Runaway, page 2
“Were you serious about building a fire?” Shivering as she spoke, she hugged herself even tighter as she rocked in place.
“Soon’s I find you enough warm clothes to put on.” He searched another moment, then cast her a glance. “You’ll have to do without underwear. I seem to be scrapin’ the bottom here.”
A faint flush crept up her cheeks, joining the sunburn. “I’m sure anything will do, as long as it’s dry and big enough.”
His laughter was short and harsh. “This shirt will wrap around you a couple of times, if my eyes serve me right Don’t know about the pants. You’ll have to find that out the hard way, I suspect.”
Stuffing the clothing into a compact bundle, he headed back to where she sat “I’ll gather up some firewood and get it going while you get those wet things off.” He waved his hand at a nearby thicket, where bushes and undergrowth vied for space near the stream.
The girl rose quickly, with a sinuous grace, her arms wrapped around herself, as if she would hold against her skin whatever small amount of warmth she had garnered. One hand reached for the proffered bundle, snatching it from him quickly, her eyes barely meeting his before she headed for the shelter he’d suggested.
Her clothing clung, draping her in a wet, dingy array, another tear exposing one shoulder blade, the hem of her dress trailing a torn portion in the dirt as she walked. And walk she did…her hips moving, that wet dress emphasizing the curve of her bottom.
A bruise caught his eye, the discoloration dark against her skin, showing through the torn part of her dress on her back. Either she’d been in one dickens of a fuss with someone, or she’d fallen and gotten herself scraped up somehow. Whichever, she was shivering and about at the end of her tether, so far as he could tell.
If he had his directions right, he was about ten miles or so from either the small settlement of Loco Junction or the town of St. Catherines. And which one this woman had come from was a moot question. Certainly, she’d not walked more than ten miles, unless she had shoes hidden on her person or tossed aside beneath the trees before she’d made her bed by the water.
His gaze traveled again to encompass the form that was even now disappearing behind the bushes, and he grunted, a low, negative sound that echoed his mood. Nowhere beneath that clinging mass of clothing was there hiding anything so cumbersome as a pair of shoes. Indeed, the arrangement of the girl’s body was a pure line from head to toe, unblemished by any bulge or lump other than those she’d come by through the process of just being a woman. And every one of those were in fine shape, her bottom being a prime piece of work if he’d ever seen one.
His fire was ablaze, the dry leaves and kindling he’d set to burning well covered by larger pieces of dead wood, by the time she reappeared. She’d buttoned the shirt partway and was clutching the waistline of his spare pants just beneath the fourth shirt button. His stockings were barely in sight beneath the multiple folds of pant legs, and she took mincing steps as if she feared dislodging the clothing before she reached him.
“Need some help there?” Will offered, crouched next to the fire, his eyes peering from beneath the brim of his hat
“Do you have a piece of rope or a belt, maybe?” Her hair hung down her back, making wet stains on the gray shirt he’d loaned her, and the sleeves were folded several times.
He’d solved one problem. She was more than covered from his view.
“I should have a spare belt.” The bundle of clothing was at hand and he dipped into it once more, coming up with a braided leather length from its depths. “This oughta work. Come here.”
She halted, her eyes wary as she considered his words. “Toss it to me. I’ll figure it out myself.” One hand reached toward him and he shrugged, rolling the leather before he cast it in her direction, across the fire.
She caught it deftly and fed it through the belt loops, tying it in an awkward knot at her middle. One final tug at her handiwork seemed to satisfy her, and she lifted her head to look at him again.
“Do you have any extra food? I’m afraid I can’t pay you any money, but I’ll write you a due note. As soon as I’m able, I’ll make it right with you.” Her tongue touched her top lip and she tilted her head, fussing with the remaining buttons on her shirt. “I’d rather not go back toward Loco Junction, if you don’t mind. Any place north of here will do nicely.”
His eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting briefly. “A man never turns down a stranger’s need for food out here, honey. Hard to say when I might be in the same boat. I’ll share what I have.”
She nodded, accepting his offer, then hunkered down by the fire. As if the beckoning heat gathered all of her energy, she slumped where she sat, her head drooping, her arms wrapped about her knees, her eyes closing.
Setting to work with a measure of reluctance, Will put together a meal of sorts, unwrapping biscuits he’d made early in the day by another campfire. He settled a frying pan over the glowing coals, filling it with thick slices of bacon from his pack. As the bacon fried he added chunks of cooked potatoes, left from last night’s supper. He’d baked several in the coals, saving two for today. From the looks of the girl, she’d be more than able to eat her share.
The scent of bacon and the coffee he’d put to boil roused her after a few minutes and she raised her head, sniffing and blinking, her mouth rosy as she warmed finally from her chill. Her hair had begun to dry, curling around her face, and she gathered it together, her slender fingers twisting in its length to braid it quickly.
“Do you have a piece of string I could use?”
“You can leave it hang, honey. I don’t mind seein’ the curls.” His gaze moved from stilled fingers, still holding the end of her hastily fashioned braid, to meet her own, wary and dark with apprehension.
With a short oath, born of aggravation but heartfelt nonetheless, he reached into the depths of his pack once more. His fingers snatched at a short length of twine, filched from the seemingly bottomless bundle of supplies he was raiding for her benefit, and handed it to her.
She wrapped it in a familiar gesture around the end of her braid and tossed the braid over her shoulder, letting it hang down her back.
“When was the last time you ate?” He glanced at her as he spoke, making a quick survey, taking in the weariness she took pains to conceal. The sleep she’d snatched beside the stream had done little to freshen her, if the circles beneath her eyes were anything to go by.
“Yesterday.” She eyed him defensively as he pursed his lips. “Maybe the day before,” she added grudgingly, leaning once more toward the warmth of the fire.
He dished up a plateful from his skillet and held it out in her direction. Her eagerness stifled by good manners, she took it from him and snatched up a piece of bacon dangling from the edge of the metal dish. Delicately she bit off a mouthful, her eyes closing as she chewed.
“I reckon you were hungry, all right,” he said, scraping the rest of the food onto another plate. Handing her a fork, he watched as she set to with a will, almost neglecting his own meal as he watched her. And then he ate slowly, lest she’d make her way through the food he’d allotted her and still be looking for more. It went against his grain to see a woman go hungry.
The last bite disappeared past her lips and she sighed, savoring the flavor. “Thanks, Tolliver. That was good.” She straightened, her blue eyes focusing on him. “Do you have an extra cup? That coffee smells wonderful.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Dig one outta that bundle.” Motioning with his thumb, he sent her in the direction of his mule, where another pack lay open on the ground, having yielded cooking utensils and matches for the fire.
She rose gingerly, as if various aches and pains had made themselves known, and stepped to where his supplies were stashed. Squatting, she sorted carefully through his belongings, as if she would touch only what he had given permission for. A metal cup filled her hand and she turned back to where he sat. He’d filled his own cup to the brim and waited, coffeepot in hand, for her return.
“Thanks.” She lowered herself to the ground, watching carefully lest she spill the steaming brew, as if unwilling to waste a drop of it. Her hands curled around the cup, shifting from the heat as she sipped, then she placed it on the ground beside her.
“Where’d you come from?” He’d leaned back, tilting his hat forward a bit, his eyes in shadow.
“Does it matter?” she asked, her lashes fluttering as she lowered her gaze to the fire.
“Nope, I reckon not” Sipping once more at his coffee, he narrowed his eyes, silently assessing her appearance. She was young, probably not yet twenty.
Her clothing had been well made, but the dress had undergone a heap of wear and tear. And then there was the matter of a lack of shoes. Her feet were dirty and bruised up a bit, now that he took a good look at them. Maybe she had walked barefoot after all. At least ten miles, if he had it figured right.
“Loco Junction.” She cast him a sidelong glance as she offered the information. “But I’m not going back there.”
“Your choice.” His shrug signified his uninterest. And then his next words belied the gesture. “Looks to me like you’re on the run, honey.”
“Maybe.” She glanced up at him, catching his sardonic grin, and she flushed, her chin tilting defensively. “I’m on the run.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not going back.”
“Somebody after you?”
She looked up quickly, peering to see his eyes beneath the wide brim of his hat. “I hope not. But I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
“You steal anything?” Withdrawing a narrow-bladed knife from its sheath inside his boot, he inspected his fingernails, then cleaned them as she watched.
“I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” She lifted her cup and drank the dregs of coffee, savoring the last drops.
“You in bad trouble?” Glancing up, he caught the quickly indrawn breath, the telltale flaring of her nostrils as she searched for an answer to his query.
“You can just go on and leave me here if you want to. I’ll be fine.” Her mouth was set in a thin line, her jaw firm, her eyes trained on his left shoulder.
His laugh was rasping as he considered her chances, adrift in this country. Northern Texas was raw, rough territory, not fit for a woman alone.
“You got any idea how long you’d last out here by yourself?” he asked, his long, elegant fingers precise as he slid the knife back inside his boot. He looked up quickly, hoping to catch a stray emotion, perhaps a sign of indecision on that sunburned face. She’d tightened her lips, hiding behind a sullen countenance.
“What are my choices?”
“How old are you, girl?” She made him feel a hundred and one, this child masquerading in a woman’s body. She’d offered no payment for his protection, asked no favors but for the food she’d eaten, leaving herself wide open to the perils inherent to the situation she was in. That he could have had any answers he wanted with a few probing questions, or a threatening movement in her direction, was a fact, he figured.
“What’s your name?” He threw the question in, then felt a twinge of compassion as she frowned at him. The arrogance had not suited her, the indecision did. She’d not lived long enough to build a protective shield, not played poker with men like Will Tolliver.
“Cassie. My name’s Cassie Phillips.” She’d decided to trust him with that much, the indecision fading from her eyes. Her mouth pouted for just a few seconds, and then she told him what he wanted to know. “I’m eighteen…almost.”
“Damn! You’re just a kid. Who turned you loose out here? He needs to be hung by his—” He tugged his hat from his head, his strong fingers plowing through his hair, furrowing the dark, straight length of it.
“I’m not a child. I don’t need anyone.” She delivered the ultimatum in a terse undertone, her teeth gritting on the final words, and he was unwillingly touched by the stalwart strength of her.
“Well, I’m headin’ north.” He’d made her an offer. If she took it, so be it If she wanted to dillydally around in this godforsaken spot between two hellholes, he’d—
“Are you saying you’ll take me along?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. I’ll take you along till we can find a place for you to stay. Maybe some preacher and his wife somewhere along the way will give you a home, let you work for your keep.” He latched on to the thought. It sounded respectable, plausible even.
She considered it, her eyes calculating, and once more he was amused by the transparency of her features. “I’m not overly fond of preachers.”
“One of ‘em chase you out of town?”
Her flush was indignant. “Hardly. Loco Junction didn’t welcome decent ministers. The only one I’ve seen lately was the one who came knocking on our door late one night, hoping to find my mother home alone.” Her mouth tightened and she closed her eyes, as if that particular memory still rankled.
He nodded. “All right. We’ll figure something else out. Maybe a farmer. Maybe you could work in a store.” Cassie looked doubtful, and Will shook his head. He’d about run out of ideas, and the ones he’d proposed hadn’t been much to speak of. But he added, “Since we’ll be traveling together, you’d better call me Will.”
She sure was a piece of work, with that long hair and curvy backside. His mouth drew down as he forced that thought from his head. Clearly the girl was an innocent, yet he was hard put to rid his mind of the memory of a softly rounded breast and long slender legs, wrapped in a sopping wet dress.
She was a temptation, all right. But one he had no business dwelling on, if he planned to carry her with him. And it looked as if he was about to do that very thing.
Chapter Two
She’d awakened twice during the night from the same nightmare, her heart pounding, her eyes searching the darkness. He’d been there both times, his hands firm as they pressed against her shoulders, his voice ragged but soothing as he murmured phrases of comfort.
Cassie’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked them from existence. Crying was a luxury she hadn’t allowed herself in a long time. She wasn’t about to allow the hands and voice of a stranger to reduce her to childish behavior.
For just a moment she remembered the warmth of those long fingers as they’d clasped her, their gentle strength penetrating the worn cotton of the shirt she wore. He’d shaken her, just enough to get her attention, to pull her mind from the enveloping horror of the dream. And she’d reached for him.
Her face hot with shame, she remembered groping in the dark, grasping the front of his shirt, burying her face against his masculine form. He’d held her there, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other across her shoulders. Just for a moment, until she’d realized where she was, that the bosom she rested against bore no resemblance to that of her mother.
She’d pulled away then, and he’d let her go. He’d delivered one final grunt of instruction as he rose to his feet, a growling admonition to go back to sleep, and then he’d stretched out on his blanket and turned his back.
Men were cunning creatures, she’d decided just months after her mother had married Remus Chandler. He’d been all sweetness and light until the first time her mother had not done his bidding to his exact standards. His hands had been weapons, used often, and Cassie had been safe from him only because of her mother.
Will seemed to be a different sort, gruff and not given to gentle behavior, though she couldn’t fault his actions in the middle of the night. That she’d been held in his arms was a wonder. That she’d tolerated his touch was almost a miracle, given her dread of most men.
They’d traveled for several hours yesterday, she perched on the broad back of his stallion, clinging to the leather of his saddle. He’d lifted her in place and hoisted himself into the saddle with care, with only a cursory glance at her stocking feet and a muttered curse as his horse danced in place, protesting the double load.
She’d been almost asleep, her head nodding against his broad back, when he’d stopped for the night. Grateful for the blanket he’d handed her, she’d slumped to the ground without a murmur.
She blinked, the call of a bird shrill in her ears. It was the piercing, territorial warning of a blue jay, and she scrunched her eyes against the brilliant hues of sunrise. Her gaze flew to the blanket on the other side of the clearing, the empty space where Will Tolliver had spent the night.
And then she heard him, heard the same gruff tones he’d used against her ear, speaking morning greetings to his animals. She sat up, the better to locate his direction, and found that he was behind her, not more than twenty feet distant. Twisting around, she met his gaze.
“Morning.” His nod accompanied the brief greeting, and she responded in kind.
Her body rebelled as she arose, her legs and feet aching a protest. The walking she’d done had been off the beaten path—her instincts had told her to stay clear of the trail—and her feet had borne the brunt of it. Unable to stand with any degree of comfort, she lowered herself to the ground once more, gingerly rolling her borrowed stockings down to uncover her toes, bending to inspect them. She frowned as her fingers traced the bruising from multiple scrapes she’d managed to inflict.
“Think if you washed them they’d look a little better?”
Her eyes narrowed as she heard the dry humor behind his suggestion. “Not a whole lot,” she allowed, rising with a muffled groan, stepping gingerly as she passed him by.
“There’s a pond just beyond those trees,” he told her, pointing the way. “It won’t hurt to dangle your feet in the water a bit. Might make them feel better.”
“Thanks.” She limped past, following his direction. Leaving her shoes behind had been a mistake of major proportions, one she’d regretted more than once during the hike she’d undertaken. And then there was another regret. Her conscience had been sorely pierced by the memory of her mother’s body, and her not seeing to a decent burial. Although the best she could have done was barely fit to mention.
