Montana Wildfire (25 page)

"No, not always."

"But usually."

"Sometimes," she agreed, opting for a compromise.

The anger in his eyes made Amanda think better of what she was doing. Jake Chandler wasn't the sort of man a sane woman pushed, or backed into a corner. Not if she expected to live out the day. And why hadn't she thought of that
before?

Of course, it was too late now. She kept her expression determined, her glare hot and irritated. Somehow. "I know why you won't tell me where you're going. It's because you don't want me to know you won't be back for me. That's it, isn't it, Jake? You've been trying every which way to get rid of me for days. Now that you have the chance, you're going to take it."

"I—"

Her green eyes flashed fury. "Don't bother trying to deny it. We both know it's the truth. That's why you've set such a grueling pace for me to follow day after day, isn't it? You were trying to exhaust me, hoping I'd get discouraged and give up. But I didn't. So now you've decided to strand me in the middle of..." She scowled. Where were they? Idaho still, or had they entered Montana again? God, she didn't know! Her voice rose a panicky degree. "It doesn't matter where we are. What matters is that you're skipping out on the job I
hired
you to do."

She'd thought to baffle him with her brilliant mode of deduction. And he
did
look baffled, though his confusion didn't look to be stemming from her intelligence. The slight widening of his eyes said he was puzzled by her sheer lack of wit.

The muscle in his cheek jerked spasmodically. His jaw bunched in a harsh, uncompromising line, and his eyes... she shivered, refusing to surrender to a sudden burst of uncertainty.

Jake's voice, when it came, was low and edgy. "Where I'm going, you pampered little idiot, is deeper into the woods where it won't be raining quite so hard. What I plan to do once I get there is build a shelter that will keep me relatively warm and dry until the storm passes. And as for
you...
! Lady, if you've got one intelligent bone in that tempting little body of yours—and I'm seriously beginning to doubt it!—you'll give me my damn reins back before I don't have time to do any of that!"

She'd been fisting the reins in question; her fingers went slack around the chilly strips of leather. "You're going to do
what?"

"I'm speaking English, aren't I?"
Jake sucked in a deep, calming breath. It didn't help. Neither did plowing the fingers of his free hand so harshly through his hair that his scalp stung. What he
really
wanted to do—what he
couldn't
do—was either strangle Amanda on the spot, or kiss her breathless. Since both urges were equally strong, he surrendered to neither of them. "I said," he repeated through clenched teeth, "I'm going to find a place to weather out the storm."

"But the cabin—"

"Is that-a-way." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I suggest you find it while the ground's still dry enough for me to find a place to build a shelter on. Or," his eyes narrowed dangerously, "before I lose my temper. Whichever comes first."

Amanda's mouth opened and closed twice, but no words came out. A few drops of rain sprinkled the top of her head. A couple more moistened her cheeks and nose. She was too busy thinking to notice. She had been so
sure
he was going to desert her!

Jake leaned forward. Instantly his hand snaked out to grab back the rudely stolen reins.

Her fingers tightened. Reflexively, she held them out of reach. Not the smartest thing she'd ever done, Amanda realized belatedly. Jake was already furious. To not give him back the reins would be pushing his anger. While she knew that, she couldn't bring herself to release them. Oddly enough, she seemed to have lost control of herself.

Why, she wondered, would Jake rather pass the storm in a crudely built shelter when there was a cabin with warm beds and hot food only minutes away? It made no sense. For an otherwise intelligent man, she thought he was acting like a fool. Amanda took it upon herself to make him see that. But how?

Her scowl deepened. "Jake," she began slowly, cautiously, "you said yourself the cabin would be warm and dry. You said the people living there would offer us a hot meal and a warm bed."

"You,"
he growled. "I said they would offer it to
you."
The rain was only sprinkling the ground now, but it would be coming down hard soon. The cold sting in the air said it would probably turn to snow. Jake knew that if he didn't get away from this woman in the next few minutes he could kiss all hope of finding a dry spot anywhere goodbye. Damn Amanda Lennox! Damn her pretty-face, her creamy white skin, and her stubborn-as-a-mule disposition to hell and back!

"But what about
you?"
she insisted. "Surely if they'd offer it to me, they'd offer you the same thing!"

"Trust me, they won't. Now give me back the—"

"They won't
offer
you hospitality?" Amanda countered, cutting him short when realization dawned. Her spine went rigid. "Or you won't
accept
it? Tell me something. These people in the cabin are white, aren't they?
That's
why you won't accept their hospitality, isn't it? Well? Isn't it?"

"Shut up," he sneered, his anger mounting in direct proportion to the raw nerve she'd just struck inside of him. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about, lady."

"Don't I? That's funny, because I think I do. In fact, I think the only thing that's keeping you from accepting shelter from those people is that stubborn, misplaced pride of yours." She planted her free hand on her hip and, chin high, huffed with disgust. "God forbid the mighty Jacob Blackhawk Chandler accept
anything
from a white man. Or woman."

"I said shut up, Amanda!"

"The truth hurts, doesn't it, Jake?"

His attention, which had been riveted on her throat, rose. Their gazes locked and warred. She watched his eyes darken to a murderous shade of midnight blue. The skin covering his cheeks was stretched tighter than a drum. There was a ruddy undertone of anger in his skin.

A warning bell went off in her head. Like its predecessor's caution, it was disregarded. Amanda had an unsettling feeling that their conversation went deeper than surface words. She also sensed that now was the time to drive her point home, while she still had his full attention, and not all of his fury... yet.

"I'm right, and you know it," she said coldly. "You have a chip on your shoulder that weighs a ton, and you can't see past it, can you?"

"I've seen what decent white folks do to those they consider filthy savages, lady," Jake hissed. "That's all I need to see."

Don't say it, Amanda. You'll be sorry if you push him.

She was too angry to listen to the warning voice inside her head. "Open your eyes, Goddammit! Not everyone looks at the color of your skin. Some of us 'decent white folks' can actually look beyond that and see the man
inside."

"Shut
—
"

"But you wouldn't know about that, would you, Jake?"

"—up."

"Oh, no. You have all us 'decent white folks' pigeonholed into a neat little slot labeled Don't Trust. We're all—"

"Amanda..." his voice sounded grave, and furious as hell.

"—alike to you, aren't we?"

One inky brow quirked high. His lips were pinched in a tight white line. "Aren't you?"

She shook her head. "No. Not that
you'll
ever open your eyes far enough see it! You think we're all prejudiced against you because you look Indian."

He sneered, "Absaroke, Miss Lennox. Or, as your people call us, Crow. I'm half
Crow."

"You can
eat
crow as far as I'm concerned, pal! Half Crow, half Apache, half
whatever...
the truth of the matter is,
you
are the only one who's prejudiced around here. I think you—"

"I've heard enough, that's what
I
think!"

"—have a real problem, Jake."

The muscle in his jaw stopped ticking. Had Amanda not been so intent on hammering her point home, she would have taken that as a sign that he'd finally lost what little patience he'd had with her.

"You're right," he growled, his tone gritty and low and ominous. "I do have a problem.
You!"

He leaned toward her. The tip of his index finger scratched over the line of her jaw. His voice took on a cold, cajoling note that sent shivers of alarm—or of something else, something Amanda didn't want to know about—slicing down her spine. Then again, maybe it was the touch alone that made her quake?

"Don't look so worried, princess," he said, and flashed her one of the iciest smiles she'd ever seen. It chilled her to the bone. His fingertip hesitated on the crest of her chin. "It's a problem I can handle."

Amanda tried to lean back, but Jake's reaction time was much too quick. He shifted, and his fingers coiled like unmerciful steel bands around her upper arms.

She gasped—half in surprise, half in fright. Twisting, she tried to yank herself free without losing her seat. He wouldn't let her go. There was no respite from his punishing grip... just as there was no respite from the raw, savage fury she'd unleashed in him.

Amanda had wondered what this man's anger would be like once it was unleashed. Now she knew... and she wished to God she didn't. Raw. Savage. Wild.
That
was what Jake Chandler was like when angered. Untamed. Dangerous. Frightening.

He jerked her around in the saddle until she was facing him. With a flick of his wrists, he hauled her up hard against his chest. The action was meant to be brutal, and it was. But not only to her. It was hell for Jake, too. He hadn't expected his method of retribution to backfire so severely, although he'd realized it would... a split second too late.

Liquid fire bubbled in his blood when he felt her breasts crushed to his chest. Their horses stepped together. Thighs met, grinding against each other; hard copper rubbed smooth white velvet. Even beneath a layer of tough, weathered denim, his skin burned from every goddamn inch of that contact!

His fingers tightened around her arms. His heart slammed double time against his ribs, and his breathing took a ragged, shallow turn. He wished the moisture beading his brow could be attributed to the rain that was coming down in a steady drizzle now. But he knew that wasn't the cause. And...

Jesus,
his hands were shaking!
This was
not
the violent reaction he'd intended. No, no, not even close. Because it was
his
reaction. Not hers.

Amanda was having a violent reaction all her own. Leaning weakly against Jake, she absorbed the erratic beat of his heart with her palms. His chest felt warm and firm, his shirt moist and soft. The fight had drained out of her the second their bodies collided, the second rigid male planes molded to soft feminine curves.

She thought about tipping her head back to look at him—she wanted,
needed,
to see his face—but she lacked the courage for it. What if contact between them didn't have the same dizzying affect on him? What if Jake was still furious with her? What
if...?

She decided instantly that she'd be better off without answers to those questions. Truly, she didn't want to know if the tremors she felt in the fingers banding her arms were born from anger, or from something more base... something wild and primitive and deeply sensual.

Amanda shivered. The rain was coming down a bit harder. Her hair was damp; it was only a matter of time before both she and Jake became soaked. Her mind flashed her an image of wet black hair and bare copper skin... and her trembling increased twofold.

"Please, Jake, come to the cabin with me." Amanda swallowed hard when she felt Jake tense. If she could, she would have taken the words back. He didn't want to go. He had his reasons, even if she couldn't understand the logic behind them. It was wrong to push him. Yet, while she knew she was a fool to force the issue... God, the thought of Jake weathering the storm out in the open, unprotected and vulnerable, was incomprehensible.

Unprotected? Vulnerable?
Amanda almost laughed. Almost. Those were
not
words one usually associated with Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. Had he known the path of her thoughts, she didn't doubt Jake would have laughed in her face.

Jake didn't feel like laughing. Far from it. What he felt like doing was abandoning his first plan—strangling her with his bare hands—and heading straight for his second—kissing her breathless. The plan had merit; it would keep her mouth busy, and shut her up for a while. It also had a bonus; the feel of her lips crushed beneath his, the unique whiskey-honey sweet taste of her on his tongue...

A kiss.
One goddamn kiss.
Surely he could take that much from this white woman! Didn't she owe it to him? Hadn't she kept him out in the rain for so long that he'd never be able to find a dry spot to build a shelter on? Hell, if he was destined to be cold and wet until the storm passed, didn't he deserve the memory of one more hot, forbidden kiss to keep him warm?

Yes, dammit! He could steal a kiss from her. Just one. Long and deep and thorough. He would take what he needed from this white woman to keep the cold, lonely hours ahead at bay.

Jake, unaware until that very second he'd been cushioning his chin atop the pillow of her golden head, pulled back. The hands Amanda had placed on his shoulders tightened. Her fingers tunneled through his damp shirt, biting into the sensitized skin beneath. She seemed puzzled, as though she was disappointed by the scant distance he'd put between them.

"Look at me, princess."

The tone of his voice had changed. Amanda didn't know how, didn't know why, but the change did register with her. Slowly, her chin tipped up. More slowly, her gaze lifted. She focused on the collar of his shirt. The top button was free; the placket gaped open, revealing a small wedge of damp copper skin. It was a tantalizing sight, in that there was only enough exposed to tease, to make her yearn to slide free the remaining buttons, to see more. To feel and taste and...