Chapter 3 #3
Suddenly, she was awash with conflicting sensations. She was afraid of him, but something in her was reacting to him in a way she had never reacted to a man before. Awareness. Perhaps that was it. She was aware of him, drawn by him as if he were a magnet.
His eyes gave no indication he felt anything at all, but she sensed fury, the way one senses a death-dealing storm.
Deep to her toes, she could feel the rage radiating from him. She was the one who should be angry. She was the one who had been kidnapped, terrified. But she perceived she could never come close to the emotion that seemed to rack Tyler with such intensity.
He moved around her and went to her horse. With a gloved right hand he took a knife from a back pocket and quickly cut her valise and drawing case free. He placed the drawing case on a log stump before opening it.
Shea wanted to stop him. She felt violated by his actions, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good.
She would only be overpowered and look foolish.
She was no match for these three men. For this one man.
The good Lord knew she had been foolish enough already.
Better to save her anger for the right time.
Let them think her docile. For the moment.
Shea watched as he picked up the newspaper clipping. He turned to her.
“Why do you have this?” He sounded indifferent, but she somehow knew the question was not an idle one.
She wasn’t sure what to answer. How could she possibly explain? How could she explain finding out she had a father only after twenty-two years? How could she explain holding on to that likeness, the only one she’d ever had?
How could she explain having his likeness? Or a story condemning him?
Silence seemed to make his question echo.
“You don’t have much to say for yourself, do you?”
Shea had never felt at such a loss. Whatever she said, whatever she did, might bring more trouble, might hurt her father, might put her in further peril.
She felt she was sinking in quicksand, and there was nothing to reach out for.
Her legs trembled as his eyes seemed to bore into her, trying to rip out answers.
But then he turned back to the case, as if she were of no importance. He helped himself to several letters and read them, oblivious to her privacy or her feelings. He picked up her drawing pad, riffling through it until he found the sketch of Ben Smith.
“Christ,” he said, handing it Ben. “Bringing her here was the most damn fool …” He stopped. Hesitated. But the her still hung in the air. It was said with such disdain, even something close to hate. She shivered in the bright sun.
He turned back to her, a muscle working in his cheek. It was the first visible sign of emotion she’d seen in him.
Ben looked apologetic. “I thought maybe a trade …”
“For what?”
Ben shrugged. “A confession, perhaps.”
“Randall?”
Ben gave him a small smile. “It just seemed … opportune.”
“Beware of gifts, Ben,” Tyler said without a smile, then turned back to Shea. “They never come without strings, and I think this … lady has a damn long one.”
Ben shifted on his feet, like a small boy being chastised.
“It looks like you’ll have to stay here a while, Miss … Randall,” Tyler told her.
“No. I’m going to the Circle R.”
He was staring at her, and she wished she saw something in his eyes. The nothingness was frightening. It was like looking at a blank piece of canvas.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, but she knew he wasn’t sorry at all, at least not in her behalf. The tone, rather than apologetic, was mocking. “Your … talent makes that impossible. I can’t have pictures of Ben all over the territory.”
“You can keep it,” she said hurriedly.
“Ah, but you have too good an eye,” he said. “I expect you could draw it again.”
Shea swallowed, her silence confirming his words.
She didn’t know how to lie or hide her feelings.
She’d never had to learn, but now she regretted it.
She resented his invasion into what should be hers alone.
But he was right. She had a memory for faces, especially interesting faces, and Ben Smith had one of those.
Though it didn’t compare with Rafferty Tyler’s for complexity.
“I promise—”
“I wouldn’t take the promise of a Randall if it was wrapped in angels’ wings.”
“Why?” she asked. “Because he helped bring you to justice?”
He snorted.
“You just want …” She stopped, not wanting to express the thought that was becoming more and more clear.
“I just want what?”
Why did those eyes fascinate her so? Why did they compel her to say more than she should? “Revenge.”
He smiled. She’d never thought a smile could be so menacing. “Very perceptive of you, Miss Randall, or whoever you are.”
“I won’t let you use me.”
“Oh, you won’t?” Amusement crept into his voice. “And just how do you think you will prevent it?”
Shea balled her fingers into a fist. It had been another foolish statement—she was in no position to challenge him—but then she had been incredibly foolish since meeting Ben Smith yesterday. “He won’t care.”
“Oh, I believe that,” Tyler said. “Randall’s never cared about a damn thing in his life. That’s why I don’t think much of Ben’s bringing you here.”
“Then let me go. I don’t even know where I am.”
“I believe that too,” he said. “Unfortunately, you’ve seen some faces you shouldn’t have, and even more unfortunately you apparently can draw them. So you stay here.” His voice hardened. “Believe me, I don’t like the idea of having Randall’s get around any more than you want to be here.”
“You can’t mean … to keep me here.”
“Now you’re getting the idea, as distasteful as it may be to both of us.”
She felt numb, uncomprehending. How could this happen?
She had been safe her whole life, safe and comfortable and well liked.
She’d never had an enemy, and now this man, who obviously hated her father, and therefore her, was threatening to hold her captive in these mountains.
She knew her terror was probably reflected in her eyes, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see it.
She didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. “You’ll hang,” she whispered.
He laughed. “I would have welcomed the noose ten years ago,” he said.
“Now I don’t give a damn one way or the other, as long as Randall joins me on the scaffold.
” His voice lowered. “And he will, Miss Randall. He will.” It was like a blood oath, and Shea felt a cold wind blowing across her, though the trees were still.
Shea swallowed. Dear God, she believed him, and what could she say to a man who didn’t care whether he lived or died?
His words echoed in the silence. She had to break it, no matter how inadequate she sounded. The silence made the words stronger, more invincible.
“How long do you think you will keep me?” She turned back to him, trying to make her expression indifferent, like his, but she knew she failed miserably.
“Think?” His raised eyebrow seemed to mock her.
Shea glared at him, terrified at spending any time with this man who hated so strongly. The thought of it alone sent worms of apprehension crawling through her body. “If you hurt me …”
“Oh, I have no intention of hurting you. You aren’t worth the effort. But you will obey me.”
Oddly, she believed the part about his not hurting her. She should still feel terror, not just for the father she’d never met but also for herself.
“You can’t keep me here,” she tried again. “People will be looking.…”
Tyler looked at Ben Smith, who shrugged. “There was no one to pick her up. I don’t think she was expected.”
“Just dropping in?” That smile again. The smile that was no smile. “Miss Randall—if that’s who you are—I want some answers.”
“What for?” she retorted indignantly. “You already read my letters.”
“They say damn little, and nothing about a daughter. So I ask you again. Why are you here?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Everything to do with Randall is my business.”
“Because he testified against you? Because he did his duty?”
“What do you know about it?” His voice was hard now, some of the hoarseness gone, and his eyes were glittering.
“I … the clipping …”
“What did he say?”
She tried to step back again as she felt the intensity of him.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, his right hand grabbing at her arm.
The touch seemed to burn her, through the cotton of her shirt and the leather of the glove.
But as she tried to shrug the hand aside, it tightened around her arm like a vise, and she felt herself tremble.
Heat moved from the arm through the rest of her, an unwelcome burning heat she didn’t understand.
She didn’t think she could move. Something strange was happening to her, to her senses. They were overwhelmed by him.
In desperation she lowered her eyes to his hand. The clipping said he’d been branded. Was that why he wore a glove on that hand?
She knew immediately the thought was a mistake. She knew he read it.
He suddenly let her go, as if releasing a snake. “Would you like to see it?” He was taunting her now, and she saw a flash of anger in his eyes.
She shook her head.
“Ah, the lady has sensibilities,” he drawled in that hoarse whisper. “My hand’s not fit for such tender eyes?” His anger was obvious now. “I think you should see what Randall is responsible for.” He pulled off the glove.
Shea turned her face away, but his other hand went up to her chin. “Look,” he commanded, “so you won’t have to wonder.”
She wanted to close her eyes, but she knew he would force them open in some way, by the very strength of his will, if necessary. And she sensed his will was very strong indeed. She had no choice. She looked.