The Renegade And The Heiress. Judith Duncan

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СКАЧАТЬ And the next thing I remember is being moved—like on a stretcher—with my hands bound, and I was outside. I was lifted into something and given another injection.” She lifted her head and looked at him, her face ashen, her expression stiff. “Everything after that is a blank, until I came to in the passenger compartment of a crashed plane.”

      His face impassive, Finn dropped his feet to the floor and swiveled his chair to face her. The mug still clasped in his hands, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, fixing his gaze on her. “What happened?”

      She held his gaze for a moment, her face like wax, then she took a deep uneven breath, rubbing her thumb against the tin mug. “I must have been jarred awake by the impact from the crash. I didn’t know where I was, and it was so cold.”

      She took another deep uneven breath and continued, her voice just barely above a whisper. “I managed to push the hood up so I could see, and I was working on the bindings around my ankles when I heard movement in the cockpit.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, and Finn could sense the spurt of terror in her. She swallowed again and visibly pulled herself together. “I knew my only option was to get away while I had the chance. I managed to rip the rest of the tape off my ankles, and I crawled through the rupture in the side of the plane. I knew if I didn’t escape then, I wouldn’t escape at all. So I just started running.”

      She paused again and finally met his gaze, not a speck of color left in her face. “You know the rest.”

      He watched her, reading her expression. “What kind of plane was it? Big or small?”

      She cupped her hands tightly around her mug, a stricken look on her face. “Small. Single engine, maybe six-passenger.”

      His face devoid of any expression, Finn watched her, assessing what she had told him. He was pretty certain she was telling the truth. But he was also damned sure she hadn’t told him everything. Considering whether to push the issue or not, he continued to watch her, analyzing all the facts. Deciding that she had been as honest with him as she dared under the circumstances, he straightened. “Would you like more tea?”

      As if realizing that he was not going to grill her, she managed an uneven smile, and Finn had the uncomfortable feeling she was on the verge of tears. But she pulled it together, and offered him a slightly embarrassed look. “What I’d really like is directions to the ladies’ room.”

      Leaning back in his chair, he tipped his head to one side and gave her a very wry smile. “Like I said, the amenities leave a lot to be desired. The ladies’ room is outside behind the cabin.”

      She gave him a genuine grin and dragged the blankets away. “And well air-conditioned, no doubt.”

      He gave her a wry smile back. “That’s one way of putting it.” He indicated the pile of gear by the door. “I’ve set out a spare pair of boots—you’d better put them on. The snow will be deep back there.”

      She stared at him, her eyes wide and steady, then as if giving herself a mental shake, she nodded. She crossed the room, resting one hand on the wall as she slipped out of her shoes and into his boots. It was all Finn could do to keep his butt planted in the chair, resisting the sharp urge to pick up the rifle and follow her outside. With the steady snow and the care he’d taken, there wasn’t a chance in hell that anyone could have picked up their trail.

      But he wasn’t going to take any risks either. He spoke, his voice gruff. “My dog is in the doghouse under the big spruce. Take him with you. His name is Rooney.”

      She met Finn’s gaze, then gave him a half smile and nodded, more than a little amusement in her eyes. “Yes, sir. I will take the dog with me.” She hesitated, then looked at him again. “Are you married?”

      “No.” Not anymore.

      “Me either. And I’ll still take the dog.”

      Her show of cheek almost made Finn smile. Almost. And he made himself relax the grip on his mug. With Rooney along, he knew that nothing—not anything or anybody—could get within a quarter mile of them without the dog letting him know.

      Finn stared at the door for a good ten seconds after she left, then he downed the remainder of his tea and got up. He took the kerosene lamp off the shelf by the door and lit it, placing it on the battered table. His expression fixed, he extinguished the candles and dropped them back in the can, then picked up the extra sleeping bag off the floor. He had recognized the symptoms of genuine exhaustion in her after she had finished telling him her story. He didn’t have a whole lot to offer in the way of creature comforts, but he could fix her a half-decent bed.

      Using the spare bedroll from his extra gear, as well as his own, he made a bed for her on the bunk, spreading his top-of-the-line sleeping bag out on top. After the chill she’d had, the last thing she needed was to get cold during the night. And there was a spare sleeping bag stored in one of the big plastic containers tied in the rafters.

      The door opened and she reentered, flakes of snow still snagged in her hair. His coat pulled tightly around her, she gave an involuntary shiver as a blast of cold air swept in when she closed the door behind her. She looked much better after the trip outside, invigorated by the cold mountain air. It was almost as if she’d had a shot of pure oxygen.

      She stepped out of the boots and put her shoes back on, then crossed to the stove, warming her hands over it, the illumination from the lamp lighting her profile. Even in the faint light, Finn could see she’d just about run out of steam, and his own expression hardened. It was a wonder she was still alive.

      He picked up the poker out of the wood box and opened the door of the stove. “We’ve got a hard ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

      She lifted her head and looked at him, the lamplight setting her hair on fire, making her eyes seem dark and bottomless. Finn felt her steady gaze right down to his bones, and he abruptly looked away, a strange flurry in his chest. Her gaze was so penetrating it was as if she could see right through him, and that made him uneasy. No one had seen through Finn Donovan for a very long time.

      Careful to avoid looking at her, Finn stoked the fire then closed the door on the stove, sticking the poker in the corner of the wood box. He indicated the bunk, trying to keep his tone easy. “You look like you’ve run out of energy, Red. It might be a good idea if you called it a night and climbed into bed.”

      There was a brief pause, then out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look at the bunk. “Hold on,” she said, an unexpected, bossy challenge in her voice. “If that’s my bed, just what are you going to use?”

      Her tone caught him by surprise, and wry humor pulled at his mouth. After she’d tried to slug him with a rock, he might have known he’d get some lip. And his gut told him that he had to win this one, or she’d test him at every step. Erasing all expression from his face, he turned and faced her. He didn’t say a word; he just stared at her with that inflexible stare he had learned in prison. She folded her arms and stared right back at him, an ornery set to her jaw. “I’m not taking your bedroll, Mr. Donovan. I’ll sleep in the chair.”

      He folded his arms and stared back at her. It took about ten seconds of a silent standoff, but she finally let go a long sigh and conceded. “Fine. I’ll sleep in the damned bed.” She stomped across the room and sat down on the edge of the bunk, then her shoulders sagged and she closed her eyes. It seemed to take all the energy she had as she wearily combed her hands through her hair. She let go another sigh, then looked up at him and tried to smile. “You think I’m acting like a spoiled brat, don’t you?”

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