Chapter 4 #3
“I’m used to gentlemen and simple … humanity.”
“That’s strange, considering your claim that you’re Randall’s daughter.”
“I haven’t claimed anything to you.”
“That’s right, you haven’t,” he agreed in a disagreeable tone. “You haven’t said much at all.”
“And I don’t intend to. Not to a thief and a traitor.”
“Be careful, Miss Randall. Your continued good health depends on that thief and traitor.”
“That’s supposed to comfort me?” Her tone was pure acid.
His gaze stabbed her. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m out of practice in trying to comfort anyone. Ten years out of practice.” She heard no apology in his voice, only bitterness.
“So you’re going to starve me?”
“No,” he said slowly. “I’m not going to do that.”
The statement was ominous to Shea. “What are you going to do?”
“Follow my rules, and I won’t do anything.”
“You already are. You’re keeping me here against my will.”
He was silent for a moment, and a muscle moved in his neck, as if he were just barely restraining himself. “Lady, because of your … father, I was held against my will for ten years.”
She wanted to slap him for his mockery. She wanted to kick him where it would hurt the most. But now was not the time.
“Is that it? You’re taking your … grudge out on me?”
The muscle in his cheek moved again. “No, Miss Randall, it’s not that. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t have any more choices than you do.” He didn’t know why in the hell he was explaining, except that her last charge galled him.
“You do,” she insisted.
He turned away from her. “Believe what you want,” he said, his voice indifferent. “Blow out that candle and come with me if you want some water.”
She didn’t want to go with him, but she was desperate to slake her thirst and to take care of a personal need. She blew out the candle, hoping that once outside he wouldn’t see dried streaks of tears on her face.
Shea didn’t have to worry. He paid no attention to her. She knew she was plain, especially so in the loose-fitting britches and shirt she wore and with her hair in a braid. She should be grateful he was indifferent to her, but a part of her wanted to goad him, confuse him … attract him.
Shea felt color flood her face. To stop her train of thought, she concentrated on her surroundings.
Her horse was gone, and her belongings were propped against the tree stump.
There was a shack to the left, with a lock on the door.
That must be where he’d taken the weapons and where he kept his own horse.
The keys had to be in his pockets. He strode over to the building and picked up a bucket with his gloved hand.
She tried to pay attention to their route, but in the forest of pine and aspen and bushes, everything looked alike. She thought of turning around and running, but he was only a couple of feet ahead of her. He’d have no trouble catching her.
He stopped abruptly at a stream and leaned against a tree, watching her.
Shea had never drunk from a stream before, yet that was obviously what he expected her to do.
The dryness in her mouth was worse, and she couldn’t wait.
She moved to the edge of the stream and kneeled, feeling awkward and self-conscious, knowing he was judging her.
She scooped up a handful of water, then another, trying to sip it before it leaked through her fingers.
She caught just enough to be tantalized.
She finally fell flat on her stomach and put her mouth in the water, taking long swallows of the icy-cold water, mindless of the way the front of her shirt got soaked, mindless of anything but the water.
It felt wonderful. And tasted wonderful. Colder and purer than she’d ever had before. When she was finally sated, she sat up and turned around, her gaze instinctively going to Tyler.
His stance looked lazy, but his eyes, like fine emeralds, were glowing with green fire, and she felt a corresponding wave of heat consume her. She couldn’t move her gaze from him, no matter how hard she tried, as if they were locked together.
He was the first to divert his gaze, and his eyes assumed their usual icy indifference.
She looked down and noticed that her wet shirt clung to her, outlining her breasts. She swallowed hard and turned around. She splashed some water on her face, hoping it would cool the heat suffusing her body.
Shea lingered as long as she could. She didn’t want to go back to the dark cabin. She didn’t want to face him or those intense emotions she didn’t understand.
She kept expecting him to order her away, but he didn’t. She didn’t dare look, but she felt his gaze on her and knew she should feel fear. He had been in prison a very long time. Yet she instinctively knew he wouldn’t touch her in a sexual way.
Because he despises you.
Because he despises your father.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, a spiral of light gleamed through the trees. She wanted to reach out and catch that sunbeam, to climb it to some safe place.
But there were no safe places any longer.
She watched that ray of light until it slowly dissipated as the sun slipped lower in the sky, and then she slowly rose.
“Ready?” he asked in that hoarse whisper of his.
The word held many meanings.
Ready for what? She wasn’t ready for any of this.
But she nodded.
He sauntered over and offered his gloved hand.
She refused it and moved away from him, stunned by how much she’d suddenly wanted to take his hand, to feel that strength again.
And Shea realized her battle wasn’t entirely with him. It was also with herself.