Bounty Hunter (5 page)

He watched her pulse vibrate the tender skin below her ear, then he dragged his gaze
to hers, willing her to answer him with his eyes.

“No one. I came here to get away.”

“From what? Who?”

She looked into his eyes for what seemed an eternity. Her lashes drifted shut for
several seconds, and Kane knew then that he had lost. She wasn’t going to tell him
what had happened. Not yet.

She opened her eyes and said, “No one. I just wanted to be alone for a while.”

Kane let his fingers drift up along her jaw and tuck a wayward wild red curl behind
her ear. “Okay,” he said finally. “But can I ask you to do one thing for me?”

He let his hand drop when she leaned away from his touch.

“That depends.”

“When you decide you can trust me, will you tell me what really happened?”

“But noth—”

Kane stopped her denial by placing one finger across her lips. “Just don’t lie to
me.”

She stepped back so they were no longer touching, staring at him as if uncertain whether
to break down and confess—or run hard in the opposite direction.

She did neither, nor did she answer him. She simply walked away. She’d gone about
ten feet when she turned back to him. “What makes you think someone hurt me?”

Kane realized he was in trouble. He couldn’t tell her who he was. Who had sent him.
Shouldn’t want to. But for the first time in his life, he found himself questioning
his motives. What bothered him even more was the fact that no matter how much he hated
the unsettling emotions she raised in him, he knew he couldn’t come right out and
lie to her. Not at this moment. So he told her what he could.

“My Shoshone name is ‘Eyes of the Hawk.’ It was given to me at age twelve by a tribal
elder. One of the children had wandered off and become lost. Everyone looked for her
for hours. I happened to spot her tracks.”

“How did you know they were hers?”

“I knew that Lucy always dragged her stuffed dog around with her. I noticed small
tracks leaving the playground with a drag mark in the dirt between the footprints.
I followed it and eventually found
her hiding beneath a porch. She’d hidden because she’d torn her dress and thought
she’d get in trouble.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I was given the name because I notice things others don’t. Small things most people
take for granted or are too busy to see.”

He could tell she hesitated over her next question, and he willed her to ask it.

“What do you see when you look at me?”

He walked to stand directly in front of her, but didn’t touch her. He waited until
she lifted her gaze to his. “I see a woman who needs to be with others. A woman who
may
need
to be alone, but doesn’t
want
to be alone.”

A long moment elapsed before she answered him. “You may be right, Eyes of the Hawk,”
she said in a whisper. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

Kane’s muscles tightened with need. The need to kiss her, to taste her pain and her
strength, to forge a bond with her that was as physical as it was mental. When she’d
spoken his Shoshone name, it had moved something deep within him.

It shook him so badly, he didn’t dare to so much as touch her. Breathing in her scent
was almost more than he could stand.

“Just know,” he said, his usually even voice rough with need, “that I am here when
you do.”

She dipped her chin in the barest of nods.

Kane watched her as she turned and walked
away. Her dyed red hair with its sexy unnatural curl, her squared slender shoulders
that carried an unknown burden, a waist made for big hands like his to grip, hips
that would cushion the need that strained hard against the zipper of his jeans, strong
legs that would hold him tightly in place.

And more than anything in the world, at that moment, he wished Sam Perkins dead.

Not only because he was convinced the man had wronged his wife in some way, but because
only then would she be free to come to him.

He tilted his head to look heavenward. “I am a fool.” He dropped his chin. “I’m also
no saint,” he muttered, wondering if the Fates were finally punishing him for his
many faults, as Cloud Dancer had said countless times they would. Only he’d never
imagined his penance would come in the form of a woman he could need more than want,
but never have.

Elizabeth wiped her forehead with a corner of the old sheet she’d torn and wrapped
around her waist as an apron. The steam rising from the pot in front of her wasn’t
the only reason for her heated condition. She’d spent over an hour in the fields that
morning, then worked in the kitchen all afternoon. And not a minute had passed that
she’d been able to think of anything except Kane Hawthorne and what had happened between
them.

There was no denying the effect his dark sensuality
and quiet, purposeful demeanor had on her equilibrium. But even more disturbing was
the idea of just how special a man he might be. He struck her as honest and caring.

But then, hadn’t she once thought the same things of Sam Perkins?

The hair on her neck stood up even though damp with perspiration. Yeah. She was one
hell of a judge of character all right. Theirs hadn’t been the passion of a lifetime—Sam
was a bit too conservative for that sort of behavior—but for a secretary working to
make ends meet, having a whirlwind courtship with a bank president she’d met at a
church social was pretty heady stuff. And when he’d asked her to marry him mere months
later, she hadn’t hesitated to say yes. After all, what more could she have wanted?
She knew many women would have killed to have been in her position.

Now the only one who wanted to do the killing was Sam.

“I never should have followed him that night,” she whispered into the steamy room.
It wasn’t the first time she’d uttered that sentiment. Unfortunately that didn’t change
anything. How wrong she’d been to think Sam was perfect for her. So incredibly, horribly
wrong.

She thought back to that morning. To the secret thrill that had raced through her
when Kane had touched her lips with his rough-tipped finger.

No. She knew enough, had learned enough about herself over these past few months to
realize
how vulnerable she was. Because he seemed to care wasn’t a good enough reason to give
in to the overwhelming urge to unburden herself and share her problems.

Besides, if he was as decent as he seemed, he certainly didn’t need to have his honest
work rewarded with being embroiled in her potentially dangerous situation.

But you’ve already involved him
, a little voice nagged.

“Does that forlorn face mean you won’t have time for dinner?”

She started badly, then had to laugh as she turned. It felt good. Seeing him in her
doorway, even sweaty and tired, made her feel better. “I guess I’ll have to get used
to jumping every time we begin a conversation.”

His lips curved a bit, and her heart skipped several beats at the change the small
smile made in his harsh features.

“At least this time I didn’t cost you a day’s work. I’ll try to make more noise in
the future.”

Future. A word she’d always taken for granted. It held such potential—for everyone
but her. Elizabeth caught his gaze on her and quickly turned back to stir the jam
she was making. Eyes of the Hawk. A very appropriate name.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. Then recalling his question, she said, “I’m sorry, but I haven’t
fixed anything to eat. I’m using both burners to cook down some jam. It’ll probably
be another hour.”
She didn’t add that she had no idea what she was going to cook. Stew, salad, and rolls
was her basic menu.

“Actually, that works out fine. I thought I’d wash up in the spring behind the barn.
Then maybe see if I could find a way to contribute to the dinner menu. You wouldn’t
happen to have a fishing pole, would you?”

“I doubt you’d catch anything in the spring.”

He shook his head. “I noticed that stream about a half mile down the road as I rode
in yesterday.”

She smiled, touched at his attempt to ease her load. “Unfortunately, I don’t remember
seeing any poles. At least not that I’ve found. Maybe in the shed?”

“No. I’ve been all through that.”

“Not surprising I guess. I can’t picture Grandma Fielding reeling one in.”

“What about her granddaughter?”

She looked up at him. “You mean, do I fish?”

“Is that such a strange question?”

“Not really, I guess. I did as a child, with Matt and my dad. But it’s been a long
time.” She shrugged off the wistfulness that threatened every time she thought of
her brother. “I don’t see what difference it makes, since we don’t have poles.”

“Some obstacles are easier to overcome than others,” he answered quietly. “When you
get done, why don’t you pack some of your rolls and jam and meet me by the creek?
Take your truck so you don’t
have to hike it. I’ll leave Sky Dancer tied where you can see her.”

“I don’t mind the walk, but how are you—?”

“Trust has to start somewhere, Annie,” he broke in. “You provided dinner last night.
Tonight it’s on me. Deal?”

Ann. She’d always hated her middle name. It was so plain. Annie was even worse. At
least she used to think so.

“If it will make you feel any better, we can discuss the repairs I want to make in
here while we eat.”

His crooked smile returned, melting away any remaining resistance she had left. It
wasn’t as if they hadn’t eaten together before. “Yeah,” she said with a smile, “we
have a deal.”

He nodded and was gone.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, Hawthorne,” he asked himself. He strode
to the bunkhouse and gathered a change of clothes. At the door he cursed, turned,
and grabbed the small leather kit from his saddlebag. He didn’t even try to rationalize
why he was going to shave.

He pulled himself onto the Appaloosa’s bare back and rode behind the house and down
the rutted dirt road toward the weather-beaten Lazy F sign. He decided to forgo the
spring. He could save time by bathing at the stream. Then maybe by the time she arrived,
he’d have his act together. Tonight
was a perfect opportunity to get some answers from her. He simply needed a plan.

An immediate, very pleasurable idea sprang to mind, as well as to another part of
his anatomy. But, as appealing and intensely satisfying as the result would likely
be, he could not consider seduction. He laughed at himself. What an ego. She may look
at him with those soft doe eyes of hers and make him think of long afternoons spent
lazily exploring each other’s bodies. But if her married status was enough of an obstacle
to prevent him from trying to seduce her, what made him think her vows didn’t hold
the same importance to her?

In all his struggling to come to grips with his response to her, he’d never once wondered
about her response to him.

Had she given any indication that she’d ignore her marriage vows even in lieu of some
trouble—no matter how disturbing the reason—in her marriage to Sam? No. The woman
he’d observed and spoken to in the last forty-eight hours was a woman of pride and
integrity. He’d stake his fee on it.

Kane tugged at the bandanna tied at his neck and pressed his heels against the mare’s
flanks, easing her into a canter. The jarring motion as they covered the uneven ground
did little to shake free the vague, unsettling notion that Annie didn’t
feel
like a married woman to him.

“Kane?”

He froze for an instant. Damn, he hadn’t even heard her approach. What was wrong with
him? He tugged his jeans quickly over his hips. The zipper took a few seconds longer.
That was what was wrong with him. And if the freezing creek water hadn’t cured it,
nothing would.

“Over here.” He shook the water from his hair, raking it back with one hand while
grabbing for his shirt with the other.

“This looks wonderful.”

Kane brushed past the trees and entered the clearing. Annie was standing by the small
fire he’d made and was admiring the grate he’d fashioned from a piece of old wire
fencing. “No big deal,” he said honestly. “It’ll look a lot better when there’s a
few fish cooking on it.”

“Matthew would have loved to have had a friend like you as a child. He almost flunked
Eagle Scouts …” She turned to face him as she spoke, but whatever she’d been about
to say was apparently forgotten as she stared at him.

He looked down at himself, wondering belatedly if his condition by the stream was
still so apparent that he’d embarrassed her. But all he saw was his wet chest and
damp jeans, the shirt still in his hands hanging in front of him. He glanced back
up at her with a questioning look.

“I, uh …” She laughed a bit nervously and turned back to the fire.

“What?” He walked toward her as he spoke.

She didn’t turn to face him. “I feel stupid, is what.” She took an audible breath
and looked over at him, a self-deprecating smile curved her lips. “Don’t take this
the wrong way, it’s just that you … you look …” Again, her voice drifted off and she
turned back to the fire.