Captive Bride (3 page)

Abby gathered her courage, took a deep breath and went to meet him. He hunkered down by the fire and poured water from a canteen into a coffeepot, then set it over the flames. Soon, the invigorating aroma of coffee filled the air. She sat opposite him, tucking the blanket around her legs, and held her hands out to the beckoning warmth. In a few minutes, he handed her a cup of the steaming liquid. She wanted to throw it at him but that would be a stupid thing to do. As she sipped the hot coffee, the feeling slowly returned to her hands and feet. With it, her bravado returned. “When are you going to tell me who you are and why you’re doing this? I don’t know you. I’ve never done anything to you.”

He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Like I said, you’ll find out soon enough.”

She jumped to her feet, spilling the coffee and losing her grasp on the blanket. It fell to her waist. With a gasp, she jerked it back up. “That’s right. I’ll find out real soon because my father will be here anytime.”

“No, he won’t. The rain has washed out all our tracks. Even Silver Feather will have trouble following tracks that don’t exist.”

She hadn’t thought of that. He knew more about her than she realized. Evidently, he’d done his homework. “Well, I’ve heard tell he can follow any tracks anywhere, even in the dark. Besides, my father will have fifty men or more combing these hills. Sooner or later, they’ll find us. You can bet on that. I’d hate to be you when they do.”

“Maybe they’ll find us, maybe not,” he said with a shrug. “There’s hundreds of caves and tunnels up here. It’s like a rabbit warren. By then, it’ll be too late.”

A gasp tore from her lips. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “What? What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re the means to an end, that’s all.”

“What...end?”

He shoved himself to his feet.

“Are you going to answer me?”

“Nope.” He locked gazes with her. “You keep saying when your father comes. You never say when my fiancé finds me. Kind of strange, ain’t it?”

His words startled her. Indeed, she’d barely thought of Philip during these terrifying hours. Why not? She stuck that thought in a corner of her mind. She’d examine it later. “Of course I know Philip will come looking for me. He is my intended. Nothing short of death would keep him away.”

He quirked a dark eyebrow at her. “If you say so.”

“Well, I do say so. He loves me. How dare you suggest otherwise?”

He shrugged. “I just asked a question, that’s all. I’m hungry. I think I’ll fix some grub. What about you? You hungry?”

She wrinkled her brow. She was starving—she hadn’t had any breakfast or lunch, but the idea of accepting his food stuck in her craw. Just then, as if in answer to his question, her stomach growled.

He grinned at her, smirked was a better word, then walked toward the cache of supplies. “I guess that’s a yes.”

“That’s a no. I don’t want anything from you—except my freedom,” she yelled at his retreating back.

She sank down on her seat and considered what he’d said. Why hadn’t she thought about Philip? The man she loved? Didn’t she? For the first time since she said yes to his marriage proposal, doubts assailed her. Was Philip her choice? Or her father’s? Her stomach tightened into knots.

As her captor swaggered across the floor, her gaze followed him. With a predatory grace, he picked his way soundlessly across the rocky ground, probably unaware that he did so. He took his hat off, then tossed it aside. Dark hair fell to his shoulders. He tugged his shirt over his head, and his muscular torso gleamed bronze in the falling light. A ripple of awareness washed over here. She cursed herself for a fool. How could she be attracted to a man who kidnapped her? Somewhere, between here and home, she’d gone loco. Her brains were probably scattered over half of west Texas.

He donned another shirt, one of deep blue, then jammed his hat back on. He gathered up a couple of sacks, returned to the fire and hung his wet shirt on a rock to dry. His hat followed. As he cooked bacon and warmed a can of beans, she studied him. Dark black hair fell over his brow and brushed his collar. His jaw looked to be made of granite. While he was tall and rangy, his wide shoulders filled the shirt. His trim waist showed no hint of fat. His legs were long, his thighs muscular. Instead of boots, he wore moccasins laced with leather thongs that came to his knees. A knife in a beaded sheath hung from his belt.

“So how long have you been planning this?” She nodded toward his supplies. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of grub, blankets, and firewood. Why, you’ve even got oats for the horses and a pack mule. Looks like enough for several weeks.”

“I like to plan ahead.” He took a sip of coffee and stared off into the distance.

“Do you live in this cave?”

He glanced at her, his dark eyebrows drawing together. “No, I don’t live here, but sometimes when I come up here hunting, I camp here. It’s warm…and dry.”

She waved a hand at the expansive cave. “It’s big enough for a hundred people.”

“A long time ago, a whole tribe of Indians lived here. It’s said their spirits still dwell in the air, in the rocks. In fact, on the back wall there’re some ancient drawings and pieces of pottery.”

“That’s nice, but you didn’t answer me. How long have you been planning this?”

He shrugged. “A while.”

“How did you know I was home?”

He barked out a harsh laugh that grated on her nerves. “Everybody in town knows what goes on with the O’Sullivans. You’re our star citizens. Just ask anyone. Besides, I was in town the day you got off the train.”

“I didn’t see you there.”

“People like you never see people like me.” His voice was soft but had a steely undertone.

“What does that mean? People like me?” Her mouth drooped into a frown.

“Just what I said. When you look down your nose, you never see clearly.” He leaned over, grabbed a piece of wood and tossed it on the fire. It crackled and hissed in the night air. Orange cinders flew upward.

“Why, of all the nerve. Are you saying that I’m...a...snob?”

He quirked a dark eyebrow at her.

She rose to her feet. “I am not a snob. You’re a, you’re a—”

“A what?”

She stomped her foot. “You’re a-a...kidnapper.”

He burst out laughing. “Well, you’ve got me there. Guilty as charged.”

His laugh was infectious. A smile played at the corners of her lips. She pursed her lips and told herself not to be an idiot. This man had kidnapped her, yet here she was talking to him like they were old friends. She had to be mad, mad, mad. “It’s not funny. You won’t be laughing when they catch up with you. I’ll be the one laughing.”

“We’ll see.”

“You said you saw me get off the train. Does that mean you live in Dry Springs?”

“That’s what it means.” He forked a few strips of bacon onto a plate, then ladled some beans onto it. With an exaggerated bow, he held it out to her. “You sure you don’t want to change your mind?”

Even though she wanted to pick up the plate and throw it in his face, she grabbed it and a fork. “I’m only eating your food to keep my strength up for when I escape.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You wouldn’t get a mile.”

“Don’t underestimate me,
amigo
.” She wagged her finger at him. “I was raised out here. I’m not helpless.”

He barked out a laugh. “While you might have been ‘raised out here,’ you weren’t raised in the desert. The desert will eat you up and spit you out. It won’t care that your name is O’Sullivan.”

Abby couldn’t argue. While she knew she wasn’t capable of surviving out there alone and on foot, maybe, just maybe, with a horse, she could find her way home. She had to appear resigned to her fate to keep him off guard and wait for her chance. She slumped her shoulders and blew out a long sigh. Something like—compassion?—crossed his lips. So he had a soft spot underneath that hard outer shell.

She ate slowly, trying to formulate a plan of action, but exhaustion soon overcame her. Her eyelids grew heavy. The plate slipped from her hands and bounced off the rocky ground, clanging loudly in the stillness of the night.

“All right. Time to turn in.”

His words jerked her back to the moment. He stood and retrieved his bedroll, then placed it near the fire. “You can bunk down there.” He tossed her another blanket. “It gets cold at night.”

“Thanks.” She threw up her hands. “Ohmigod, why am I thanking you? It’s your fault I’m here, cold and wet...and scared.”

“No need to be scared. I said I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“So you did, but can I believe you?” She shot him an accusing look, then sank to her knees and slowly pulled the pins from her hair. The wet tresses sent rivulets of cold water running down her back and shivers chased along her spine. She squeezed more water from her hair, then combed it with her fingers. She stretched out on the bedroll and pulled the second blanket over her. Her eyelids seemed to close of their own accord, and she drifted toward the dark realm of sleep. Even though she didn’t expect him to answer another question, she still asked. “So, tell me,
amigo
, do you have a name?”

After a long pause, he answered. “Yeah. Davy.”

“Hmmm, Davy. So, Davy, why did you pick my wedding day to kidnap me?” Sleep crowded in around her, and she immersed herself in its welcoming arms.

****

Davy sipped his coffee. Why
had
he kidnapped her on her wedding day? He’d had plenty of other opportunities, safer opportunities. When he’d first told Billy and the others of his plan, they hadn’t believed him. Once they were convinced, they said he was loco, made mad by grief and revenge.

Maybe he was.

Still, that didn’t answer his question. Why had he kidnapped Abby O’Sullivan on her wedding day? If he were honest with himself, the truth was clear to see. He didn’t want her to marry that slick lawyer, he’d wanted to hurt Sam O’Sullivan, and he’d wanted the whole town to know he’d have his revenge.

He didn’t want to hurt her, would never hurt her, or let anyone else hurt her. He glanced down at her sleeping form. Dark hair curled around her pale face. The blanket had slipped, and bare shoulders peeked out from under the coarse gray cloth. They’d been burned by the sun, yet still looked as soft as satin. The swell of her breasts sent his pulse racing like a wild mustang. His gaze followed the length of her, down the gentle curve of her hip and over her long slim legs. He licked his suddenly dry lips. When she’d taken her hair down and murmured his name, her voice all soft and husky, it’d taken all his self-control not to pull her into his arms and ravage her rosy lips.

A couple of times he’d caught something...in her blue eyes, something that made him believe she wasn’t completely immune to him. He laughed at himself. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see and not what was really there.

With a muttered curse, he rose to his feet and walked to the mouth of the cave. The rain had stopped, and the ground had greedily soaked up all the moisture. A full, golden moon rose above the mountaintops. A hunter’s moon, his Comanche grandmother called it.

And he was the hunted.

They were out there—hunting him. He could feel their presence, as he felt the presence of his ancestors who’d lived here so long ago. His grandmother had always said he could have been a shaman had he been raised among her people.

He scanned the land below, searching for any pinprick of light or the glow of a campfire that would tell him where they were. He needed to go to higher ground for a better look. A glance over his shoulder showed him Abby was still asleep. Ten minutes later, he perched on a ledge high above the cave. The land stretched out below, vast and wild.

Still no sign of the hunters.

As he sat there, his thoughts turned to the reason he was here. Sam O’Sullivan had stolen his father’s ranch—and killed his father. They’d said his father had played poker at the saloon and won a lot of money. The sheriff thought someone had followed him, stole his money and then killed him. So how had the deed to the Larson ranch turned up in O’Sullivan’s possession? And how had his slimy lawyer Winston made it all legal-like?

His mother had returned to her people. Without John Larson by her side, Dawn Little Sky had not been able to face the hostile townspeople or fight the legal battle to get her ranch back. If he had no other choice, Davy knew he could go to his Comanche family in the
Llano
Estacado
. Very few whites ventured into the high plains.

The faint sound of hoofbeats drifted upward. He rose to his feet and focused in on the sound. One horse—coming slowly. Several long strides took him back to the cave. He grabbed his rifle and picked his way silently down the slope. As the horse drew nearer, he hid behind a clump of rocks, put his rifle to his shoulder and waited.

“Davy, you there?”

He recognized the voice and stepped out from behind the boulders. “Yeah, I’m here. You alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Anybody follow you?”

“Don’t think so. I kept doubling back.”

As his friend materialized out of the darkness, Davy stepped forward and clasped his shoulder. “Good to see you, Billy. I’ve got coffee. You want some?”

“Yeah. Left my damned coat in town. I’m chilled to the bone.”

“You can warm up at the fire.”

“Good. Where’s the girl?”

Davy jerked his head toward the cave. “She’s asleep up there.”

“Did she recognize you?”

Davy shook his head. “Nope. Did you bring the clothes?”

“Yeah. My sister’s pants should fit her.”

“Good. Did you go into town?”

“Yeah. You got the whole country in an uproar, Davy boy. O’Sullivan’s got about 50 hands out looking for you, Silver Feather the lead tracker of course. The sheriff is getting a posse together. O’Sullivan put a price on your head—”

“He did? How much?”

“$10,000, dead or alive.”

Davy whistled under his breath. “$10,000, huh? That’s quite a bounty.”

“Yeah, and the governor is even talking about bringing in the Rangers. Davy, this is more than we bargained for. Why don’t you let the girl go and take off and go to your mother’s people? You’d be safe there. Even the Texas Rangers don’t venture very often into the
Llano
Estacado
.”