AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"I don't want Skeeter," she said quietly. "I want you."
The words hit him so hard, he reeled backward. "Get out of here, Lainie," he said in a hoarse voice.
She flicked the gun a little. "Get out of bed. We're packed and the horse is ready. Let's go."
He stared at her, trying to think of what to do. She stood as still as a rail, arms chest-high, chin up. Her
224
skin was so pale, it looked translucent against the dark intensity of her eyes. Her lips were a tense, colorless slash. "You wouldn't really kill me, Lainie."
Pain glazed her eyes for a heartbeat, then vanished. "I don't want to."
Everything about this moment was crazy. He felt ... disconnected, confused. But he knew one thing for sure: He wasn't taking Lainie out of this camp. He'd already decided that. He wasn't going to play the hero for her, an
d he wasn't going to lose himself in the needy vulnerability of her eyes.
Not him. Slowly he got out of bed and walked toward her. She backed up. "Stop. I mean it. Stop."
A grim, humorless smile curved his mouth. He was in his element now, had slipped into the role he knew so well. The outlaw; he used the persona as he'd used it for years, as a shield to hide the weak and selfish man within. "A gun's only as good as the man?or woman? holding it. How good are you?" He kept moving, his hands loose and swinging at his sides, his eyes fixed on her.
She flicked her wrist to the left and pulled the trigger. There was a cracking explosion and a spray of yellow-bright light. The pungent, acrid scent of sulfur filled the room. He felt the whiz of a bullet pass his ear and the shattering crack of glass. Behind him, a jar exploded. Nails burst outward, clattered on the floor.
He stopped dead, staring in shock at the gaping hole in the wall behind him and the drifts of flour on the floor. Slowly he turned back to Lainie.
She pointed the gun at his heart and drew back the hammer. Steel hit steel in a deafening click. "I need to be at the rock by sunset Sunday. After that, you can walk away."
For a blinding, terrifying moment, he didn't even
225
want to argue. He wanted to give in, gracelessly and with a measure of hope he hadn't known in years. Christ help him, for a second, he wanted to change. The thought scared the shit out of him. He was forty-three years old. Too goddamn old and banged up and disillusioned to turn into someone's white knight.
He moved toward her, lifted his palms in helpless despair. "You're asking the wrong man, Lainie. I'm no goddamn hero."
She didn't blink. "Let's go."
He stopped. His hands fell to his sides. A cold, crushing sense of inevitability descended on him, pushed at his shoulders until they rounded with defeat. He saw suddenly and with a rising desperation that they'd been heading toward this moment from the second they met. And nothing he could say or do would change it.
She expected a hero, demanded one. Unfortunately, what she got was a broken-down outlaw with a soul full of regrets. They were both screwed.
He felt as if he were being drawn into some great blackness from which there was no escape. "I won't be there when you need me," he said softly, so softly that he wasn't sure she heard. But he heard, and the ringing truth of the sentence made him sick. Bowing his head, he moved toward her. "Let's go."
She moved in beside him, tucking her smaller body close to his. Together they walked out of the cabin and headed down the street. Lainie kept the gun close to his ribs. On either side of them, lightless cabins sat quietly against the jet black mesa. The only sound in the night was the rhythmic thump of their footsteps and the clatter of their supplies. Captain plodded slowly along behind them, his head hung low.
"Is that Skeeter up there?" Lainie whispered, seeing the lookout.
226
"It is."
"Put your aim around me."
He froze, felt another flash of fear. Christ, the last thing he wanted to do was touch her. He forced a laugh, tried to sound nonchalant. "You don't need a gun to seduce me, Lainie. Your charming personality is more than enough."
"Put your arm around me."
"Whatever you say. You're the one with the gun." He curved one long arm around her shoulders. He meant to keep his touch cold and impersonal, but at the feel of her body, so warm and soft, something inside him gave way. He drew her close. A little too close. His hand slid down the hard curve of her shoulder and settled at her upper arm. The sunshine and dust scent of her clothing filled his nostrils.
