Stolen Moments. B.J. Daniels

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СКАЧАТЬ cowboy had sent the attacker flying. The man landed on his back hard, the rifle falling from his hands and sliding down the bank into the cold stream. As the cowboy leaped after him, she saw the attacker pull something from his boot. A knife blade glittered as the two struggled in the snow.

      She froze as she watched them fight, her thoughts frantic. What should she do? Run! But run where? She got to her feet but couldn’t see more than a few feet in the dense fog and didn’t know the terrain, didn’t even know where she was. Think! The canoe. Take the canoe. She rushed over to it and was hurriedly trying to pull it out of its hiding place when she heard a splash behind her and swung around.

      “Did he hurt you?” her kidnapper asked, sounding almost concerned for her. He picked up his Stetson from the snow and shoved it down on his head, then stumbled toward her, his breathing labored. He was covered in snow, and blood seeped from a wound on his temple.

      “Are you hurt?” he demanded. He wiped at the wound. It didn’t look deep or life threatening.

      She shook her head and looked past him. The attacker was gone. “Where is he?” she asked, her voice breaking.

      The cowboy pointed across the creek. “He got away.”

      She stared into the darkness of the pines. “What makes you so sure he won’t be back?”

      “I’m not, but I would imagine he’ll go for help. He was wounded. Not bad. Just a cut on his arm, but enough that I don’t think he’ll be back—at least for a while. By then we’ll be gone.”

      From behind a wall of tears, she saw him reach for her, but he didn’t seem to have enough fight left in him to stop her as she sidestepped him. He let his hand drop as she moved to the edge of the water where the two had been fighting. She dropped to her knees in the churned snow, wishing for some way to confirm the cowboy’s story—or her worst fears. Had the other man come to rescue her... or kill her?

      “From here on out, you’re going to have to trust me,” her kidnapper said behind her, his voice rough. “Or at least do as I tell you.”

      “How do I know you didn’t have the cabin booby-trapped so it would blow up when someone came after me?” Levi snapped. She was angry and afraid, but equally tired and cold. “Obviously you knew someone was going to come. Isn’t that why you dragged me up the mountain to that shack where you could watch for them? Isn’t that why you hid this canoe by the creek?”

      “It isn’t a creek. It’s a river,” he said as he came up behind her. “And I didn’t hide the canoe. Its owner did, years ago.”

      She stepped back away from him. The cowboy had just made his first mistake.

      “Don’t come any closer,” she warned, aiming the pistol she’d found in the snow.

      He stopped and raised his hands, palms out. “I take it you’ve fired one of those before?”

      “Many times.”

      He nodded as if he should have known, the way his day was going.

      “I want some answers and I want them now,” Levi said.

      “You definitely pick your moments,” he said with a tired sigh.

      “Who was that?” she demanded.

      The cowboy shook his head. “I have no idea.”

      “Why was he trying to kill you?”

      “I would assume he thought it would be easier to knock you unconscious, kill me first, then you,” he answered matter-of-factly. “But that’s just a guess.”

      She groaned. “How do you know he didn’t intend to push me out of the way, to save me from you?”

      “With the butt of his rifle?”

      “Maybe that’s the best he could do at short notice,” she argued.

      “Maybe.”

      She waited for him to convince her she was wrong. He didn’t even try. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you?”

      He pushed his Stetson back from his forehead. “Because there’s probably more of them out there and if you fire that pistol, the sound will only give them our location.” He said it softly, conversationally and with an arrogance that made her trigger finger itch. “Plus, you’re smart enough to think that I just might be the lesser of two evils.”

      “You’re the one who kidnapped me. Why would I think you’re less dangerous?”

      “Then shoot me.” He started toward her. “Because, otherwise, we’ve got to get out of here.”

      “You come any closer and I‘ll—” She gripped the pistol in her hand, feeling the cold steel of the trigger just beneath her finger. He stepped up to her. “Don’t—”

      With ease and speed, he snatched the gun from her hand and stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t ever pull a gun on me again unless you intend to use it.”

      She stood trembling as he turned his back on her. He pushed the canoe into the water and held it steady before he settled his gaze on her again. “Get in.”

      The order made her bristle. Around them the fog seemed to be getting colder, wetter and more dense by the minute. “I should have shot you when I had the chance,” she said, glaring at him.

      “Probably,” he agreed. “But since you didn’t, get into the canoe.” He swore when she didn’t move. “My name’s Seth. And I didn’t kidnap you, not exactly. Now get in before you get us both killed.”

      She glanced across the river, then moved to the canoe and got in without a word as he pushed them off.

      The current caught the small craft, sucking it into the fog bank. She wrapped her arms around herself, huddling in the front of the boat. There were so many questions she wanted to ask Seth—if that was his real name—but she knew he wasn’t going to tell her anything until he was good and ready. And she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t right, that there weren’t others out there, just waiting to attack them. So she remained silent, something extremely hard for her to do under even ordinary circumstances. Only nothing was ordinary about this. Or the man she was with.

      She felt him paddle them out into the fast water, as if he’d done it a hundred times. Maybe he had. She had the feeling this man could do anything. Who was he anyway? And what was she doing with him, as if she had a choice? She shivered, remembering the look he’d given her when he’d taken the gun from her hand. Instinctively she knew he was dangerous. So why had he saved her life? Not once, but twice. Or had he?

      She stared into the fog, her brain and body numb. Part of her feared an attack from the banked whiteness. Another part feared she was in more danger from the man in the canoe than anyone who came out of the fog.

      The river lapped at the sides of the boat; the fog rushed by. Where were they headed now? She felt caught up in something bigger than herself as the canoe swept down the river with nothing to gauge distance by other than the feel of the wind on her face and the whisper of the fog as it sailed past. Time seemed suspended. She watched Seth paddle and felt like the water, racing toward something. But what?

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