A horrible, discordant sound shattered the stillness—the sound of an animal in pain. The man groaned and lifted his head. When she recognized the dangerously handsome face hovering just inches above her own, she struggled even harder.
The prisoner from the coach. There had been an accident, and now she was pinned beneath him.
“Get off me.” Terror laced her voice as all her efforts to remove him went in vain. He was too big, too heavy.
“Calm down.” He shifted, relieving her of most of his weight, yet keeping her pinned where she lay in the shattered remnants of the coach. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
A bloody gash marred his forehead, and his blue eyes were cloudy with pain. She tried to relax, remembering the kind marshal who’d befriended her before the wreck. He would help her. He wouldn’t allow this criminal to do her any harm. “Where’s everyone else?”
“I don’t know.” He scanned the immediate area with sudden purpose. His lean body tensed as he realized the lawman was nowhere in sight.
Dear God. He was a killer. An escaped convict. To what lengths might he go to keep from being taken back to prison?
His gaze returned to her face, but his eyes were sharper now, more focused. “Are you hurt?”
“I can’t tell.” She was surprised he cared enough to ask. “You’re crushing me. Everything hurts.”
He frowned and rolled all the way off her. The awkwardness of his movements reminded her he was still shackled. She scrambled away, wincing when a shaft of pain shot up her left leg. Her skirts were wadded around her knees, and she stared in dismay at the jagged, four-inch cut on her calf.
The prisoner knelt at her side, looking concerned. “Is your leg broken?”
She shook her head. It wasn’t broken, but it bled profusely. She trembled as she realized how lucky she was to be alive.
“Damn.” He stared at her for a long moment then got to his feet and pulled himself out of the scattered wreckage of the coach, having a hard time of it because of his bound ankles.
She watched as he disappeared from view, unsure whether to be relieved or frightened. Where were the others?
With shaking hands, she tore off a length of her petticoat to use as a bandage, trying to ignore the pained squeals of the horses. It was hard going, but at last she managed to rip off enough to bind her calf. Once she’d accomplished the task, she dragged herself out of what remained of the coach, gasping in dismay when a blast of snow carried by an icy wind buffeted her.
Halfway up the steep hill, the prisoner stood over the twisted, bloody body of the man who’d been trying to bring him back to justice. The marshal had obviously been thrown from the coach as it began to roll. From the looks of him, the vehicle had crushed him.
Bethany averted her gaze and swallowed to keep from retching.
“He’s dead.” The prisoner’s voice was quiet and controlled, but she knew what this meant to him.
Freedom.
“What about the driver?” Bethany asked, even though she was afraid she already knew the answer.
The prisoner pointed to another spot a few dozen yards away. “His neck’s broken.” As he spoke, he leaned down and rifled through the marshal’s pockets. He found what he was looking for—the key to his shackles and a pistol.
Bethany stared at the gun, her blood freezing in her veins as he walked toward her. If he killed her now, his escape was assured.
She stumbled backward, her injured leg aching in protest. Shaking her head, she lifted her gaze from the gun to the man. He was dangerously beautiful, with inky black, overlong hair, and chiseled features. His blue eyes were shuttered, impossible to read. “Please,” she whispered. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
He stopped just a few feet in front of her and extended his hands. The key he’d taken from the marshal’s pocket dangled from between his thumb and forefinger. Up close, she could see how the handcuffs had abraded the skin around his wrists. He said nothing, just held out his hands.
She considered refusing, but what good would it do? If he meant to kill her, he could do it with his hands bound. So far, he’d done nothing to harm her. Perhaps once he was free, he’d make his escape.
Then all she’d have to worry about was how to survive the night—alone, bleeding, and stranded in the middle of a blizzard with no shelter.
Trembling, she took the key and fitted it into the lock. The handcuffs fell away with a click, and he was a prisoner no longer. He brushed her cheek with his icy fingertips, stunning her with his tenderness. His blue eyes were startlingly bright amidst his dark features, and snowflakes had caught in his long, inky lashes.
“Thank you.”
She shivered. “What are you going to do now?”
Frowning, he took the key from her and stooped to unlock the chain around his ankles. “I won’t go back to prison. But I won’t let you freeze, either.” He stood, looking around at the twisted wreckage. “There were some lap blankets in the coach, weren’t there?”
Bethany nodded, eager to help. “There were some sack lunches, too.”
“Smart girl.” A brief smile touched the perfection of his full lips. “Find them while I put these poor horses out of their misery. I’ll help you get out of the weather before I leave. Don’t worry. I’m sure someone will come looking when the stage doesn’t show up on time.”
“Will they?” She doubted their stage’s tardiness would cause much concern. At least not for quite a while. They’d expect a delay and probably wouldn’t mount a rescue until the weather cleared.
“They’ll come.” His voice was grim as he moved toward the horses that lay in a broken, jumbled heap, caught in their traces. “They knew I was on board.”
He was a killer, she reminded herself. The marshal had told her so. But as she watched the prisoner soothe the terrified, injured horses, she found she no longer feared him.
