How couldshehandle that?Despite her gallant attempt at bravery, she had to fear the worst, that he would rape or kill her.There was no reason for her to think otherwise.
He’d thought he’d lost all emotions except the need for revenge, and he bitterly resented the guilt that now nibbled at him.
But it was not enough to change his mind.He had survived mutilation, the worst kind of abasement in prison, and loss of nearly one third of his life only by promising himself that Randall would pay for every moment in kind.
He couldn’t let the hate go.The penetrating, consuming, relentless need for revenge was too much a part of him, had been for too many years.He would do what was required to satisfy it.
And then?He couldn’t think further than that.The beyond didn’t exist.Desolation wrapped around him as if he were whirling down a black bottomless hole, speeding toward a nothingness that was more frightening than any kind of physical pain.
He reached out, anchoring himself by touching a tall pine, forcing his mind back to the woman.He had no idea how to alleviate her fears.Christ, he didn’t know how to talk to anyone.
Except perhaps Abner, who demanded little.Suddenly wishing for its company, he put his hand into his pocket, and then he remembered he’d left the mouse in the cabin.
He wondered how Miss Randall felt about mice.
He should go back, but he couldn’t force himself yet.He had wanted to touch her, to wipe away her fear.That had surprised him.It had been so damn long since he’d touched anyone with tender human feeling.
That the woman in the cabin had stirred him that way was something he couldn’t bear to contemplate, not if she was Randall’s kin.He had no compassion left, no pity, dammit.He would never be used again, not by anyone.
His body shuddered as he thought of his imprisonment.He wished he could let that go, but he couldn’t.He still slept outside now, even on the meanest nights.He couldn’t stand waking up in the small cabin, and even outside he would still awake to nightmares, to the times he’d been stripped and thrown in the punishment box without so much as a bucket for dignity.He’d turned into an animal, living in darkness in his own waste.
He’d lost something then he would never regain, just as his keepers planned.They broke spirits because then prisoners were easier to handle.He found he would do anything, say anything, be anything, to keep from going back to the box, and he’d hated himself for that weakness.He could never totally regain his self-respect, but perhaps vindication might mend it a little.
He’d learned to control his rage, to direct it.But sometimes it still ran away with him, like an untamable wild horse, and he’d have to force himself back in check, to be patient.But, Christ, it was hard.Slowly, he was chipping away at Jack Randall.The Circle R was strapped for cash.Randall’s hands would desert their employer if they weren’t paid soon; promises went just so far.As did loyalty.
He’d discovered that years ago, when Allison and men he thought were friends so readily believed the worst of him, so completely abandoned him.So had the army to which he had given his life.He couldn’t even entirely trust Clint and Ben and the others now; the suspicion that they had their own reasons kept nagging at him.Any belief in justice or loyalty or friendship was smashed ten years ago.Abner was the only creature in the world Rafe allowed himself to care about.The mouse required so little, just the amount Rafe had left to give.
Unwillingly, his thoughts returned once more to his prisoner.Shea.An unusual name.Soft and quiet-sounding.It suited her.And then he cursed himself.He couldn’t think of her that way.She was Randall’s daughter, nothing more.He had to keep telling himself that.The get of a viper was still a viper.
He started back, moving with his usual caution.The trapper who’d once lived in the cabin had set traps throughout these woods, and Rafe had already found several.Some held dead animals, and he’d felt an infinite sadness for them, a certain kinship.He’d sprung the live ones.He suspected there were more traps, and he always walked warily.The last thing he needed was to be caught in another trap.
Or maybe, he thought as he considered the woman in the cabin, he already was.
Tears had dried on Shea’s face.Useless, foolish tears that didn’t accomplish anything.She was angry at herself for expending that energy, and even more so at the thought that her captor might see evidence of her having cried.
She was thirsty and hungry and dirty.And so alone.
She’d never been alone like this before.There had always been her mother and friends, customers at the shop who’d oohed and aahed over her hat designs.There had even been the occasional young man.
But that was all gone.She didn’t even know who and what she was.
She pushed aside her despair and concentrated on escaping.She would have to plan carefully.The best scheme was to disarm her captor, make him think she had accepted her situation.And she had to get a horse.She’d have no chance without one, not up here, where she could be in more danger from nature than from the man who held her.
She wondered where Rafferty Tyler had gone.She had hoped fervently he wouldn’t come back, but now she worried just the opposite.In the darkness she had searched the cabin and found matches and a few candles.She could try to burn the place down, but she might kill herself in the process.Yet that remained an option if he didn’t return.
She lit one candle and peered around more closely.There was a box in a corner, and she opened it.Several tins of crackers.Canned fruits and meat.She’d never eaten canned meat, but she was ready to try anything at this point.She had no way of opening the cans, though.She opened the cracker tin and ate half of one.It tasted like chalk.
Shea swallowed, feeling the dryness of her mouth.In disgust she went back to the cot, taking the candle with her, wondering whether she should put it out or not.But she didn’t like the darkness.It increased her fear.Somehow she could cope if she had light.
Something moved at the end of the bed, and she flinched.There was no telling what creatures inhabited the cabin.She moved the candle and saw a small mouse on the end of the cot, regarding her as curiously as she watched him.
It sat up on his haunches and put its two front legs together as if begging.It obviously had no fright of her.
She’d seen big, ugly rats in the streets of Boston, but this mouse was small and appealing.
Shea remained still, wondering whether it would come closer or scamper off.She wished she had her sketchpad, but that was outside on the tree stump.So she concentrated on the tiny animal, willing it to come closer.
She tried talking to it.It was better than talking to herself, and hearing the sound of her own voice was reassuring somehow.
