WAGERED WOMAN Page 13

  Things had changed, he realized. She'd had him on the run, and now he'd decided he wasn't running anymore. She refused to want him. Fine. He was through trying to get her to change her mind.

  But she still had her end of their bargain to keep. She was here for the rest of the week, if he wanted it that way.

  And, the more he thought about it, the more he knew he did want it that way.

  At nine, he put his tools away and found the small day pack he used for hikes. He got out a few of the snacks and drink boxes she'd brought from home and loaded them in the pack. Then he found his canteen and filled it. Though he never glanced her way, he knew she watched his every move.

  When the pack was ready, he loaded the handgun—she always conscientiously removed the cartridges every time she put it away—strapped it on and pulled a sweatshirt over his sweater. Then he put on his down vest and pulled on his gloves.

  He could feel her eyes on him the whole while, and he knew the only thing that kept her from asking what was up was the knowledge that he was bound by the laws of safety and common sense not to head out without saying where he was going and how long he'd be gone.

  He waited, enjoying the upper hand for a change, until he was sliding his arms in the day pack and slipping his canteen on his belt hook, before he said, "I'm hiking up Ladyslipper Peak—the mountain across the lake. There's a trail around the other side that goes to the summit. It's a couple of hours up, and less coming down. I should be back by one or two this afternoon."

  She just stared at him, her dark eyes smoldering with all that pent-up resentment—and repudiated desire.

  He knew a perverse stab of satisfaction. It was obvious she hadn't the faintest idea what to do about this development. She'd gotten used to him tiptoeing around, waiting for her to make a move so he could react to it. She didn't know how to handle it when he acted of his own accord.

  He grabbed his hat and stuck it on his head and turned for the door.

  "Wait!" she said at the last minute.

  He turned, lifting an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

  She blinked, her expression bewildered. He had to stifle a smug grin as he watched her furiously casting about for some reason why he should stay here where she could abuse him at her leisure.

  "Wh-what if you have an accident or something?"

  "We've been through this. I'll fire two shots."

  "But I haven't the faintest idea where that trail starts. I don't know the terrain. I would have hiked up that mountain myself if I thought it was safe to go alone."

  "It's safe."

  "You've done it before?"

  "Yes."

  "You never mentioned that."

  He said nothing in reply. He just gave her a look intended to remind her of everything she'd put him through in the past few days.

  She glanced away—rather defensively, he thought. Then she pointed out, "And anyway, if something happened to you, I'd have trouble finding you. That wouldn't be good."

  It was an absurdly weak argument, one he demolished without missing a beat. "If you hear shots—which you won't—then take the truck back the way we came in, to the last crossroads. Go right. Go right again when you come to the next fork. Go about two miles and you're at paved road. Turn left. From there it's four miles to the ranger's station." He turned around and reached for the door.

  He heard her stand up. "Sam…"

  "What?"

  "I … I think I'd better go with you."

  He felt a hot surge of triumph, a delicious sensation, one he savored fully before turning at last and giving her an unconcerned look. "What for?"

  Her face was flushed. She looked confused and adorable and he had to remind himself that just the slightest hint of weakness on his part and she'd be on him unmercifully once again.

  "It's … well, it's just better if we stick together."

  He shrugged. "Nothing is going to happen. And if by some weird chance it did, you know what to do."

  "But I—"

  "You what?"

  For a moment, she didn't speak. He stared at her, at her flushed face, at the wisps of dark hair that had escaped her braid and now kissed her temples, at her stormy dark eyes and her sweet red mouth. He liked staring at her, especially now, when she was at a disadvantage. She looked vulnerable now, which didn't happen often—he could testify in court to that.

  "I … just think I should go," she said at last.

  "No," he said flatly.

  Her black brows drew together. That sweet, vulnerable look was fading. She'd be spitting and scratching again in a moment, if he didn't stay ahead of her.

  "Unless…" He let the word wander off into nowhere.

  Her brows smoothed out a little. "Unless what?"

  "Unless you just plain want to go."

  She gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

  "You can go if you want to go. Do you … want to go?"

  "Well, I—"

  "Yes or no? This is not a trick question."

  "Well, I … yes! Yes, of course." Then she added, unwilling to completely concede to him even on this small issue, "but only because I don't think you should go off alone."

  He studied her for a moment, and considered telling her that that wasn't good enough. She either wanted to go or she didn't. But then he decided he'd pushed things far enough.

  He looked down at the soft moccasins she was wearing. "Fine. Get your boots on, and get ready. I'll wait outside." With more satisfaction than he'd felt in days, he flung open the cabin door and stepped out into the bright morning.

  Delilah, even more at a loss than Sam realized, stared at the closed door for several seconds after he was gone. She knew she should stick her head out the door, right now, and tell him to head on up that mountain without her.

  What she'd done, making all those absurdly weak excuses for keeping him here, and then, in the end, virtually begging him to let her come, was a grave lapse. She was supposed to be staying as clear of him as the circumstances would allow, not chasing him willingly up the side of a cliff.

  But good grief, she was just so … confused. Not to mention at the end of a very frayed rope when it came to her emotions.

  Making Sam's life miserable twenty-four hours a day had not turned out to be an easy task for her. True, she'd had a lot of practice in her life at being mean; a girl didn't grow up in the Jones Gang and live to tell about it unless she learned to get tough when she had to. Yet since she'd grown up, it hadn't been necessary for her to be mean with any consistency. She was out of practice.

  Being mean to Sam for two days running had practically worn her out. It took fortitude and stamina to be consistently vicious, she was learning. And it was even harder in this situation, since he'd seemed to get nicer the meaner she became.

  It was driving her right out of her mind, to be honest. To be here alone with him, and have to look at him and feel his presence every hour of the day—and constantly remember that he was not the man for her, that he'd brought her here as the payoff on a wager, and that she'd only be asking for heartache if she softened toward him one bit.

  Sam Fletcher was forty years old. He'd never married, and she doubted he ever would. Not that she wanted to marry a man like him, anyway. No, whatever might happen between them would take place right here, in the next few days, and be over as soon as they went home.

  And she didn't want that, a temporary fling. She wasn't the type for a temporary fling.

  "So nothing is going to happen," Delilah announced to the empty cabin, and then went to get her heavy socks and boots.

  Well, she decided, as she laced up the boots, she did want to go with him, and she was going to do what she wanted. She'd go stone cold bonkers, sitting here alone for four hours, staring at the lake and trying to keep from thinking about Sam.

  Yes. Going with him was the better option. If nothing else, the heavy exertion would work off a little of the strain that kept building between them, worse every hour.

  Delilah stood up and put o
n a sweater and a sweatshirt and a padded vest, just as Sam had. The layers were efficient for hiking; they could be peeled off and tied at her waist as she grew warmer. She got more food, her canteen and her own hat and gloves and went out to join him where he waited on the log by the lake, taking the key and locking the door behind her.

  He stood up when she approached, and saw the extra juice boxes and snack bars she carried. He turned around, without saying a word, so she could add the food to that already in the pack.

  "Okay," she said, when the food was packed.

  He glanced over his shoulder. "Ready?"

  "Yes."

  He headed for the trail that she'd taken alone the first day they arrived. She fell in step behind him, glad to be moving, to be going somewhere.

  Yes, the hike would be good for her, she was sure. And the lapse of voluntarily going along with something he wanted to do meant nothing. What could possibly happen between them while they were climbing a cliff, for heaven's sake?

  But then she glanced up, at the craggy face of the cliff they would be scaling. It looked stark and uncompromising, like the powerful frame of the man in front of her.

  A frisson of taboo excitement skittered through her body. She felt reckless and daring, eager for whatever might lie ahead.

  And then she froze, her face flaming.

  Recklessness. Daring. Such emotions were not for her. Growing up a Jones, she'd seen well enough what happened to people who gave in to their every wild urge.

  They got in big trouble. Frequently.

  In her mind, the voice of caution advised, Go back right now. You're playing with fire to go with him. You're breaking your own rules. You're on hazardous ground…

  Delilah shook her head. There was nothing to worry about. She was being plain paranoid. What could possibly happen? It was a hike up a mountain, and nothing more.

  She realized she'd stopped moving for a moment, and Sam was getting way ahead of her. She hastened to follow him into the trees.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  They walked briskly for a half hour, following the trail through the trees east of the lake. But when they came to the place where the path veered to lakeside, Sam went the other way. He strode cross-country for awhile until he reached a different trail. Delilah followed his lead, keeping her eyes open, noticing everything from the occasional deer tracks to the hot pink head of a snow plant poking through the mulchy ground.

  It was good, she decided, to be out, moving around, going somewhere. It had been the right decision to follow him. She felt better with every step she took. Her fears had been groundless after all.

  The new trail snaked around to the base of the mountain on the other side. There, it began to ascend on a series of switchbacks that took them ever higher, up the south slope of Ladyslipper Peak. As they climbed, the morning mists faded. An hour after they'd left the cabin, the day had warmed considerably and both of them had tied their sweatshirts and sweaters at their waists.

  Delilah, no slouch when it came to hiking, found she had to push herself constantly to keep up with Sam. At one point, they took two steep grades in a row, up which Sam maintained a killing pace. Near the top of the second one, Delilah stopped for a moment to nurse a stitch in her side. By chance, she paused at a gap in the tall stands of evergreens which until then had blocked out a clear view of the sky.

  Breathing hard, she rubbed her side. She glanced up—and saw the gray clouds rearing up in the sky to the west. The freshening wind blew in her face—from the same direction as the rising clouds.

  Sam, who must have become aware that she had stopped, turned back to check on her. She called, "Wait up!"

  He remained unmoving, waiting, as she hustled up the trail to join him. She hurried, not paying as much attention to the trail as she should have. She slipped on some loose shale just as she reached him. She teetered.

  He warned, "Watch it," as he reached out and grabbed her.

  She fell against him.

  "Easy," he muttered, steadying her.

  She gasped and gaped up at him, witnessing the swift heat that leapt in his eyes, knowing the answering fire inside herself—a flash fire, racing along every nerve, searing her down to pure desire in an instant.

  The whole world surged into sharp focus. She was aware right then of everything at once—from the scent of dust and pine that surrounded them, to the call of a hawk in the distance, to the loose strands of her own hair, which the rough wind had whipped against her mouth.

  His eyes seared through her. Time spun out. She continued to gaze up at him, so stunned by her own sudden, complete arousal that she couldn't move. The wind sang in the pines to the same wild tune as the blood roaring in her ears.

  At last, she remembered herself. She put her hands on his chest. "S-sorry." She pushed, feeling the warmth of him, the strength, the call of his hips against her own…

  He let her go. Her body, had it a voice, would have wailed in yearning protest. She looked down at the loose earth that had tripped her, and waited for some degree of composure to return.

  When it did, she dared to look at him again. He watched her, through eyes that gave away nothing. She noticed that he had stepped away from her while she collected herself.

  She gestured at the incoming clouds and raised her voice so he could hear her against the wind. "Storm coming."

  "I know."

  "Maybe we should go back."

  He shrugged. "It's not cold enough to snow. And a few drops of rain won't kill us."

  "It looks like more than a few drops of rain, Sam."

  He didn't immediately reply but only stared at her. She saw the look in his eyes, a look turbulent as the wind that whipped all around them. She knew what he was thinking. He didn't want to go back to the cabin, be locked in there with her, until he absolutely had to. She couldn't blame him. She felt the same way.

  "I'm going on," he said. "If you want to go back, fine. You know the way now."

  She thought about that, as he went on watching her. About returning to the cabin alone, to wait for him.

  About sitting there by the fire through the storm, wondering when he would return, trying to read that book she'd been trying to read since Saturday night.

  No way, she thought grimly. She looked up at the sky again and decided he was right; it wasn't that cold. If they kept moving, they'd get wet—but nothing much worse.

  "I'll go on with you!" she shouted into the wind.

  "Why?"

  Her gaze did not waver. "I want to."

  He gave a slight nod. "Fair enough."

  He took his canteen from the hook at his waist and drank from it. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he held it out to her. She should refuse, she knew it. She had her own canteen. But her hand was reaching out of its own accord. She took the canteen, put her mouth where his had been, and felt the sweet water slide down her dry throat. Then she screwed the lid on and handed it back.

  "Let's go," he said.

  They went on as the wind swirled around them and the clouds rolled closer still.

  The trees thinned visibly as they climbed, and the trail got rougher. There were places where erosion had worn it completely away. There, they clung to whatever rocks or hardy branches were handy and inched their way across. Often Sam, after crossing a rough spot first, would hold out a hand to her.

  The first time she almost refused it, but he gave her a look that promised dire consequences should she spurn his aid and get herself in a bind as a result. She could almost believe that he might leave her there, and not help her climb out, should she go sliding down the hillside after scorning his assistance.

  She took the hand he offered and felt the heat between them as if it were an electric current, shooting from his palm to hers, right up her arm, through her pounding heart—and down into her most private parts where it pooled and roiled and clamored for release.

  More than once, she had that nagging feeling that
she should go back. She ignored it.

  There was no going back. Not now.

  Something had happened. She wasn't sure what, exactly.

  All she knew for certain was that now the whole world shimmered with life and beauty and a vibrant intensity. She felt truly free. It was glorious. She never wanted it to end.

  The wind howled, as they came out into the open, above the thick close-growing belt of evergreens. Now, the carpet of fir and pine lay all around on the surrounding hills. But they climbed above the trees, in a place of stark, granite beauty, free of snow on this, the south side, because the springtime sun had done its work. Gradually, the only trees that grew were juniper and white pine, their gaunt pale branches twisted and gnarled by the unrelenting force of frequent winds.

  Overhead, now, the once-blue sky was obscured by the agitated clouds. Sam and Delilah had been working their way up the granite shelves for perhaps fifteen minutes when the sky lit up, the thunder boomed, and the black sky above opened up with a hard, wet vengeance.

  Delilah was crossing a rough spot when the rain began. She glanced up for a moment, and the water beat on her face, whipping and pelting at her with the aid of the torturous wind.

  She opened her mouth. The heavy drops were cool and sweet. She smiled, glad with a fierceness that made her breath catch in her throat that she'd come, glad, as the rain rapidly soaked her to the skin, that she was whole and strong and climbing a mountain beneath a turbulent sky.

  She looked down again, seeking a foothold to continue. Sam was waiting, arm outstretched.

  She put her hand in his. The now-familiar shaft of heat and hunger arrowed up her arm and seared down to the core of her, building the growing need there higher still.

  He pulled her across the slick space. She found her footing quickly. He released her and stepped back.

  "This is crazy." His low words carried easily; the wind was at his back. "You were right. Let's turn around."

  She was silent for a moment, within the rush and swirl of the wind. She felt a sinking feeling—of disappointment bordering on despair.

  All her life, she'd been so careful, done nothing reckless, taken no crazy chances. Because she knew what crazy chances got a person: trouble. Her whole family was living proof of that.