Montana Wildfire (6 page)

Jake Chandler's curses cut through Amanda as he lifted her from his lap and settled her roughly on the hard, lumpy ground. The instant her pinning weight was removed, he sprang lithely to his feet, towering over her. Reaching behind his back, he slipped something from beneath his belt. Amanda's heart skipped when a ray of sunlight glinted off the long, familiar blade. Her gaze snapped up and met cold, commanding grey.

"Stay here," he growled. "And I mean
stay,
dammit. So help me God, lady, you move a muscle, you make me go looking for you, and I swear I'll... ah, hell,
you
figure it out."

He spun on his heel and stalked off.

Like Amanda's recent threat to Roger, Jake's was the more ominous for being left to her imagination. She had quite an imagination. There were several unsavory ways to end a sentence like that, coming from a dangerous man like him. She thought of them all, one by one, as she sat where Jake Chandler had left her, awaiting his return. When she'd run out of gruesome prospects, she turned her thoughts to Roger—and what had caused him to give that blood-curdling scream.

In ten minutes, she'd whipped herself into a frenzy.

Time crept by. Still, Amanda sat shivering beneath the blankets, letting her imagination run riot. More than once she considered disobeying Jake. Only the throbbing in her ankle—which told her she wouldn't get far—kept her sitting atop the sun-warmed grass. It didn't, however, keep her from thinking about dark, mysterious strangers who shouldn't, by any rights, be trusted.

Who was to say Jake Chandler hadn't gotten on his horse and ridden off, never having looked for Roger at all? It would make sense. He didn't know the boy and had no reason to be concerned for Roger's safety. Why bother trying to find Roger when it would be oh, so much easier to just leave?

Maybe she should go looking herself?

Maybe... in a bit.

For all her earlier bravado, Amanda had never considered herself brave. Jake's unfinished threat kept her nailed to the spot where he'd left her. If he really was out there looking for Roger, and he came back to find her gone... well, the man's disposition was savage. Lord knows what he'd do once he found her. And he
would
find her. Amanda had no doubt of that.

Huddled beneath the blanket, she marked the minutes by keeping a close eye on the sun. Ten more, she decided, compromising integrity for fear. When she estimated ten minutes had passed, she would assume Jake wasn't coming back. Only then would she get up and start looking for Roger herself.

It was the longest ten minutes of her life. When it was over, she was convinced that not only was Roger lying dead somewhere, but that Jacob Blackhawk Chandler was as well.

Disentangling herself from the blanket, Amanda pushed to her feet. Her knees shook beneath the still-damp folds of her skirt. The grass crunched beneath her awkward, limping steps. Walking proved a new experience in pain. She tried to concentrate more on what she had to do and less on the throbbing in her leg that threatened to keep her from doing it.

By the time she reached the first tree trunk, her almost dry body was bathed in sweat. Her breathing came in hard, labored gasps. The pain in her ankle was intense. She leaned heavily against the scratchy bark, and, to occupy her churning mind, cursed all things wild and savage and more cowardly than herself.

"Thought I told you to stay put."

The familiar drawl cut through Amanda like a knife. Clumsily, she pivoted. When she saw Jake Chandler standing only a few short feet away, she leaned weakly back against the tree trunk and sighed her relief. Then her gaze scanned the area around him, and her heart sank. Roger was nowhere in sight. So much for relief.

"He's gone," Jake said. And that, Amanda quickly realized, was all the explanation he was going to offer.

"Gone?" she cried. "What do you mean he's gone? Gone where?"

"How the hell should I know?" He tucked the knife into the sheath attached to his belt, then raked his fingers through his sleek black hair. To Amanda's jaundiced eye, his shrug looked entirely too unconcerned. "Look, I wouldn't worry about the brat too much if I were you. If whoever's got him was going to kill him, they probably would have done it by—Hey, you all right?"

"No," she groaned, her knees buckling, her back sliding down the tree trunk, "I don't think I am." Her bottom made a jarring collision with the ground. It felt hard and cold beneath her—but not as hard and cold as the despair icing through her veins. No, no,
no!
Roger couldn't be gone. He just
couldn't!
But Jake Chandler said he was, and Jake Chandler had no reason to lie.

She rested her head against the rough bark and forced herself to swallow—twice, dryly—before asking, "How do you know someone has him? I mean... he could have wandered off, couldn't he?"

"Doubt it. I mean, hell, it's
possible.
Any thing's possible. But, since I couldn't find a trace of him, and we both heard him scream..." He frowned. "You sure you're all right? You don't look so good. You aren't going to faint, are you?"

"Not just yet." Amanda's lashes swooped down. Fainting would have been a possibility, had her mind not been so busy spinning out of control. Now what was she going to do? She didn't like Roger, but still...

And what about Edward Bannister? How would he react when she arrived at their destination without his son? He wouldn't pay her—that went without saying—but would he seek retribution? Of course! Roger was a monster, but monster or not he was still the man's son. Edward Bannister was paying her good money—damn good money—to see to Roger's safety. And what did she do? She lost the brat,
that's
what. Oh, God.

Her eyes snapped open, and she pulled Jake Chandler into focus. He looked uncomfortable, as though he was wondering how he'd managed to get himself into such a mess. Amanda's thoughts traveled the same depressing path. Only she
knew
how she'd gotten into it. Blind stupidity and more gall than she usually gave herself credit for having. That, and a craving to get to Washington and finally put her life back in order.

"Did you see any tracks?" she asked hopefully. "Anything that would suggest who took Roger and why?"

"Didn't look."

"You didn't—? Wait a minute. Where do you think you're going? Mr. Chandler, don't you
dare!"

Jake dared. He kept on walking, his swaggering steps never faltering. "I'm going home," he said over his shoulder.

"Home?" she cried and thought,
What is it with this man?
First, when she'd wanted him to leave, he wouldn't. Now, when she needed his help, he wouldn't stay. Would the man please make up his mind? She tried again. "Please, Mr. Chandler, you can't leave now. We have a problem here."

"You
do," he conceded gruffly, and continued to walk.

Gritting her teeth, and using the tree for leverage, Amanda pushed to her feet. The bark nipped at her palms, making her wince. Though she had to shift her weight to accommodate her wounded ankle, she hoped her stance looked stiff and commanding.

Sucking in a deep breath, she shouted in her best prim and proper voice,
"You no-good, filthy rotten bastard! How dare you walk away from me at a time like this?"

As she'd planned, the words stopped him cold.

He turned to face her slowly. Sunlight snuck beneath the brim of his hat, and Amanda caught a glimpse of exactly how hard his expression could be. A drop of fear trickled down her spine. She pushed it aside, and somehow managed to return his wintry glare with a level one of her own.

"That's no way for a lady to talk, Miss Lennox," he drawled, his voice flat and hard. Only the muscle jerking in his cheek hinted at the quiet fury simmering inside of him.

For Roger's sake, as well as her own, Amanda refused to let his anger affect her. For once in her life she was going to be brave and stand up to someone—even if that someone was the rudest, most arrogant, most dangerous man she'd ever met.

Her chin tipped haughtily. "You'll have to excuse me," she said with exaggerated politeness. "Given the circumstances, I'm not feeling like much of a lady at the moment."

"Understandable, seeing how your kid's just been—"

"Roger is
not
my son. Good heavens, no!"

"Didn't think he was." Jake angled his head to the side, his steely gaze drilling into her.

"No? Then why did you...?" She shook her head and released an aggravated sigh. "It doesn't matter." Her gaze swept over the skirt that fell in damp, limp folds around her legs. "Mr. Chandler, please. It kills me to say it, but I need your help. For obvious reasons, I can't go after the boy alone."

"Why's that, princess? Your ankle's bruised, not broken. You can ride." Her inquisitively raised brows made him add, with a sly wink, "I checked you out while we were in the water."

A blush heated her cheeks. The memory of his fingers—thick and calloused and warm, caressing her naked thigh and calf-blasted through Amanda's mind. Oh, yes, he'd "checked her out" all right. Most thoroughly! "That isn't the point," she snapped, angry at her thoughts, angry at the man who'd made her think them—
now
of all times.

"Isn't it?"

"No!"

A skeptical grin tugged one corner of Jake's lips, and her palm itched to slap it off. This wasn't funny, dammit! Roger was out there, somewhere, and God only knew what had happened to the poor child by now! Amanda brought herself up short. Poor child? Oh no, she was thinking nice things about the little monster again. That wasn't a good sign. It proved she was more distressed than she'd thought.

When Jake didn't say anything, instead just stood there grinning at her, she said, "Roger and I... well, to be perfectly blunt, we've been lost out here for a while now."

"Lost? Lady, you can't get lost out here."

"Maybe
you
couldn't, but I assure you,
I
can. I could get lost in my own backyard with little difficulty."

"Then you have no right being out here in the first place."

Amanda ignored that, and continued with what she'd planned to say next. She wouldn't let him distract her from her purpose. "What I'm trying to say is that even without my bruised ankle I would never be able to find Roger by myself."

Jake's lips pursed. He knew exactly how much that admission cost her in the way of dignity. He also enjoyed watching her pay the price. "And you want my help, in other words?"

Amanda fumed. He wasn't making this easy for her. Couldn't he see that she wasn't used to begging people for help? Couldn't he see that they were
wasting time?
If they hurried, there was a chance they could catch up with whoever had taken Roger today. They might even get the boy back by sunset. If they hurried. She nodded impatiently. "If you'd be so kind as to give it, then yes, I want your help."

Jake sucked in a slow breath, his expression thoughtful. Just when she thought he was about to agree, he shook his head. "Uh-uh. People like me learn early on not to poke their nose into other people's business. This problem is your business, princess, not mine."

People like him? And what, pray tell, did he mean by
that?
Amanda didn't have a clue, nor did she have time to waste trying to figure it out. Crossing her arms over her chest—to stifle the urge to strangle him on the spot—she said coldly, "I see. And how much will it cost me to
make
it your business?" Her fingers curled inward, her nails digging past her sleeves and into her skin. "I'll pay you generously for your time. State your price, and I guarantee
I'll
meet it."

A flash of something—outrage, skepticism?—lit his eyes. Whatever it was, the emotion was gone before Amanda had time to decipher it. His features relaxed as he rolled his weight back on his heels and pretended to contemplate her offer. With a nasty grin, he stated an outrageous sum.

"Good heavens, you can't be serious," she gasped.

His expression said he was; dead serious. "I rarely joke, princess... and when I do, it's never about money."

Amanda scowled, and did a quick mental calculation. How much money would be left for her if she agreed? Not much. Jake Chandler's asking price was a full three-quarters of the salary she would get upon delivering Roger to his father—with the boy's scalp, and the rest of him, intact.

On the other hand, she'd get nothing if Roger
wasn't
found.

Her mind reeled. Facts were facts, and unfortunately the facts of this matter were indisputable. She couldn't find Roger on her own. She was hurt, and her sense of direction wasn't just poor, it was nonexistent. Her supplies were running low, and she had no idea where the next town was so that she could buy more. When it came right down to it, she didn't just
need
this despicable man's help; her very survival depended upon it.

"All right," she agreed finally, "I'll meet your price.
Provided
you do the work you are hired for. You find Roger, Mr. Chandler, or you won't get a cent."

Surprise registered in his silver eyes, a split second before one inky brow cocked high. "Do I look like a welsher to you, lady? When I say I'm going to do a job, I
do
it." He laced his arms over his chest and speared her with a dubious glare. "And before I decide to take on
this
job, I want some answers."

Amanda leaned heavily against the tree trunk. She blinked slowly to cover the inner workings of her mind, screening emotions she knew this man would detect in an instant. "What kind of answers?"

He counted each one off on the tip of a coppery finger. "I want to know what the hell you're doing out here, for starters. Then you can tell me who the brat is, and where the two of you are heading, and why."

Instinct told her that lying to this man would not be wise. If he ever found out...

But what choice did she have? She couldn't tell him the truth and risk it getting back to her employer. Also, Jake had established in her mind, if not blatant greed, then a definite
need
for money. Look at the outrageous amount he was demanding for his services! Since Amanda was in a similar situation—in need of fast money—she could understand that. However, being in the same position also made her aware of how little Jake could be trusted. If
she
was desperate enough to lie to
him,
who was to say he wasn't desperate enough to lie right back at her?