Shea was still too locked in misery to care.Clint was watching her carefully.“I’m going to say I found you in the woods, that you apparently escaped from your abductors.”
He didn’t ask for her agreement, but she nodded her head.
“I’m going to have to blindfold you.”
“Rafe said he was leaving,” Shea heard herself say tonelessly.
“It’s for your own sake, Miss Randall.It’s better if you say you had no idea where you were.”He hesitated.“Rafe said you weren’t a very good liar.”
“What else did he say?”she asked bitterly.
“He asked me to take care of you,” he replied with a small, crooked grin.
“Why do you trust me not to say anything?About you, I mean.Especially,” she said pointedly, “since I’m not a good liar.”
“You don’t have to lie.Youwereabducted.Youdidget away.Youdon’tknow the way.”
“But I know about you,” she insisted, wanting a reaction of some kind.Wanting him to take her back.To Rafe Tyler.To the man who didn’t want her.
“Will you say anything?”
She looked at his face.It was strong, the eyes honest.She remembered him bringing breakfast to her, his concern over her burn.His present awkwardness told her he obviously hated what he was doing, but he also believed in loyalty and friendship and his idea of justice.
“No,” she said finally.
“You’re quite a lady, Miss Randall,” he said as he blindfolded her.
Shea didn’t feel like a lady.She felt hollow, like a shell whose core had been ripped out piece by painful piece.She wished numbness would set in, but it didn’t.The hurt was raw, jagged, soul deep, and she didn’t think it would ever lessen.
Not even the thought of finally seeing her father helped.Because now she didn’t know if he was alive or dead.And if he was alive, what had he done to ruin the man she loved, would always love?
And would never have.
Chapter 20
Shea looked at Jack Randall, trying to see something of herself in him.Trying to find what her mother had loved and what Rafe Tyler hated.
He was still a handsome man and would have been very handsome years ago.She couldn’t see the color of his eyes.They had not opened since she’d arrived hours before.He was so still, she had to put her hand to his mouth to make sure he was breathing.
It was the head wound, the doctor had said.He might regain consciousness.He might not.He might remember what happened.He might not.Nothing was certain.
She looked across the bed at Kate, who had been here when she arrived.Shea had liked her instantly, liked her warmth, liked her support when she had hushed her father, who started asking questions.“Later,” she had said when she saw the tiredness in Shea’s eyes.She had hurried Shea to the room where Jack Randall lay so silently, and Shea had blessed the woman’s own lack of questions.
How many hours now?How many since she’d left Rafe?How many since she’d gazed on the man she believed to be her father?The man who was Rafe’s nemesis.
She was part of him, this man.And yet he was a stranger.Nothing was familiar.She’d thought there would be a flicker of recognition, a facial feature that matched.Something.Anything that would tell her the truth.A truth she wasn’t sure she wanted to know any longer.
She looked back at Kate.Shea felt a bond with the woman who was close to her age.Shea hadn’t missed the glances that had darted between Kate and Clint, the longing in both their eyes, even as Clint made the introduction curtly.It was a curtness Shea recognized from Rafe.Because Rafe had cared?Because Clint cared about Kate?A defense?A wall?
The sheriff’s daughter.And Clint was in cahoots with an outlaw band.No wonder he had been so understanding.
There was a knock on the door, and Sheriff Dewayne came in.“No change?”he asked.
She shook her head.
“Can you spare me a few moments?”
“Papa,” Kate said warningly.
