked up his saddlebags and shoved them at her chest. "Not anymore you don't."

She was genuinely amazed. Lucy opened the bags to find coffee, dried beans, and a few tins of meat. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You want to eat?" He squatted and lit the fire. "Make the food first. After it's done and we've eaten, you can wash the pot out in the stream that runs behind those trees. Then make the coffee."

Stiffly Lucy threw the saddlebags down. "I am not your maid," she said, insulted. She turned her back on him. "Come on, Joanna, let's go refresh ourselves." She picked up her reticule.

Shoz crossed his arms and watched her friend get up tiredly, nevertheless obeying her. He called after them, "Don't go too far. There's wolves, mountain lions, and snakes around here."

That froze Lucy, but only for a second. She took Joanna's arm, and said, loudly enough, "Ignore him. He's only trying to scare us."

"Are you sure?" Joanna quavered. "Lucy, what if—" "Trust me," Lucy replied with more confidence than she felt.

Shoz poked the fire. He made no attempt to cook. If the spoiled princess didn't do it, she would go hungry—he'd already made up his mind on that score. Fair was fair—and he'd been too damn fair. He'd made the fire, and he certainly wasn't going to wait on her and give in to her uppity airs. Never. He wasn't her servant, even if she thought so.

He felt it, again, the rising pressure in his loins. He avoided ladies like the plague and his arousal made him angry. She was probably a looker when she was cleaned up, not that he cared. Her body would make any man crazy, and after two weeks of forced celibacy (he hated whores), she was making him crazy.

He looked at the sky. There was a full moon and a skyful of stars, making it a gloriously bright night. Until the sun had set, he had been heading in the right direction, and now he checked his position against the North Star. He might be off by a few miles, but the meeting wasn't until mid-morning tomorrow. Automatically Shoz's palm went to the waistband of his jeans, touching the thick wad taped there. He had been a fool to become involved with the girls. What was he going to do with them tomorrow? Was he becoming softhearted? That would be dangerous. Then he heard a scream.

He kept a knife strapped to his ankle inside his boot, and it was in his hand even before he was running toward the stream. He already knew it was her friend who had screamed, and he recognized the sound as surprise and fear and pain. He burst through the three trees to see Joanna on the ground, moaning, holding her ankle. Lucy knelt beside her with concern. They had crossed the stream and were on the other side. "Damn," he said, wading through the ankle-high water. He could not miss his meeting tomorrow, he absolutely could not. There was too much at stake.

"Let me see," he said, sheathing his knife and squatting. He gently took Joanna's foot in his hands.

"It's not broken, is it?" Lucy cried.

Joanna kept moaning, rocking back and forth.

"She slip on the rocks in the creek?"

"Yes."

Shoz took off her shoe. She yelped and began to cry. Shoz wished she had just a little of the debutante's backbone. Fortunately, her ankle wasn't broken, but it was twisted. "It's sprained," he announced with a sinking feeling. He knew he should just leave these two and go on about his business, but how could he? Damn! How could he leave them alone in the middle of this barren country— inhabited only by snakes and wolves? Especially now that one of them was hurt. He
was
becoming softhearted.

"We need ice," Lucy stated.

"Sorry, princess, but the icebox is broken and the butler has the day off."

Lucy stood abruptly. "Stop making fun of me."

"You bring it on yourself," he said shortly, and gave his attention to Joanna. She was regarding him steadily out of big, pretty blue eyes, her best feature. He gave her an encouraging smile; she smiled back. "I'll splint this up and it'll feel better immediately."

"Thank you," Joanna said softly.

"What in hell were you two doing, anyway?" Shoz asked, staring at Lucy.

"What do you mean?" Her eyes were wide and innocent, like an angel's.

"Why'd you cross the stream?"

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks.

"Talking a walk?" he drawled. He didn't wait for her answer. "Stay with her."

Lucy eyed him as he left, and dropped down beside Joanna, taking her hand. "Don't worry," she said, but she herself was distraught. They had tried to escape, but had failed miserably. How could they escape now? The answer was obvious; they couldn't. And she couldn't escape by herself and leave Joanna alone with that monster. She would never abandon her friend like that!

"His hands were gentle," Joanna whispered.

Lucy gaped at her.

"I don't think he's going to hurt us, Lucy," Joanna said hesitantly.

Lucy stared at Joanna, who rarely offered an opinion unless it was asked for. Then she squeezed her friend's hand. "I'm sure you're right," she said, to ease her fears. "Don't worry, I won't leave you."

Shoz returned with material for the splint, and Lucy jumped guiltily. He looked at her sharply as he knelt down. Lucy got the impression that he had overheard them—and knew what they had tried to do. Her heartbeat accelerated, but he didn't comment. Instead, he worked surely and fast, as if he'd tended sprained ankles dozens of times. Watching him, Lucy began to relax. If he was going to hurt them, would he be so helpful now?

She didn't think so.

Had she overreacted to their situation? Lucy bit her lip. Knowing herself, she could honestly admit it was a slight possibility. After all, other than being rude, had he done anything terrible to them? He'd only asked for a ride, and he had fixed the Duryea.

Joanna seemed impervious to pain. Noting this and the way Joanna was gazing at the outlaw's dark head abruptly drew Lucy to the present. Lucy felt her hackles rise, one by one. He wasn't really handsome, although he did have a profile that could have been carved by a master. She grudgingly admitted that he was attractive, in an unusual way, in a rough, dangerous way. She watched his hands. They did, indeed, look gentle.

"Is that better?" he asked.

Lucy scowled at his back. Joanna nodded, whispering a thank you. The outlaw lifted Joanna into his arms without even asking her permission. Joanna clung to him as he carried her back to their campfire. Lucy's anger grew, and she didn't question why.

"Feel better?" she mocked. "Oh, thank you!" She stomped after them.

Joanna was settled comfortably in the outlaw's bedroll and he was stoking the fire when Lucy returned. That sight annoyed her, too. He rocked back onto his heels, squinting at her. Hands on her hips, Lucy stared back. He reached into a saddlebag and tossed a can at her. She just managed to catch it. He dumped the pan out, along with a small can opener. "Start cooking," he said.

"Why me?" Lucy asked mutinously.

"Your friend is hurt."

"Why not you?"

"You're the woman."

Lucy had never opened a can in her life. She wasn't about to start now. His attitude was irritating. She threw the can at him. "I refuse to cater to you," she retorted. "For your information, women are equal to men—in every way. So you can cook yourself."

"Women are equal to men, huh?" He laughed. "In every way? Really?"

He was making fun of her and she did not understand the innuendos, but was certain they were there. "In every way. But I don't expect a backwoods person like yourself to be familiar with liberal thinking."

"Oh, I'm real liberal," he said, still laughing. "If you come on over here, I'll show you just how liberal I am— and we can test out your theories of equality."

"You would make fun of something you don't understand."

He stood up, his smile vanishing. It had been a startling smile, very white and dimpled. "If you're so damn equal, princess, why didn't you get down on your knees in the dirt to fix that fancy heap of metal?"

She flushed.

"You don't believe in equality, honey, you believe in aristocracy."

"That's not true! My mother is a leading suffragette, Grace Br—" He waited.

Lucy didn't dare reveal her family name, just in case he was as immoral as he looked. Just in case he wasn't averse to kidnapping. Unable to speak, she glared.

"To hell with equality, start cooking. If you want to eat, that is."

"I happen to be full."

"On what? Caviar blintzes?"

"We dined sumptuously in San Antonio this afternoon," she lied. "I couldn't possibly eat another thing."

"Fine," he said, and he opened the can.

Lucy couldn't believe she had won so easily. Agitated from the exchange, she sat down next to Joanna, who had fallen asleep. She watched him cook the beans and the meat. Her stomach began to growl and she flushed, hoping he hadn't heard. What he was making did not look appetizing, but it smelled wonderful, and the truth was, they'd only had a continental-style breakfast that morning. She swallowed. She regretted her lie and wished she could take it back. Never would she let him see that she was famished. She should have fought harder with him over the issue of cooking instead of pretending to be full. Or confessed the truth—that she hadn't the faintest idea how to cook.

He never looked her way, stirring the pot with concentration. Once a wolf howled, and he cocked his head to the side, listening. Lucy decided she would pretend nonchalance when he ate. He took the meal off the fire and began to eat right from the pan.

At first, she was shocked by his manners. Then, when she realized that he really had no intention of offering her any food, she cried out. He turned sharply. His look was questioning.

Lucy stood, trembling. "I'm going to wash my face before bed." She hurried away.

It was a small brook, really just a muddy trickle, not far from the circle of firelight, but hidden from sight by a cluster of scrubby trees. She scooped up water and splashed it on her face, thinking about how awful he was—and how stupid she was. He had not one ounce of gentlemanly blood in his veins. To eat in front of her without sharing, even if she had said she was full!