Chapter 10 #2
“I’ll check on her,” Clint offered. “She’s already seen me, anyway.”
“No one will miss you?”
“Hell, I’ll say I’m going up into the north pasture. There have been reports of a wolf pack there killing calves. That’s the excuse I’m using today.”
Rafe nodded. “If all goes well, we’ll be back at dawn.” He grinned at Simon’s crestfallen face. “She has a tongue that would slice you to pieces, Simon. “I thought you liked your women friendly and enthusiastic.”
“Yeah, Simon,” Ben said. “She’s not your type at all. She’s a lady.”
“Go to hell, Ben,” Simon said good-naturedly.
“What about the miner’s death, the one that’s being blamed on us?” Ben asked.
Rafe’s smile had a hard edge. “Ironically, the woman provides me with an alibi.” He looked over to Clint. “Try to keep an eye on McClary. Follow him if he leaves in the evening or at night.”
Clint nodded, and together they carefully planned their next move against Jack Randall.
Shea moved restlessly inside the cabin. She’d heard the sound of approaching horses, of muffled laughter.
She had been locked inside since breakfast without explanation. Of course, as a captive, she obviously wasn’t entitled to one, she thought rebelliously.
She found herself pacing, and again she wondered how Rafe Tyler had endured ten years of imprisonment when she couldn’t stand even a few hours. But he’d deserved it. He’d betrayed his country for money. And she … all she had done was try to find a father.
Shea tried sketching. She tried reading.
She tried petting Abner—Rafe had left the mouse in the cabin with her.
It might have been compassion, but she doubted it.
He wouldn’t know what the word meant. She’d been a fool to think otherwise yesterday at the waterfall.
He’d been cold and contemptuous since the return to the cabin and this morning had simply locked her in like some troublesome … mouse.
She would sell her soul to find out what was going on outside. Well, almost. She found the crumpled piece of paper she’d stuck in a pocket yesterday, the sketch of Tyler in which she’d softened some of the hard lines of his face.
With a few strokes she changed it, trying once more to find the real substance of the man but failing miserably. He showed too many outward contradictions, and he kept too much of himself well hidden.
She tried to occupy herself with plans to escape. She’d paid attention yesterday when he’d taken her to the waterfall. She’d noted their route, the position of the sun. But she wasn’t any wiser at which direction to take to get out of the valley.
Refusing to let that dishearten her, she squirreled away some crackers and jerky in her valise, to take if she ever did get a chance to escape.
She looked longingly at the two clean dresses inside the valise, even the one she hadn’t had a chance to wash in Casey City.
The shirt and trousers she still had on were becoming smelly and dirty.
Yet changing to a dress seemed to be a kind of surrender, an acceptance of a condition that was unacceptable.
How long would she be locked in here? She looked at the pail of water and soap he’d brought her this morning and decided she would wash her shirt at least. It was something to do.
After changing into a tan skirt and matching blouse, she took a cup and filled it so she would have drinking water, then plunged the shirt into the pail. She started scrubbing, using the shirt as a substitute for Rafe Tyler.
It would probably be the cleanest garment she’d ever worn. If there was anything left when she finished.
Rafe watched the last of the men go, feeling a certain regret as he did so.
There would be little now to keep his mind off the woman.
Ben had brought a few more supplies, including a haunch of a deer and a sack of potatoes. Perhaps some stew tonight would break the monotony of the diet. A hot meal might make her more … more, what?
He reluctantly approached the cabin and unlocked the door.
She was sitting on the bed, reading by the light of the candle.
He noticed she was wearing something different, a blouse and tan skirt, and she looked extraordinarily pretty, her head bent over the book, her light brown hair caught in the glow of the candle as it fell over her shoulder.
When she looked up, he found himself inwardly flinching from the silent accusation in her eyes.
“Are your … friends gone? Or do outlaws have friends?”
Good question, one that Rafe wasn’t willing to answer for her. “Let’s say we have a commonality of purpose.”
“My father,” she stated.
“Your father,” he confirmed.
“I still don’t understand …”
“You don’t have to, Miss Randall. It has nothing to do with you.”
“How can you say that when you’re keeping me here?”
He shrugged. “It’s unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate?” She glared at him, a blue fire burning in her eyes. “Unfortunate?” Her voice had risen slightly.
He lifted an eyebrow. “How about extremely unfortunate?” Self-defense had forced mockery back into his voice. The angry flush on her face deepened.
“You’re despicable.”
Rafe shrugged. “So I’ve been told.” His glance automatically went down to his gloved hand, and he wished it hadn’t. It showed a weakness he didn’t want to display. Not to her.
Her eyes followed his, and something flickered in them. He damned sure didn’t want it to be sympathy or pity.
He turned abruptly away from her. The shirt she had been wearing was hanging over the chair, and he knew from its damp look that she had washed it. He walked to the fireplace. Only ashes remained from the fire last night. He stacked some wood and kindling in the hearth and started a fire.
“I’m going to get some water,” he said finally. “Do you want to come with me?”
“Or you’ll lock the door again?”
“That’s right,” he said evenly.
Rafe watched her consider. He found himself fascinated again with the expressiveness of her face as she obviously fought a battle between continued resistance and the need to get out. He understood. Christ, he understood.
Her gaze warred with his a moment, letting him know she wasn’t surrendering but biding her time. No one, he thought, could say so much so eloquently without words.
He went to the door and opened it, standing back politely as she passed through it. Then he led the way to the stream. It was midafternoon, and the sun was bright and warm. Perhaps this evening he would take her to the waterfall. If he completely lost his senses.
He filled the bucket he brought and leaned against a tree, watching her. She’d always seemed graceful to him, but now she was especially enticing as the skirt swished against her legs, and the blouse hugged a figure the oversized man’s shirt had hidden.
Rafe found himself swallowing deeply. Once he had been an officer and ostensibly a gentleman.
But the last ten years he had been little more than an animal, treated like one and thus reacting like one.
He’d never been well-versed in the niceties of courtship, not even with Allison.
He had never thought flowers important, or small gifts, and he had been awkward with such rituals when he realized Allison expected them.
Now he felt more awkward than ever, wanting something that he couldn’t have, that he should never even consider.
But he did want this woman, and he tried to tell himself it was only because of deprivation.
There was a gnawing in his belly, a burning in his loins, and a loneliness in his heart.
But he had given in once, and he had no intention of making the same mistake twice, particularly with Randall’s daughter.
He’d experienced treachery from a Randall and a woman, and Shea Randall was both.
He looked up, and she was standing a few feet away. “Can I have some privacy?”
He knew how much that question cost her, how much it cost her each time she uttered it. Christ, he wished the hurt didn’t go so deep, didn’t bite so hard.
Rafe nodded.
She watched him carefully, and he knew she was waiting for something else.
He finally complied. “I don’t have to warn you this time, do I?”
She looked at him steadily. “Are you going to follow me?”
“Have you learned anything yet?”
“I think so.”
Damn, he wished those eyes weren’t quite so clear, so direct.
“I damn well hope so, Miss Randall,” he said, “because next time you try anything, you’ll spend the rest of your time here in the cabin with a bucket.
” His voice was harsher than he intended.
Her face flushed red, and he felt like the schoolyard bully.
But his choices were gone. He had to live with the ones he’d made, and by God, so did she. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” she repeated, her eyes flashing rebellious fire again.
“I’ll wait here then,” he said. “Don’t make me regret that trust.”
“Such as it is,” she said bitterly.
“Do you deserve any more?”
Her eyes seemed to burn through him now. Angry. Combative. “I don’t owe you any.”
“No,” he agreed mildly. “You don’t.”
He knew his answer surprised her. He didn’t understand why he kept battling with her, why he didn’t just ignore her as he should.
But he did know. He was so damned lonely.
He thought he had conquered and caged those feelings, just as he had been caged, but he hadn’t.
Except for Ben and Clint, he’d not had a prolonged conversation with a human being for ten years.
And except for that very brief coupling in the whorehouse, neither had he been with a woman, even to talk.
He hadn’t realized the depth of his need until he was attracted to the daughter of his enemy, a woman who despised him and had every right to do so.
As that understanding flooded over him, his anger toward her father grew even deeper, even more bitter. His freedom had been taken, his pride, his self-respect, his future. Now he found even his will had been twisted into something he no longer controlled.
A cloak of darkness seemed to smother him, keeping out any light that had found its way into his consciousness.
He could never have a woman like Shea Randall, never whisper endearments in the night, or create children, or stand beside a wife with pride.
He hadn’t understood before. And now he realized that the enjoyment he’d felt sitting with her yesterday and watching the rapt attention on her face as the bears approached had been born of the need for normalcy. For simple companionship.
He heard her approaching, and he turned away. He didn’t want her to see the mist in his eyes. Hate, he reminded himself. Remember hate. Something had to fill that hole inside him, and it could never be love.
It had to be hate. There was nothing more for him. Randall had ensured that.
Rafe scooped up a pailful of water from the stream and headed back to the cabin. He ignored the tight knot in his throat, the aching need to look at her.