Bound by Honor. Donna Clayton

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      Prologue

      The wipers thumped furiously across the windshield. Jenna Butler leaned forward, straining to see the narrow road through the thick curtain of driving rain. Her knuckles were white against the gray steering wheel, every muscle in her body stiff. Worry and fear ripped at her gut.

      Amy had to be okay. Jenna refused to consider any notion other than arriving at the hospital to find her sister bright-eyed and chattering away as usual. The harried E.R. nurse who had called from Deaconess Hospital offered little in the way of information, only notifying Jenna of the auto accident and urging her to come to the hospital as soon as the storm subsided.

      Spring always brought rain to the southern plains of Montana, but storms of this magnitude were rare. Black clouds billowed and ill-omened thunder rolled across the sky. However, bad weather couldn’t keep Jenna from Amy, not if her sister had been shaken up…or hurt…or worse.

      Panic chilled her to the bone. No! Jenna wouldn’t think that way. Amy was fine. She was healthy, and whole, and fine.

      Jenna repeated the silent chant as the car crested a small rise in the road. Her spine went rigid when she registered the danger that awaited her directly ahead. She stomped on the brake pedal. The tires squealed in protest, and the back end of the car fishtailed. Jenna’s heart hammered. A scream gathered at the back of her throat, but it died when the tires grabbed the blacktop and the car came to a sudden, jerky halt.

      Inhaling a ragged breath, she blinked, realizing that she was staring at a field of sodden wheat. Luckily, she was still on the asphalt, but her car straddled both lanes, perpendicular to oncoming traffic. The wipers slapped a rhythmic tune, the engine purred, rain battered the roof in a torrent. She looked to her left and saw the sloped road from where she’d come. To her right, she saw the water. That wasn’t just water, she realized. It was a river. A flash flood had washed out Reservation Road.

      It was too late to regret not having taken the highway. Getting to the hospital in Billings as quickly as possible had been Jenna’s only thought, so she’d taken the shortest route, the one that cut through Broken Bow Reservation. She pounded the steering wheel in frustration.

      Lights in her peripheral vision drew her attention. The water coursing down the window distorted her view, but there was no mistaking the pickup that was racing over the small ridge in the road. The driver didn’t slow down, but headed straight for her. Adrenaline surged. If she pulled her car forward to avoid a collision, the approaching driver might plunge headlong into the floodwaters roiling across the washed-out road.

      Without hesitation, she shoved open her door. Fat raindrops pelted her full in the face as she bolted from the car, waving her arms frantically.

      Rubber screeched against the wet pavement and the battered truck spun in a circle before skidding onto the narrow strip of weedy mud that separated the roadway from the wheat field. Stunned, Jenna shoved her hair from her face and raced to the truck. The handle felt icy against her fingertips as she pulled open the driver’s side door.

      “Are you all right?” Even as the question burst from her lips, she could see the trickle of blood oozing from a small cut on the man’s temple. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Oh, Lord, you’re hurt.”

      He looked up at her then, and Jenna felt as if a rumble of stormy thunder had shuddered through her being. Never had she seen eyes so black. Like chips of polished onyx. His fierce gaze seemed to latch onto her, connect with something deep within, tug at her very soul.

      Jenna swallowed. Suppressed the shiver that threatened to jolt through her. And then she took a tentative backward step.

      What was the matter with her? Whimsy had never had a place in her thought processes. Romanticism was Amy’s department. Jenna was logical. Rational. Suddenly, she understood. She was running on pure, high-octane nervous energy.

      “I-is anything broken?” she stammered. “Can you move?”

      The man had the high, regal cheekbones and swarthy complexion distinctive of Native American ancestry. She had no choice but to admit that he was handsome. He was more than merely handsome. Striking would be a better word to describe him.

      Again, she was astounded by his eyes. Black orbs that seared into her like laser beams. Suddenly, she had the thought that she should do or say something before she fell headlong into his inscrutable gaze.

      Tilting her head a fraction, she carefully enunciated, “Are you able to respond? Can you hear me?”

      His sharp features grew taut with obvious annoyance. Great, Jenna thought. Dealing with an angry man was the last thing she needed.

      “Of course, I can hear you.” Accusation honed his tone to flint. “I could have run you over. What the hell are you doing in the middle of the road?”

      Saving your lousy neck, she wanted to snap at him, but didn’t. Instead, she stood there with rain running down her face in rivulets, soaking through her clothes until they were plastered to her skin, and explained, “Porcupine Creek overflowed its banks. The road’s washed out. I nearly drove into it myself.”

      Seemingly unmindful of the downpour, the man shoved СКАЧАТЬ