The Rancher's Daughter. Jodi O'Donnell

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СКАЧАТЬ his Pulaski gripped in his hand, his eyes wide with concern, his features taut. His stance that of knight ready to do battle.

      Except that there was nothing to do battle with. And that’s when Maura realized why, actually, his expression was so strained: Ash’s headlamp had zeroed in like a spotlight on her naked torso. She felt like Gypsy Rose Lee on stage at the burlesque.

      Maura gave yet another screech, this one of embarrassment, as she stooped, fumbling for her fire shirt to cover herself.

      Realizing where the beam of his headlamp was trained, Ash whipped his helmet off his head and shoved it under his arm with military precision, so that the light now fell in a pool at his feet.

      “Are you okay?” he asked belatedly. He had obviously been ready to come to her rescue for the second time that day. It wasn’t the fact that she was standing there virtually half-naked that a thrill of goose bumps swept over her.

      It was immediately followed by a thoroughly warming blush at the spark that leaped to his eyes, remote no more.

      “A…a bat startled me,” Maura stammered, clutching her shirt at her throat with one hand while holding it spread over her breasts with the other. “I’m fine…just embarrassed, is all. That I screamed, I mean, and made you come running. I must have scared the life out of you.”

      He finally averted his eyes, obviously nearly as embarrassed as she was.

      “I didn’t know if—or what—had happened.” He actually shuffled his feet. “You know, if you’d seen a spider or if there was some kind of animal you’d come across that was threatening you…”

      He shoved a hand through his dark hair. “Oh, hell.”

      Maura broke out into a smile. How sweet of him, just when she was about to give up on him. As much as he might pretend he was a hard case, she had a feeling Ash might be in the same league of softie as her father.

      “I’m fine,” Maura said, suddenly lighthearted, where a few moments ago she’d been ready to throw in the towel. “Really. I’m used to spiders and bats and most everything else. But thank you for coming to my rescue—again.”

      He mumbled something not quite sounding like “You’re welcome,” and stormed back down the passage without so much as a by-your-leave.

      Maura’s smile only widened. He couldn’t have seemed more uncomfortable than if she’d caught him in a lie.

      And maybe she had.

      Ash stalked—as best as one could hunched over and boot soles slip-sliding on a damp, uneven cave floor—back to the chamber where he and Maura had set up camp. Once there, he drew in half a dozen bracing breaths through clenched teeth.

      He needed to get a grip on himself. He was taking this rescue business way too far. Maura was no shrinking violet who needed him to stomp on bugs or chase away critters. That had been clear from the start. It had been the whole point of calling her a powder puff. She had a degree in forestry, for Pete’s sake, had probably spent more time braving the wilds of Montana than he had.

      But, damn, it felt good to have her look at him with those big, blue eyes as if he was her own personal hero. And damn, but seeing her standing there, her skin wet and glowing, that red braid of hair, itself alive as the fire outside, spilling over one breast—it had been like glimpsing heaven.

      A heaven he didn’t even dare dream about.

      And tonight was going to be hell, confined here in this cave with her. Ash swore, vividly and succinctly. He would almost rather have fought a thousand forest fires.

      He looked around as he heard her return to the chamber.

      “I can’t tell you how much better I feel,” she said cheerily and without a bit of her earlier embarrassment. He had to admire her gumption. But then, she hadn’t heard his next bit of news.

      “Well, if you’re done for the night, I’m thinkin’ we’d better get some sleep.” More brusquely than he meant to, he continued, “It’s best if we shut off the headlamps to conserve our batteries. Chances are we’ll make it out tomorrow, but we’ve actually got no idea how long we might have to hole up here before we can get out or someone else can get in.”

      He paused, then decided he might as well give it to her straight. “Once we turn out the light, it’ll be black as six feet under in here, just to let you know. It could be kind of spooky.”

      She looked at him strangely before nodding. “I’ll be fine.”

      “Then I’ll let you get settled.”

      He headed back down to the spring for his own quick swab off. Ten minutes later he came back to find her on her side, her back to him, her space blanket wrapped around her, with her hard hat for a pillow. The small mound she made lying there looked not much bigger than a bag of feed.

      Well, he may as well get this over with.

      He dropped to his own space blanket. “Ready for me to turn off the headlamp?” Ash asked without preamble.

      “Yes—oh, wait,” Maura said, pushing back the blanket and half sitting up. “I forgot to take my turn at bathing the doe’s burns.”

      Making a show of rustling around to get comfortable, he mumbled, “You don’t have to. I…I checked on her while I was washing up.”

      “How is she doing?”

      This was the worst news of all, and he’d have given his right arm not to have to tell it to her. But he owed her the truth.

      “Maura, she died,” Ash said.

      Her eyes widened in shock, then closed as her mouth tightened into a thin line.

      He felt like a twenty-four-carat louse. “It’s for the best, you know,” he said tersely. “She never did have a chance.”

      “I guess.” Her head bent and she said nothing for a long moment. “And the fawn?”

      “He seems to be doing fine, but he’s not budging from her side.” He paused, then added, “We won’t leave him here. We’ll get him out with us somehow.”

      She lifted her chin, and the watery smile she treated him to was so grateful it had him regretting his momentary weakness.

      “So, you ready for me to turn out the light?” he said.

      At her nod, Ash switched off his headlamp. Maura gave a soft gasp of surprise, and even he was momentarily taken aback. The darkness was absolute and enveloping. It was difficult to ignore it. Difficult to keep it at bay.

      He distracted himself by experimenting with a more comfortable way to rest his head than on his helmet, and finally settled on using his bent arm. Either way, however, was about as conducive to sleep as trying to bunk in a herd of stampeding cattle. The space blanket had the flexibility of sheet metal and it crackled every time he breathed, but there wasn’t any other choice for warmth.

      He’d known it was chilly in the cave, but lying still without cover other than his clothes and the space blanket, and with the overwhelming darkness, it was like being shut up in a meat locker.

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