Bounty Hunter (25 page)

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Julianna was terrified. Because some part of her, some clearly perverse and heretofore
unknown part of her, desperately wanted this beautiful naked man to make her cry and
beg. But it wasn’t about what Julianna wanted, was it? It was about what she needed.
And she needed that pearl. She had no other options. It was too late to look for funds
elsewhere. And if she didn’t pay the solicitor within the week, the children would
all be out on the street. She had worked so desperately to shield them from the harsh
realities of their life, to provide a safe home and a happy future for them. All would
be lost if she lacked the courage to accept this bargain. Truly, it would ruin her
if she failed to produce the rent. Ruin her chance at independence, her chance to
prove she was capable of taking care of herself and others. The failure would hang
over her head, branding her incompetent and unworthy. And that would be the ultimate
failure on her part. She would lose the children and so much more.

She nibbled on her fingertip as she debated with herself. Her virginity certainly
hadn’t ever helped her up until now. After all, it wasn’t as if she was saving herself
for someone. True, she was untouched, but that had been by choice. She had never wanted
to give herself to any man before, either in bed or in matrimony. She very much doubted
that would change after a night in bed with Mr. Sharp, who most certainly did not
have matrimony on his mind. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit her attraction
to him was part of the reason she’d decided on this mad scheme. Surely this weakness
she harbored for him would pass if she surrendered to it for one night? Then she could
move forward, take care of business, and forget Mr. Sharp entirely. It was a business
proposition, nothing more. She had seen countless men and women, her father included,
walk away from affairs such as this without a backward glance. She knew Mr. Sharp
had done so in the past. She saw no reason why she couldn’t do the same.

But could she trust his word? That was the real question. Could she trust that he
would live up to his side of the bargain? And could she live with herself after it
was over, after she had sold her body for the price of a pearl? Well, an incredibly
beautiful, valuable pearl, but still.

She could feel his eyes on her, measuring her, tempting her, seducing her. She bit
her lip in panicked indecision and watched his eyes narrow just a bit more as the
rise and fall of his chest lost a step in the cadence of his breathing.

With amazement she realized he really did want her. This might be a diversion for
him, a meaningless encounter, but he really did want her. Why? He didn’t recognize
her. For all he knew she was nothing but an immoral thief. And yet he wanted her.
Did he even know what she looked like? It was dark enough in the room that she could
make out only the basic outline of his features. If she hadn’t seen him countless
times before, she wouldn’t know the blue of his eyes, the gleaming blond of his hair.
So what did he see that intrigued him?

It is what he thinks me to be.
He thought her a thief, a trickster, a criminal. It was why he’d proposed the bargain.
He thought she was experienced, he’d said as much. He thought she was a woman of the
streets. She almost laughed aloud. She knew her way around a lock, it was true, but
she hadn’t learned that on the streets. Oh, no. She’d learned that in the drawing
rooms and country houses of the glittering society in which he moved so effortlessly.
He had no idea who she was, none at all. And that was a good thing. She worked very
hard to blend into the background, disguising the real Julianna behind a bland facade.
That way no one would take an interest in her. It was a habit she’d learned as a child,
so as not to interfere with her father’s thieving or romancing. She’d grown to like
the anonymity of it. Now her disguise gave her the freedom to do as she chose while
society promenaded past her, uncaring about who she was or what she did. Clearly Mr.
Sharp had walked past as uncaring as everyone else.

But tonight he cared. Tonight she would drop all disguises and, for the first time
in her life, she would be herself and take what she wanted, as well as get what she
needed.

“I accept,” she whispered the words as she closed her eyes tightly, her stomach flipping,
though not unpleasantly, at the risk she was taking.

“Let go of the raft!”

The words shouted from behind were lost in the roar of the water over her, the thunder
of the water crashing against the sheer canyon walls and hurtling her downstream.

“Let go of the raft!” The second time she
heard
the shout, but her fingers clutched the edge of the heavy rubber raft more tightly,
as tightly as she ever had held to anything in her life. Her life! Oh, Lord, she was
going to die! She knew it. In the seconds after she was swept through the first rapids,
her thoughts were fragmented: Death. Fear. Loss. Panic. She hadn’t said good-bye to
her parents. She’d never see home again. She was going to die in this ice-cold water,
all alone in the rushing river, the white and green foam swirling over her face.

Moving ever downstream, Abby lashed one arm across the hump of the raft and wept,
her tears instantly erased by the icy splash of spray. What was she going to do?
Oh, God
, she prayed,
oh, someone, help!
She began to scream, “Help me! Oh, help me … oh …”

Like a living thing, the river gathered itself beneath her and leaped forward. “Oh,
help! Someone help me!” She felt the river surge and rise, and ahead she saw the white
riffles and hanging spray that signaled the start of the next rapids.

Saw them and was taken by them in the same second.

The water was lifting and churning over rocks that were only dark, looming shadows
beneath the white, foaming surface. “Oh, no, not again, no more—please!” she screamed,
while the raft strained at her hold, leaping and jumping over the dark, crouched rocks,
wrenching at her arms, pulling her faster and faster, the water always in her eyes
and mouth and nose.

And then the third shout came from behind, loud and insistent and commanding:

“Let go of the raft!”

And her mind, or the tiny section of her mind that wasn’t numbed by fear and panic
and cold, remembered her guide’s instructions before they ever got on the river, the
damned, damned river where she was about to die. Three rules if you fall in: Point
your feet downstream to cushion the blows, hold on to your life jacket, and if someone
yells “Let go of the raft!” then do it!

“Oh, no. She couldn’t. She couldn’t! It was all she had that meant safety and hope.
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.…

“Let go of the raft!
Now!
”

She released her hold, and the raft tore downstream like a demon creature bent for
hell. Flying, springing, it crashed against the looming black canyon wall.

Abby swung her arms wildly, the water swirling over her face, drowning her, choking
her. But instead of the wall, her feet hit the torn rubbery side of the raft, and
she bounced back away from the rocks and out into the middle of the river again.

For a moment she hung there, shocked into immobility by the memory of those looming
rock walls flying at her and away. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; her eyes
were wide with fear. She hung there in the deceptive, momentary calm of one of the
deep, still pools between the rapids.

The water was black there, deeper than she could imagine. She tried to kick, but her
feet were numb; so were her legs. The icy numbness was sliding insidiously up her
body to her waist, her chest. She felt the cold hand of death gripping her.

Screaming, she flailed at the water, aiming for the canyon wall. Anything, anything
was better than the water. The wall slid by, picking up speed like a phony backdrop
in a grade B movie. Fast and faster now, as the river carved into the canyon walls
at a sudden angle. She could see the spiked tips of the pines growing at the cliff
top above her, the ribboned layers of rock exposed on the cliff walls, the white,
churning water ahead. “Help!” she screamed, the water filling her mouth. Panic brought
life to her legs, and she backpedaled desperately. “Save me!”

Incredibly, another raft flew into sight, with a huge, dark-haired guide at the oars.
She struggled toward this one hope. She saw the man straining against the pull of
the river, his arm muscles bulging, his whole body fighting the current, fighting
to save her, his arms, back, neck, hips locked in battle, slowing the raft, slowing
it just enough
perhaps
to let her grasp the hands reaching out to her as she splashed closer. He fought
the river, shouting “Swim, dammit! Swim!” in the same hoarse, urgent voice that had
commanded her to let go of the raft. “
Come on! Swim!
”

Abby tried, but her body was too cold to obey her commands, and the river was too
strong. The guide shouted a curse as the river escaped the drag of his oars and the
raft leaped into the rapids and was gone and she was pulled under the foaming surface.

She felt a sharp stab of pain as she hit the rounded hump of a boulder and was flung
over it. She gave up all hope and stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped praying.
The river swept on with her as it snaked around its next turn, and then suddenly she
was trapped in a tangle of tree branches leaning like a net across the water.

As Abby felt the solid wood, sheer instinct took over and she scrambled up, sending
loose gravel and rock hailing into the water. She felt the dead tree slip under her
weight and climbed faster, planting one foot on the broken trunk, pulling the other
up alongside, scrambling up onto the rocks until she could think, stop; and take control
of her body. She dug her heels into the loose rock face of the canyon wall and spread
her arms wide, her fingers prying a hold into the rock.

She was out of the water. Alive. Oh, God …

She started to shake and couldn’t stop. Her whole body was jumping with fear and shock;
her teeth were chattering. There was nothing she could do. She wanted to climb farther
but couldn’t, wanted to edge over just a foot or two to a notch in the wall that had
grass she could grab hold of, but she couldn’t. She wanted to shout for help, but
couldn’t; her teeth were clicking and wouldn’t stop even when she bit her lips hard
enough to taste blood.

A rock slid from beneath her left foot, and she screamed. She turned and pressed her
body against the rock wall until it dug into her back.

Suddenly she saw movement on the cliff top across the river. Wiping her face against
her shoulder, she squinted through water and tears to bring the shapes into focus.
Someone was there, gesturing, shouting. “Up … go up!” the person yelled, pointing
to the top of the canyon wall forty feet above her; she shook her head in a short,
nervous jerk.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t answer.

The person kept shouting at her, waving, yelling at her as if she were purposely not
listening, not following orders. She saw it was
her
guide, the one who had lost control and let her raft flip, flinging her and the others
into the river, and the others were with him; her pal Elaine and the two fellows they
had met in Estes Park who had promised that a raft trip would be such fun! Oh, dear
Lord, they were all there, safe, and
she
was down here, the wall crumbling into the river below her, the water just waiting,
waiting to take her again.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears slid down her cheeks, ran into her open mouth.
Everything hurt now, her legs, her stomach, her chest whenever she breathed.
Help
, she prayed silently.
Someone help me.
In all her life she had never been so afraid. It was worse than the most awful nightmare.

Then she heard a noise above. Abby gasped, then held her breath and listened. It was
a voice, a man’s shout, directly overhead. She tipped her head back against the rock
wall and saw a rope uncoil from the edge above and to the right. And then that dark-haired
rafter swung himself over and down, sending a tiny avalanche cascading harmlessly
past her and into the water. She shuddered, cringing at the splash. “Hurry,” she begged.

“Hold on! I’m coming to get you,” he shouted, and she let her head fall back and didn’t
open her eyes until she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t be scared,” he said softly. “You’re okay now.”

She didn’t answer, couldn’t, just kept her teeth clamped down over her bottom lip
and tried to stop shaking. Tears spilled from her eyes.

He touched her face, pushing the hair and leaves and dirt back from her cheek with
blunt, strong fingers. “It’s okay now,” he repeated, looking into her wide, terrified
eyes.
Poor thing
, he thought,
poor little thing
, but aloud he said, “Are you hurt? Tell me where you’re hurt.”

Abby was shaking too hard to answer, so he gently ran a hand across her arms, down
her ribs on one side and up over the other. Then he crouched against the rock and
ran his hand over both scratched and bruised legs.

She felt cold as ice, he thought, and those wide, unblinking eyes worried him. He
touched her cheek. “You’re all right. Nothing’s broken. You had a bad time, but I’m
going to take care of you; I’m going to get you out of here. I know you’re scared,
but it’s going to be okay.” He kept stroking her face and talking, ignoring her chattering
teeth, her silence. “Okay, now, I want you to take hold of this rope and pull up.
I’ll be under you here, pushing. Well get you right up, just one foot at a time, hand
over hand—”

She shock her head wildly, panic blinding her. She could not, would not, move, knowing
she would slide back into the river like a stone.