Rafferty Tyler turned to her.He took off his bandanna, and before she realized what was happening, he’d pulled her hands behind her and tied them.“Go in the cabin.The door’s open.”
Shea stood still.She would be horsewhipped before she’d do anything he told her, particularly when he did it with such assurance that she would comply.Pride wouldn’t allow it.Stark fear wouldn’t permit it.She still held a shadow of hope that the other two might object, might take her back with them after all.
She turned to Ben.“You can’t leave me here.”
He looked uncomfortable, then shrugged.“He said he won’t hurt you.He won’t.”
“Please.”She’d never begged before, not for herself.She hated doing it, particularly in front of her captor.
Ben dropped his glance and turned away from her.She appealed to Clint, looking at him with a plea in her eyes.
He merely shook his head, and Shea reluctantly looked back to Rafferty Tyler, who was eyeing her speculatively.“Go inside,” he said again.
“No.”
“Then I’ll take you.”He picked her up in his arms, and she felt the hard strength in them.Heat darted through her again.She smelled the sweat mixed with soap and leather, she heard the beat of his heart, the swift intake of his breath when their bodies met.He cursed, and then he was moving swiftly toward the cabin.He kicked the door open and strode to the bed, dumping her rather than setting her down.
“Stay here, dammit,” he said, scowling.“I’m not going to play games with you.”
He disappeared out the door, slamming it shut, and she struggled to sit up on the bed.She instantly knew why he had tied her hands.There were guns all over the place.On a table, lying against the wall.
She tried to loosen the bonds but couldn’t.She stood and looked around.There was a fireplace with a kettle hanging over ashes.A table littered with books.Several boxes stacked in the corner.The bed, little more than a cot, was neatly made up, unlike the rest of the interior.
A knife.Look for a knife.She could tuck it away someplace and use it later.After the other two men were gone.
Her eyes carefully went over every surface of the cabin.There was a cabinet up on a wall, but she couldn’t reach it with her bound hands.Frustrated, she moved to the table, looking at the books.Shakespeare.Dickens.Hawthorne.Thoreau.Surprising selection for a thief.
She heard the sound of hoofbeats and with a sinking heart realized that Clint or Ben, maybe both, had gone.She moved quickly back to the cot and sat down.Heart in her throat, she waited.
She heard the door start to open and felt a sudden chill, a cold wind blowing away the safe fabric of her life.
Chapter 4
Rafe hesitated at the door of the cabin.He wished the woman had screamed or cried, or even fainted.He could handle that easily.He could handle anything but that quiet dignity that was so unnerving.
Despite himself, despite the fact that she might be Randall’s daughter, he felt a glimmer of admiration.She had a hell of a lot more guts than her father.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t every bit as devious and treacherous as Jack Randall.
He understood Ben’s thinking in bringing her here, but Rafe’s quarrel was with Jack Randall, not a woman.He wouldn’t use substitutes.Not the way Randall did.
Clint had said the woman’s and Randall’s eyes were alike.Rafe didn’t remember the exact color of Randall’s eyes, but he didn’t think they could be that soft, that color of blue-gray, like the sky at dawn.
Except for that brief visit to a whorehouse, he hadn’t been with a woman.In prison he’d blocked out that kind of memory, that kind of want, and he thought he’d brought them under control.But now they were tormenting him, like tiny devils stabbing his lower region with pitchforks.
Not that the woman was so pretty.She was not his type at all.Allison had been startlingly pretty, with black hair and green eyes and a figure that was all curves.This woman was tall and slender, boyish in a shirt and trousers.Her light brown hair was carelessly bound in a loose braid that hung halfway down her back, and her eyes were calm, even restful, except for those few times when sparks seemed to ignite in them.Mainly when he had said something about Jack Randall.
Loyalty?In a Randall?That was absolutely incomprehensible to him.Any decent quality must be foreign to a Randall.She could, for all he knew, even be a spy.Hell, he wouldn’t put anything past Randall.The thought stoked his anger and lowered his admiration to a controllable level.It made things a hell of a lot easier.
He opened the door and strode in, noting that she was sitting on the cot.He suspected she hadn’t been sitting there long.The bottom of her trousers was edged with dust that had settled on the floor.His eyes swept the rest of the room.Nothing seemed to have been disturbed.
“Stand up,” he ordered curtly as he moved toward her.
She shied away from him.
He shrugged.“All right, stay tied the rest of the day.”
She bit her lip for a moment, looking vulnerable, and finally stood, presenting her back to him.His fingers deftly untied the knot that bound her wrists.
