WANTED (A Transported Through Time book) (13 page)

No more.

Now he knew. Not coincidence, calculation.

“I think I can sit in a saddle,” Samantha said at last, testing a turn of her ankle. She tested it as though she hadn’t up and walked on it out the door and then pretended to faint yards away.

Very good. Too damned good. So good a part of him wanted to believe it again and take her at honest face value. That would put his sister at risk. His own neck he’d gamble with any day, but not Ginny’s.

“Good. I’ll pack. You dress.”

“Pack?”

Was that a tremor in her voice?

“Food, supplies. You never know what you might need to be prepared for out there.” He lightened his regrettably ominous tone with a wide grin. “Snakes, outlaws ... squirrels.”

Samantha chuckled, her relief evident. She trusted him. Why wouldn’t she? Particularly when she had two bad men on hand to defend her honor—dishonor he mentally amended.

Nothing honorable about the game she was playing. He didn’t care if she had ten hungry mouths to feed at home. There were limits on what a person should do. Betrayal, lies, hell, murder might even be in the cards she held.

He couldn’t tell. Until he got her alone and away from here, where Mick and Joe couldn’t be far, he couldn’t know.

She shifted and began standing, and he left her. He had to, or he’d have been over there, taking her elbow and helping. Not that he shouldn’t play his part, but he first had to rein in his emotions, and they were running wild. If he touched her now, he wasn’t sure what might happen.

He might hurt her, though normally he wouldn’t hurt a woman, no matter how black her heart.

Jesse saddled his black stallion and the old mare he’d recently bought for plowing, a quarter horse and mustang mix bred for power, not speed. Ginny’s old saddle would fit Samantha fine, even though she was a head taller than his sister.

Ginny. Seemed like yesterday his sister was riding her bay
stallion
in tow with him as they plodded into town with some meager table winnings and high hopes.

No sense thinking about the past. Not when the present could put it all at risk.

Jesse reentered his home and found Samantha trying hard not to snoop through his things. She held her arms crossed, but leaned over the stack of papers on top of his desk. He walked in loudly, and she jumped at being caught.

“Ready?” was all he said, ignoring the blush coloring her cheeks

Samantha nodded.

Something was different about her. She seemed timid. No, timid wasn’t the right word. Samantha was too bold and too brave to be timid. Uncertain, though, for sure.

He could only hope he hadn’t exposed his suspicions.

Jesse turned on his boot heel and listened for her to follow. She did. She still wore his shirt and had taken a pair of his pants, which she fit into too damned well. It wasn’t exactly proper, but he’d seen women wear worse out here, and he couldn’t help marking her as practical. The only things that wouldn’t be practical were her shoes. They looked like slippers.

Boots would have been better, even the soft-soled kind Ginny preferred. They didn’t have time for that, and he wasn’t about to go anywhere near Ginny’s place, in case Mick and Joe weren’t aware of their blood connection. Hopefully, they seemed like good neighbors and little more.

Samantha hadn’t left his side, except for the half hour unaccounted for and, by hook or by crook, he knew the brothers hadn’t been in the vicinity at that point. She had probably gone out to check if they’d come or maybe even to use the outhouse.

No. Not to use the outhouse. That was his silly hopes still trying to keep from dying. She wouldn’t have disappeared to use an outhouse.

She would have told him, taken him along. After all, a snake had bitten her during the last visit. No, she’d likely been checking out the grounds, looking for signs of her employers.

Jesse climbed into his saddle and waited patiently while she did the same. She had a difficult time, but he didn’t dare get down and help her.

Once settled in, she shrugged and gave him a wary look. “Ready when you are,” she said.

Ready. He wasn’t ready for this. That didn’t matter. Did it?

To think, he’d been about to give up this life. Wouldn’t you know that would be when his partners came sniffing. They must have sensed his reticence during the last robbery.

What was he supposed to do, tell them? Men like Mick and Joe would never understand wanting to go straight, wanting to live a life inside of the law.

Jesse kept the mare’s reins in hand with his, in case Samantha did ride well and decided to run. She didn’t protest, but if she really didn’t know how to ride, she wouldn’t. Instead, as he led her into the shadow of woods, up the steep, sloping path, Samantha kept unusually quiet.

If she noticed the way he zigged and zagged and doubled back, she didn’t question it. She kept quiet, smiling tightly when he glanced back, chuckling halfheartedly when he winked at her.

The sour pit in his stomach had hardened, and soon the hardness would reach his chest, until finally, his mind turned cold to match. If he was lucky, by the time he took them down into the narrow gorge to the small lake—actually a pond of melted snow water—he’d be ready to face Samantha with the truth.

~~~

Chapter Twelve

Samantha stared at Jesse’s back. Her mind finally calmed enough to start thinking rationally, without the surge of hot, flashing panic sending her heart into high speed and her brain into meltdown.

He was acting strangely. Well, different from before. She didn’t know what that meant. She knew only that reality seemed to be slipping in and out of her life with far too much ease. She knew only that when he looked at her, her heart hurt.

God, he seemed so real. Worse, what she felt seemed so real. What in the hell was happening to her?

She really couldn’t guess, and her mind no longer wanted to. All she could do was ride the horse, watch his back, and work on suppressing the little pockets of panic in her belly.

Something unnameable was different about Jesse. More than his words, more than the unreadable and yet changed way he regarded her. He held himself a bit more stiffly, his voice sounded more controlled.

Why would she even be able to note such a difference? How could she, when she’d spent only a matter of hours with this man, and those so rapt in pure physical sensation?

Maybe the intimacy they had shared somehow translated his mannerisms to her by some strange osmosis. She couldn’t understand it, and stopped trying to. She just knew it, without knowing how or why.

She began to think he was real. Not a vivid psychological conjuration but also living and breathing, and, outside of her fainting spells, both realms were real.

Maybe the blackouts were what she should be concerned about. What if she were blacking out, making her way from one place to wake in another— something truly, clinically mental?

If it were true, and she really felt like it made sense, then she should warn Jesse by some means. He should know that she might up and leave, putting her life and limb in danger. He should be told so he could stop her, protect her from herself.

How?

When she wasn’t even sure it was true, how was she supposed to break down such a thing?

She inhaled the scent of the woods, earthy and green, into her lungs, trying to calm down. The horses nickered to each other, and Jesse looked back at her again. God, he was gorgeous. In that aching way you read about or hear about, or see in movies. In that detached way, ever since she woke up from what must have been another fainting spell. But she hadn’t left. She hadn’t moved from the bed.

She smiled tightly. He had no idea what he’d gotten himself into with her. She didn’t, either. That didn’t change the fact that she had to tell him something, or risk his thinking the worst.

Or risk never seeing him again.

If he was real ... Well, it wasn’t that she was suddenly hoping for babies and a wedding, not necessarily in either order, but ... if he was real, there were possibilities. Undeniable possibilities.

If he was real, she’d already made an unusual first and second and, come to think of it, third, impression.

As they began to traverse the downward slope, he glanced back again. He winked. Samantha swallowed. The panic rose. She was glad for the silence, the six feet that seemed to create a barrier against conversation. Because she had no idea what to say.

Yet.

Jesse winked again, and his gaze fell past her shoulder. It stayed there. Samantha couldn’t help but follow with her own glance backward, so when her horse bounded forward, she nearly tumbled out of the saddle.

All she could do was turn back around, hold onto the saddle horn with both hands, and hang on for dear life. She skimmed past the trees, and thunder echoed. As the menacing trunk of a particularly large oak seemed to jump her way, she gave a small shriek and closed her eyes.

Jesse didn’t say a word. Not, “hold on” or “hang on” or “trust me.”

Samantha could do little more than wonder what would cause him to so abruptly take off, dragging her with him, but decided he knew what he was doing. She certainly hadn’t seen anything in the seconds she’d looked, although she was no expert.

Only trees. No wildcat. No bear. No person or thing, other than trees and patches of sky.

They reached the bottom of the hill, and Jesse dismounted. Within a breath, he helped her off her horse. Well, he pulled her to the ground, and that counted as help, didn’t it? It’s not as though she would have gotten there on her own, scared stiff as she was.

Her feet hit the ground, and the thump reverberated up her whole body. Her thighs ached a little, feeling strangely empty from straddling the horse. Jesse gripped her hand and pulled her along. Her heart beat nearly as loudly as thunder in her ears, competing with her hard breathing and the crunch of their feet on the forest floor.

He tied the mare to the stallion and swatted the stallion’s rump. As muscle bunched and released, the shiny, black coat rippled. The horses galloped away.

“What’s wrong, Jesse?” her whisper sounded strangled.

He put a finger to her lips, and the warning in his eyes shut her up. Samantha clamped her hand over her mouth and crouched a little lower, watching him level his pistol over the shrubbery and up the hill.

Sitting ducks. She felt like one of two sitting ducks, the kind you shoot at a county fair or toss a beanbag at in a kids’ pizza parlor. Her jeans pinched the backs of her knees. The points of her heels sank into earth. Not exactly dressed for danger.

She kept quiet and still, as she was told. If she was a duck, sitting, squatting, even running for her life, she’d rather be
a duck
with him.

He’d protected her once, and was by far the best person she could think of to do so now.

She might have peeked above their cover to see for herself what had him so suddenly protective, but she faced the opposite way. So she watched him, instead. Long moments passed, filled with long, shallow breaths and her heartbeat slowing, quieting.

She strained, listening for signs of what he’d seen following them, and approaching them. She heard nothing, and his face began to relax a bit. When he squinted and blinked, his eyes crinkled at the corners. The pupils zoomed and stilled like a camera. His gun veered an inch left, right.

He slowly lowered the pistol. The metal glinted in the sunlight. He uncocked it. The barrel clicked softly and turned, and he holstered it.

She hadn’t noticed the gun before, or the holster. He scanned the area again, but with his shoulders looser and his features less taut. Samantha didn’t dare speak, just in case. She waited for him to break the silence.

He said nothing, but he gazed into her eyes, seeming to search them. For what, she couldn’t fathom. It was almost as if he were looking for an answer from her. The only question, as far as she could see, was what was out there, what had spooked him enough to tear down the hill and hide in the bushes.

She had less of an idea than he must have. She shook her head, telling him as much. She had no clue about what he’d seen, or what they should do about it. That he had looked at her in such a strange way had her nerves bundling right back up.

Samantha drew her eyebrows together, and her fear dissolved into irritation. Jesse kept looking at her, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was accusing her of something. She had the sudden urge to get up and storm away. If she still didn’t have a thread of common sense running through her brain, along with a healthy dose of self-preservation, she might have.

One thing she knew was she had
nothing
to do with whatever he’d seen. How could she? She didn’t even know where she was, and couldn’t possibly have a reason to bring him any kind of harm. If she’d wanted to, she would have wrought it at his home, not as they left on horseback to some surprise he wanted to show her. Him. Not her.

She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but his gaze went to her lips, and she found herself speechless. Almost breathless. This was crazy. She was crazy. How could a single look immobilize her senses, scatter them, and pull them in so strongly and quickly?