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Within minutes he came upon the scene and watched from the shadows. His way was careful. He did not barge in to the rescue. Instead, he coolly mapped each man’s movement and probed the shadows looking for their backup. From the glow of the moon, he clearly saw two men struggling on the ground, while one stood watch. The one that watched twitched nervously, eyes flittering into the forest, and then back to the two on the forest floor. He ran his hands through unkempt hair. The nervous gesture gave away more than he knew.
“Do you think this wise, Hardin?” the watcher muttered. “The boss will know that you had her. She is bound to tell him. Better wait till he gives her to you.”
Elijah froze. The man on the ground tussled with a woman.
As Elijah peered closer, he realized the curve of the rump could only belong to a woman. She bucked wildly with surprising strength, trying to unseat the brute that held her down. He was struggling to remove her pants, and that was what had saved her thus far. Her attacker would have been buried inside of her already if she had worn a skirt. Elijah let his knife fly from his grip, and the only warning the watcher got was the silver glint in the darkened woods.
“Mother o—!” the watcher shrieked as the brute toppled off the woman, the hunting knife buried deep, severing his spine.
Elijah felt no guilt at his brutality. The man might live, he hoped he did, but he would be paralyzed for life. He should live to understand the depth of his punishment. Elijah despised men who took women by force, breaking their gentle spirits.
She heaved the man fully from her body, and scurried to her feet. Shivers racked her frame, and as he assessed her something teased him, a familiarity he could not place. Elijah stalked from the trees. The second the watcher spied him, he lurched back onto his horse, digging his heels into its side, and surged down the rocky incline. Elijah raised his brow as she scrambled for the gun that lay beside her attacker. Her hands shook too badly, the shot she fired zinged wide missing her man.
“Are you all right?” He asked, and as she spun to face him, the bandana knotted over her hair tumbled.
He hoped she did not hear his swift intake.
She stepped toward him, moving with the liquid grace of a dancer, sensual and feminine, so out of place in the raw savagery of the western plains. She was so dainty, elegant with stunning aristocratic features, sharp cheekbones, and full pouting lips.
“Elijah, I…”
The soft huskiness of her voice tugged something inside of him, and he buried the emotions only she could incite. She swallowed, visibly gathering her composure, pausing only a few feet in front of him. Her mass of midnight black hair rippled to her waist and big dark blue eyes held his glare, her head tilted in a show of defiance. Blood smeared her slanting cheekbones and the flowing shirt she wore, and her lips looked puffy and swollen. She licked her lip, a quick dart of her tongue in apparent nervousness. The action had arousal surging through him. It angered him that his body responded to her presence with such eagerness. He stalked around her, bent over her attacker and yanked his knife from his spine. Elijah wiped his blade on the grass and then sheathed it. He walked to face her, heart clamoring more than how he would have liked.
“Why are you here, Sheridan?”
Elijah. Every nerve in her body screamed in recognition and came alive. Thank God, he’d heard her screams. It would have been impossible to escape by herself. She had planned on mentally composing herself for their encounter on the journey to his cabin, but that had all went to hell.
Her gaze moved over him, hungrily taking in the slight changes. He was still sleek and fierce, only now he sported a rough-stubble of beard. His dark blonde hair was more untamed and disheveled. He was tall and lean with wide set shoulders, slim hips, corded muscles, and a ruggedly handsome face. A heated quiver of remembrance ran through her and she felt entrapped by his sheer magnetism. She wanted to touch him so badly.
The air grew colder by the minute as the intensity of the wind increased. The smell of her attacker’s blood reached her nose. Bile rose in her throat at the sickly odor, her body shivered, its feeble attempt to combat the chill.
Arctic green eyes assessed her. “Why are you here, Sheridan?”
The menacing chill he exuded rattled her. “I need your help, Elijah. I have been travelling for hours to reach you.” She moistened her lips and pressed on at his silence. “Could we return to your cabin to speak? It is very cold.”
There was no mercy in the eyes that regarded her.
“No.”
She clamped down on her reaction to his flat refusal. She knew this would not be easy. “What I have to say will take some time,” she insisted.
She parted her lips in a wordless cry as he walked away. The wild cry of a mountain lion rose in the air, hauntingly beautiful. Her heart thumped and she hurried after him. “Elijah, please!”
Anger burned through her as he ignored her. She grabbed his shirt with force, hoping he would stop. He spun to face her, his movement screaming controlled ire. She released his shirt, scalded from the fury that flared from him. He contained it so quickly; Sheridan wondered if she had seen it. “I have no horse, I…I need your help. I would not have travelled so far if it was not necessary.”
“State your piece and then get off my mountain.” His low snap had her freezing.
She hesitated. Pain squeezed her insides at his iciness. She had thought time apart would have softened him. But at least she had his attention. She needed to get him to go back with her. “Jericho Sullivan wants Whispering Creek,” she forced out. “He thinks the range belongs to me completely as Thomas’s widow. He does not know of your stake in it.”
Derision curled Elijah’s lips. “That is simply solved without you trekking up here. Inform him of my ownership.”
She met his eyes beseechingly. “He is also trying to force me to marry him. He came to the ranch today and—”
She broke off at his low rough chuckle. His raking glance undressed her. He lowered his eyes to her breasts, then to the juncture between her thighs. His voice went hard, contempt leaking into his tone. “Did you travel to let me know that another man wants to mount you? Stop wasting my time. I care not if he takes you.”
She flinched at his crudity, and embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Rage surged through her that he would so casually suggest she gave herself to another man. Once he had touched her with such heat she had burned and feared for her sanity. She remembered all the whispered promises in the dark, when he had been in her, riding all night long, wrenching screams and cries unfettered from her. She wrapped the anger around her like a shield, preferring it to the pain that slapped at her. How could he be so aloof after all they had shared? “Elijah, I—”
He slashed his hand in an impatient motion and stalked off.
