Wildfire in His Arms (8 page)

“Is that your way of trying to convince me you haven't killed anyone—yet?” he asked, still standing behind her.

“Did it work?”

The man was mighty curious about her this morning, but he didn't bother to answer that. Instead, he asked, “What sort of food do you have on hand?”

She moved farther away from him. “Nothing. I've been hunting for food as I need it.”

“You've been subsisting only on meat up here?”

He sounded hungry. Her desperate, impulsive attempt to seduce him with her body last night hadn't worked, which wasn't surprising considering how dirty and angry she was. And thank goodness, because she hadn't given any thought to what would have happened if she'd succeeded. But food! Her gran was fond of saying that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. She even had some spices left in her saddlebags that she could use to make him something special.

She turned around and gave him a tentative smile. “It's not exactly safe for me to go shopping in town for anything else. But I can hunt up something for us if you're hungry. I sure am.”

“You and your rifle have parted ways for good” was all he said.

She was back to gnashing her teeth. She was
not
going to try to get on his good side again, not when he obviously didn't have one. She'd have to find some other way to escape while they were carting her to Texas for the trial. If there would even be a trial. Accused of killing the beloved founder of Bingham Hills, who was also the mayor of the town, who supported half the town and owned most of it—no, she probably wouldn't even be given a trial. They'd send her straight to the gallows. And she didn't even shoot that bastard.

U
NBELIEVABLE! MAX WAS FUMING.
The man was actually pulling her along behind him with that damn rope of his, as if she were an animal! He'd tightened the coil wrapped around her, then tied it off and had the end of it in his fist. He collected her horse first and hobbled it by the shack, then dragged her down the hill with him to collect her coat and vest.

Her hat was nowhere in sight, and after only five minutes he gave up looking for it. Max was livid. He should have gotten her things last night, not waited until the wind blew her hat away!

“What do they call you, fancy man?” she gritted out on the way back up the hill. “I want to know who I'm killing when I get loose.”

“Degan Grant,” he said without glancing back.

Max almost choked. “Holy cow, the gunfighter?”

He didn't confirm it, didn't reply at all, but who would use that name if he didn't have to? Folks were claiming he was the fastest gun there was, but she reminded herself that gossip like that was rarely true.
She
was fast, likely faster than him. She'd like a chance to prove it.

Back at the shack by the fire pit, he still didn't untie her or even let go of the rope as he saddled his horse, so she still got tugged a little as he did that. All she could do was stand there and watch him. That wasn't entirely unpleasant. With long legs, a lean, hard torso, muscles that pressed against the cloth of his jacket as he worked, Degan Grant was finely put together. Maybe a little too fine. No wonder her impulse had been to try seducing him into letting her go. She might not have minded, after all, if she'd succeeded. A worthy trade—her virginity for her life? She wasn't ready to make that trade yet.

She wondered if he had a sweetheart in every town he passed through. That funny thought had her grinning, because if he wasn't who he said he was, it could well be true. But if he really was the notorious gunfighter Degan Grant, then it might only be true if he kept that information to himself. What woman would want a man destined to die young? Or one as dangerous as this one was reputed to be? Well, she could understand why a woman would be attracted to a man this handsome, but she couldn't understand why a woman would want to fall in love with him. He was what Gran would call a heartbreaker.

“You find something amusing about your situation?” he asked.

“Hell, no. But I'm usually a good-natured sort. Sometimes I even laugh out loud by my lonesome if something funny pops in up here.” She meant to tap her head. She made a frustrated sound instead, having forgotten, even only briefly, that she couldn't move her hands. “But you won't be with me long enough to notice, thank our lucky stars.”

“So you're still thinking you can escape?” His tone was amused even if his expression wasn't.

“I'm thinking Helena's jail is less than an hour away,” she snapped.

“So it is. So what had you grinning?”

She was annoyed enough to give him the truth. “Your name, and your probably having trouble getting a woman once she hears it.”

“They don't need to hear it when I reek of death,” he said tonelessly.

“Really? Just the look of you sends them running? Now I wouldn't have figured on that.”

“Why not?”

“ 'Cause that's not what would send me running. You, fancy man, are a death sentence hanging over my head. That's more'n enough reason for me to see the last of you.”

He started to unwrap the rope that was binding her arms, coiling it back up as he did it. Then he turned her around, she assumed so he could cut her wrists loose, but he didn't. He took his sweet time untying the rope instead. So he could use that piece of rope again? Damned man thought of everything, didn't he?

“Do you need to relieve yourself before we leave?”

She blinked. “You'd actually let me go off in the bushes by myself?”

“No.”

She was sure she was going to grind down her teeth from gnashing them while in his company. “Didn't think so,” she growled. “So if it's all the same to you, I'll piss my pants. Better'n having you stand next to me for something like that.”

“You can use the shack. You won't be coming back up this way, so it doesn't matter.”

She was surprised. He was a gentleman beneath that dangerous veneer? But she didn't give him a chance to change his mind. Shaking the stiffness out of her arms almost brought tears to her eyes. She hurried into the shack while he saddled Noble for her. Her chestnut gelding wasn't skittish. Noble only glanced back at Degan once before ignoring him.

When she stepped back outside, she saw her vest and coat draped over the saddle of Degan's horse. Relieved to have her clothes back, she went to put them on, but his horse tried to bite her when she got close to it. Her instinct was to punch its nose, but fancy man probably wouldn't like that, even if she didn't hit hard. So she moved to the animal's head and murmured some soothing words and gave it a few tender rubs until she managed to reclaim her garments.

She put on her vest and buttoned it, then shrugged into her coat. She didn't usually wear the coat at her camp in the summer. She didn't need such a warm garment. She only donned it when she was going to be around other people, and now she was about to be paraded through town. The more clothing that covered her breasts, the better. She still felt naked without her holstered Colt because she'd been wearing it for so long. Even an empty gun could stop someone in his tracks. But Degan wouldn't be giving it back to her.

Going over to her horse, she saw Degan standing next to the shed. She laughed. He'd had his own gun drawn and pointed at her the whole time. “I wasn't going to run off with your horse.”

“He wouldn't let you.”

“Care to wager?” she asked with a grin.

He ignored that and said, “If you have anything stashed around here, now's the time to mention it.”

“Don't own anything worth hiding.”

Out of habit, she grabbed the cold pan and griddle off the fire pit so she could stuff them back in her saddlebags, which were already on her horse. Then she realized she wouldn't be doing any cooking where she was going. The enormity of what was going to happen in the next hour hit her hard. Jail and then a cage in which she'd be carted all the way to Texas to hang for a killing she didn't do. She'd seen a prisoner transport wagon on the road down in Utah. The cage was tiny.

She turned and looked at her captor, feeling more desperate than she ever had before. “Don't do this. You don't need the reward, you know you don't. Let me go!”

His gun was still pointed at her, obviously because she wasn't tied
and
was standing next to her horse. “You might have avoided the bounty hunters so far, but you have a US marshal after you now. I found you easily and I'm not a tracker. Marshal Hayes is.”

“But I'm innocent!”

“Then you should be glad you'll have your day in court to prove it.”

“There won't be a trial, not if Carl Bingham really did die.”

“If?”

She snapped her mouth shut. Talking to him was like talking to a jackass, and how was she supposed to explain that a murdered man might not be dead? Degan wasn't going to believe that any more than he would believe that she was innocent. She figured he just didn't care one way or the other. She was just a fat reward to him and a means of settling a favor he owed his marshal friend.

“All right, I'll come along peacefully if you could just do me one favor?”

“I already did you a favor,” he reminded her. “I didn't shoot you.”

“Well, if you're counting still standing here alive, I didn't slit your throat last night either. But you're going to be getting a ridiculous amount of money for me, so the least you could do is one tiny favor for me first.”

She squeezed out a few tears to help her plea, but he merely raised a black brow. “Don't bother, tears have no effect on me.”

He didn't display any disgust at her effort to manipulate him. No amusement either. Was he really so dead inside from his line of work that he'd lost the ability to feel? Not her, and she grinned now to show it. “Well
that's
a relief. I detest them m'self. Had to try though, you understand?”

“Certainly.”

“But here's the thing. It's been nearly two years since I left home and I haven't heard how my family is in all that time. Nor was I able to let them know I'm still alive. The one time I snuck back, there were deputies at our house, so I couldn't get close enough to talk to my grandmother. I even waited in the woods for my brother to go hunting, but some other men from town showed up instead, so I couldn't linger there when Johnny might not come that way at all. He never liked hunting like I do. I couldn't risk sending a letter with my name on it to Bingham Hills either, or have one sent back to me, and I never met anyone I could trust to do it for me—until now.”

Still pointing his gun at her with one hand, he quickly unhobbled her horse with the other. “I don't stay in one place long enough to receive letters, and you likely won't be in Helena long enough to receive one either. Mount up.” He took her reins.

“I wasn't asking for
you
to do it. Luella's the first friend I've made since I left Texas. She sent my letter off well over a month ago. I expected her to have my grandmother's reply the other day when I visited her. She didn't, but she could have it now. Can we at least stop by her place to see if she's got that letter for me—and give me a chance to say good-bye to her?”

He didn't say yes, but he didn't say no either, so she held her tongue as they started down the hill. She was surprised he hadn't retied her for the ride into town and that he thought holding her reins was enough to keep her behind him. Maybe it was, but she was still thinking of ways to get around that. If she spurred her horse forward into a gallop to pass him, the reins would be ripped from his hold—if he was still holding them. He might have tied them to his pommel instead. She couldn't tell with his broad back in front of her. Of course
her
back would make a large target. Or he might shoot her horse instead.

As if Noble could read her mind, she leaned forward to rub his neck and whisper, “Don't worry, I won't do anything to bring bullets our way.” She wouldn't mind sending them toward Degan though.

He'd attached her rifle to her saddle, probably because he didn't have a ring for it on his saddle. Gunfighters didn't bother with rifles, and she would bet her horse that Degan Grant had never needed one to hunt his own food. He probably stopped to eat in every town he came to, while she'd had to avoid most towns. She was so sure the rifle was empty that she didn't even bother to check it. But she leaned back carefully to check the saddlebag where she kept her extra ammunition. Her hand came out empty. He'd even thought of that! But she could ride close enough to him to bash him over the head with the rifle . . .

“Get your hat and make no mistake. I'm not going to kill you, but I don't have the least qualm about putting a bullet in your leg if you try to run again.”

Max looked down at the ground and saw her hat lying there between them. She hadn't been looking for it, but he must have been. She quickly retrieved it and remounted. They were nearly out of the hills. The sun had already topped the Big Belt range to the east and she was hungry. She wondered how long she'd have to wait for a meal in jail.