Montana Wildfire (42 page)

Her shoulders sagged, and her head lowered until her chin rested atop her collarbone. Her voice, when it came, sounded low and defeated. "Jake, I can explain..."

"Save it. I don't want to hear any more of your lies."

Oh, that hurt! But, since she knew she deserved it, Amanda only winced inwardly. "I wasn't going to lie."

"Yeah, I'll just bet you weren't."

"I wasn't! I was going to tell you the truth. All of it."

"Uh-uh. Pity the truth according to Amanda Lennox is never the truth at all. It's just one big pack of lies. Little white lies which, I suppose when told to a stupid half-breed, don't count." His pause was short, riddled with tension. "Pack up, Miss Lennox. Like I said, we're heading out tonight."

"But—"

"Pack!"

"No!" As tempting as it was to back down, to take the coward's way out, Amanda's conscience refused to allow it. For once in her life, she was determined to fight for something important; she was going to fight for Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. Her chin lifted a notch. Even that minute gesture made her feel braver. The difference in attitude was reflected in her tone. "I'm not going anywhere until you've given me a chance to explain why I did what I did. I have reasons, Jake. Good reasons."

When he made no reply, she glanced at him. He'd moved, his tread as silent and graceful as a cat's. He was standing a mere foot away from her. She hadn't heard him ease the door closed, but he must have done so at some point, because it was closed now. He towered over her, his size and fury dwarfing the room—dwarfing
her—
until everything but him faded to insignificance.

Amanda felt cornered, trapped and desperate. That surge of innate cowardice crowded in on her again, but she steadfastly pushed it aside. It was time—past time—that Jake learned the truth. Her back rigid, she clasped her hands tightly in front of her and nodded to the chair next to the window. "Have a seat, Mr. Chandler," she said, her prim Bostonian accent locked firmly in place. "This could take a while."

She expected him to argue. She expected him to spin on his heel and walk out. She expected anything, except what he did.

Jake retrieved the chair and dragged it close to the bed. Turning it backward, he straddled it so that he was sitting facing her. By accident or intent, the back of the chair acted as a shield between them.

His smokey gaze sharpened on her. A thousand times Jake told himself not to listen. A thousand times he told himself to get up and leave, to get on his horse and ride the hell out of Junction—to get as far away from Amanda Lennox as he could. To run and never,
never
look back.

And then his traitorous body flooded with a thousand and one soft, sweet reasons to stay. To listen. To hope that once, just
once,
she would trust him enough to tell him the truth. In the end, it was his body that won out.

When it came to Amanda Lennox, didn't it always?

Gritting his teeth, and calling himself all sorts of a fool, he slanted a dark brow at her. "Say it and say it quick, princess. I want to be out of this hellhole before dawn."

Amanda nodded and, before her knees could embarrass her by buckling, walked over to the side of the bed and perched on the edge of it. Jake was close—close enough to reach
out
and touch, close enough for her to smell the earthy tang of him in the air, interlaced with the potent fumes of liquor.

Her hand lifted from her lap, her fingertips tingling with the need to make contact with him, to draw from his seemingly bottomless well of strength and control. His gaze darkened and glared her hand back to her lap.

Amanda swallowed hard, her attention straying down to the hands she now clenched tightly in her lap. "Where do I start?"

"The beginning is always a good place."
Leave, Chandler. Get up and leave,
now,
while you still have the chance.
The advice Jake's mind dictated was sound. Pity his body refused to listen. He was glued to that chair, and nothing on heaven or earth was going to budge him until he'd heard Amanda's story. Until he had the truth.

"The beginning," she murmured. "No, in this case I don't think that would be appropriate. Why don't I start with Roger?"

Jake shrugged. "Your story, princess. Start where you want."

His tone was less than encouraging, Amanda noticed, even as she nodded. "He isn't my cousin."

"Nope."

Her chin snapped up, and a flicker of anger sparked in her blood. "There's no need to be sarcastic, Jake. I know you found the letter from Edward Bannister in my saddlebag. I know
you know
who Roger's father is."

Jake had crossed his arms atop the chair's back rest. He now lifted his left hand, and pointed an accusing finger at her. "What I
don't
know—but what you
are
going to tell me—is why the hell you lied to me about that."

"I had to."

"I don't think so."

"Well I do!" In a burst of restless energy, Amanda pushed from the bed and started pacing the room. She needed some space, some fresh air, some... No, what she needed was Jake's understanding,
that
was what she needed. Desperately.

The skirt whipped around her ankles as she spun on her heel and stalked a path toward the door. Her heels clicked atop the bare flooring. "What was I supposed to do, Jake? Can you tell me that? Roger and I had been lost in," she cringed, "Idaho?... for weeks before you came along. And then I got stuck in that damn river, and Roger was kidnapped, and I knew the only way I was going to get him back was with your help."

"So you hired me on, even though you didn't trust me as far as you could spit," he growled when she hesitated. "And then you lied to me. Repeatedly. About Roger, about the money you said you'd pay me, even about not knowing anything about who took the kid." Jake gritted his teeth and plowed his fingers through his hair. The fury was building in him again, and the fury said he should have listened earlier and left when he'd had the chance. "Everything, lady. You lied to me about
every goddamn thing!"

Amanda whirled around to face him. Any fear or alarm she might have felt before fled; replaced by a sharp stab of defensiveness. "What did you expect me to do? You said yourself you aren't a very nice person. And how could I be expected to trust a man who blackmailed me into telling him who I was just to get some help getting out of that river? I couldn't. I simply could not risk telling you who Roger is. How was I supposed to know
you
wouldn't kidnap him and hold him for ransom?"

Jake's eyes narrowed to dangerous silver slits. "Are you serious? Do you really think that little of me?"

Amanda sucked in a steadying breath and tried to control her temper. Her tone matched the leashed, controlled pitch of his. "Not any more. But you have to remember that I didn't know you very well then. At the time, I didn't know what to think of you. You... you weren't exactly like any man I'd ever met before."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning no Bostonian gentleman of my acquaintance would have quoted me such an outrageous price to help me find Roger. The second you did that, I knew you needed money. Since I was in the same situation myself—needing money—I knew how desperate a person could get. That's when I decided it would be better if you thought Roger was my cousin."

"And is he?"

Amanda shook her head and resumed her pacing, her gait only a little slower than before. "I just told you he isn't. Didn't you wonder why I wasn't too concerned over his disappearance?"

"I didn't lose any sleep over it," he shrugged, "but now that you mention it...?"

"I can't stand the boy, Jake. That's not to say I'm not worried about him, because I am, but... well, quite frankly, Roger Thornton Bannister III is a spoiled, malicious little brat. He makes it very hard for a person to worry about him. If it weren't for the money—"

"Lie number two," Jake cut in with a sneer. "The money. Rather, the lack of it."

Amanda tripped over the hem of her skirt. "I was going to pay you."

"Were you, princess? With what?"

It was his deceptively lazy drawl that alerted her to his burgeoning anger. Hoisting her skirt out of the way, she went back to the bed and sat down. "You have the letter, right? You know how much Edward Bannister is going to pay me when I deliver his son to Pony. I was going to pay you with my earnings."

"You were going to pay me
three quarters of your salary?"
His grin was quick and cold and fleeting. The sight of it sent a chill down Amanda's spine. "I don't know, princess, but for some reason I find that real hard to swallow. More likely you figured you'd use me to get the kid back, collect your money, then, with any luck, ditch the stupid breed the first chance you got."

Amanda's head snapped back as though she'd been slapped. And she had, only with words instead of a hand, and that made it sting all the more. "The stupid breed," she repeated flatly under her breath. Her tone belied the turmoil within her. It took every ounce of courage she possessed to lift her gaze, and to meet his. "So, we're back to that again, are we? I guess it's my turn to ask. Do
you
really think so little of
me?"

Jake studied her long and hard. Her green eyes glistened with unshed tears, while at the same time her posture remained rigid and proud. Contrasts, he thought. Amanda Lennox was chock-full of intriguing little contrasts that both excited and
annoyed
him.

It would be easy—so damn easy!—to let himself get lost in this woman. She'd already burrowed under his skin and carved a place for herself so damn close to his heart it was scary.

Did he think badly of her still? God knows he should! But he didn't. He
couldn't.
Dammit! No matter how many lies she'd told him, no matter how little trust she put in him, he still wanted her, so badly he ached inside just looking at her. The hell of it was, the need coursing through him wasn't merely physical any more. Oh, yeah, he still wanted her writhing beneath him, still wanted to be buried deeply inside her warm, tight heat... but he also wanted more. So damn much more!

What he wanted, as always, was impossible. He wanted Amanda Lennox, the one thing in his life that he knew damn well he couldn't have. Not for long. Not forever. Not a man like him.

"You're silence is condemning," Amanda said, and commended herself for keeping her voice low and even. If he only knew how badly she was shaking on the inside, how much his silence hurt! He could slash her flesh to ribbons with one of his knives, but she doubted it would hurt nearly as much as this did.

Smoothing trembling fingers down her skirt, Amanda stood. She closed the saddlebag, then hoisted it over her shoulder. Her gaze fell on Jake, and something he'd said earlier tickled the back of her mind. She scowled and asked, "What did you mean when you said I'd lied about knowing who took Roger?"

"Exactly what I said." Jake stood and, with a flick of his wrist, sent the chair careening across the room. It slammed into the wall, then clattered to the floor. "The tracks are leading to Pony, Miss Lennox. And what's more... there are no longer two sets of prints, there are
three."

"Pony? Three?"

"Yup."

Her scowl deepened. "But that's impossible. Why would they... and who—?"

"How the hell should I know? It seems whoever we're after either kidnapped someone else, or enlisted help. It also seems a might peculiar that whoever took the brat, they're taking him exactly where
you
were!"

"Peculiar? It sounds
suspicious,
if you ask me." Her mind whirled in confused, disjointed thoughts. "Are you
sure
they're heading toward Pony? Are you absolutely positive?"

Jake planted his fists on his hips and glared at her. "I'm not the best tracker in the territory, but I can damn well follow a steady set of prints. I know my way around these mountains, and I know where Pony is. Those tracks are heading toward Pony." He took a slow, measured step toward her. "Now, I want to know why. What kind of mess have you gotten me involved in?"

Amanda's heartbeat accelerated when Jake took a step closer. Another. His body heat and earthy scent invaded her from every quarter. It made her knees weak, her head spin—and, as always, his nearness made logical thought impossible.

Jake reached out and cupped her chin, lifting her gaze back to his. Her eyes were large and confused, but he wasn't stupid enough to believe that she didn't know what was going on. She'd lied to him too many times already; his mistrust had a solid foundation to grow on, "Why, Amanda? What's going on that you haven't told me?"

"Nothing. Jake, I've told you everything I know. I have no idea why the prints are heading to Pony. And I don't know why there are three sets now instead of two. I just...
I don't know!"
She reached up and curled her fingers around his forearm. Even through the flannel sleeve she felt the thick, tight bunch of his muscles. She felt his heat, his strength, and she drew from it, letting it bolster her floundering courage.

Jake decided he must have lost all grips on reality sometime in the last few weeks because, against his better judgment, he believed her. He
had
to. The idea that she was lying to him yet again was unbearable. "You have no idea who could have taken the kid, or why?"

She shook her head. "None."

"And the new set of prints...?"

Again, she shook her head.

"If you're lying to me again, princess, I'll—"

"I'm not. I swear it."

"Ah, God, I wish I could believe you!"

"You can, Jake. You have to. I'm all out of lies." Amanda lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. His whiskers abraded her palm, but she didn't complain. It felt good. Wonderful. How long had it been since she'd touched him? Three agonizing days too long, her body told her. She felt every second of that absence ripple up her arm in a wave of white heat.

Jake stifled a groan. He was torn between the urge to break the contact, and the equally strong urge to make it more intimate.