The Last Mile, page 8
“It’s nice.” Gage had expected only the basics, but the cabin was surprisingly homey, with a love seat and chair in front of the stove and a patchwork quilt on the queen-sized bed. He tried not to let his thoughts stray in that direction, but for an instant, he imagined Abby lying naked in the middle of the bed in welcome, her glorious flame-colored hair spread over the pillow.
He shut down the image and turned back to his host.
“Supper’s at six,” Walt said. “You’ll meet my wife, Mae. She’s a durn good cook.”
Gage smiled. “Good food’s always appreciated.” He left to move the car, parked it in a spot in front of the cabin, then started unloading their gear. He was back inside when he looked up to see Abby standing in the open doorway.
“Come on in,” he said.
She walked inside and looked around. “Mine’s the same except for my quilt is red and yours is blue. I wonder if his wife made them.”
Gage tried not to glance at the bed, to keep the image he’d seen earlier from reappearing in his head. “Walt says Mae is—and I’m quoting—‘a durn good cook.’ ”
Abby laughed. “I’m hungry, so that’s great news.”
Gage clamped down a shot of lust. He was hungry, but at the moment, it wasn’t for food.
He glanced behind Abby toward the door. “Where’s your newfound friend? Last I saw, he was carrying your suitcase, following you around like a puppy.”
Her eyes shot to his. “I thought Kyle was nice.”
“I’m sure he is. Long as he keeps his mind on business, we’ll be fine.”
“Keeps his mind on business? As opposed to what?”
“Your sweet little ass.” The look on her face was priceless. He checked his watch. “It’s almost time for supper. Let’s go for a walk, check out the stock, then go get something to eat.”
Abby said nothing, just flicked him a disapproving glance, and walked past him out the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ABBY WALKED WITH GAGE AROUND THE COMPOUND. SHE WENT TO get her camera, then paused to snap a photo here and there. There was a pasture next to the corral where a long-eared mule lipped the sparse grass coming up through the sandy soil. Several other mules grazed on a pile of hay near the fence.
“The mules look healthy,” Abby said.
Gage nodded. “You can tell they’re well-cared for. So far, so good.”
There were horses grazing in a field farther away: a paint, a palomino, a sorrel, a couple of bays with shiny red coats and black tails. As they entered the shady barn, the smell of hay and horses drifted in the air. A tall white mare poked her head out of the stall, and a sorrel nickered at their approach.
Pausing in front of the stall, Gage ran a big hand over the mare’s sleek neck. There was a jagged scar on the back of his hand that Abby had noticed before. She wondered how he’d got it.
“I never asked if you could ride,” Gage said.
Abby smiled. “I live in Denver. It’s basically an overgrown cow town. I’m no expert, but I can ride well enough to get where we’re going.”
Gage nodded. “I figured.”
“You did? Why is that?”
“Because you’re the type of person who doesn’t go after something without being prepared.”
“I hope that’s a compliment.”
“From my point of view, it’s essential.”
She took his hand, the scar catching the sunlight. “What happened?”
“Python. They can be vicious.”
“It must have really hurt,” she said, tracing the outline with her finger.
He looked down at the scar and shrugged. “Hazard of the job.”
Abby thought of the scar her grandfather carried on his forearm—from a sword, he had said, then told her the story of a Bedouin chief who was jealous of King and a woman the chief wanted to add to his harem. Finding treasure wasn’t easy, but it certainly wasn’t a dull way to make a living.
They made a pass through the barn, then, satisfied that the animals could make the trip into rough country, headed for the ranch house.
“It’s been hours since we’ve eaten,” Abby said. “You must be hungry.”
Something hot and urgent appeared in Gage’s eyes. “Oh, I’m hungry,” he drawled, and Abby felt a sweep of heat that ignited her whole body.
His expression abruptly altered, and the heat disappeared, but Abby’s insides were still shaking. She had never lusted for a man before, hadn’t understood how fierce a demand it could be.
She took a steadying breath. She was certain Gage wouldn’t act on whatever desire he was feeling. He valued his iron control as much as his reputation. Abby wished she could be as certain about herself.
In the ranch house kitchen, the meal was served family style, the guests all seated at a long wooden table covered with a bright red-checked cloth. Abby took some photos and did a video sweep of the people in the room.
A group of four had rented the larger cabin: mother, father, and two young children. A pair of college girls were staying in cabin 3; a middle-aged couple celebrating their anniversary in cabin 4; and Mateo in cabin 5, the one farthest away, fitting, from what Gage had told her about him.
Mateo Morales was waiting for them in the dining room, an attractive man in his thirties with high cheekbones and smooth dark skin. He had slightly wavy, shoulder-length black hair and a lean build, with sinews that stood out in his arms and neck. He looked tough and capable, as she had expected from Gage’s description.
“Mateo, this is Abigail Holland,” Gage said. “I told you about her when we spoke on the phone.”
“Ms. Holland.” He made a polite nod of his head, his words tinged with a Spanish accent. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“You as well, Mateo.” She smiled. “Please . . . call me Abby.”
Mateo’s return smile held approval. Gage explained that the man was a trusted friend, one who had saved his life on more than one occasion. Abby figured they were fortunate to have him along.
Supper was served: roast beef and gravy, carrots, potatoes, and homemade bread, with apple pie for dessert. Mae, a silver-haired, wide-hipped woman, was indeed a “durn good cook.”
When the meal was over, Mateo quietly set off for his cabin. Gage walked Abby to hers, then stood patiently on the porch as she unlocked her door.
“Want to come in for a nightcap?” she asked. “I brought that bottle of scotch we were drinking.”
Gage’s lips edged into a smile. “Smart girl. I brought one myself, though once we’re in the bush, there’s a strict no-drinking policy.”
“Then I guess we should indulge ourselves while we can.”
The heat was back in his eyes. “One drink,” he said and followed her into the cabin. “More than that could be dangerous.”
As the door closed, she set her camera aside and turned to look at him, realized how close they were standing. With his thick dark brown hair, solid jaw, and piercing blue eyes, dear God, the man was handsome. She flashed back to Gage in her living room, naked to the waist, the muscled shoulders and thick biceps, the ladder of muscle down his flat belly.
She rested her palms on his chest and looked up at him. “Dangerous for me? . . . Or for you?”
Gage’s blue eyes seemed to burn. The hands that locked around her waist felt like bands of steel as he dragged her against him. He was aroused, she realized, the hard heavy length of him pressing against her, the message clear.
He wanted her.
Abby’s mouth went dry while dampness slid into her core. One of Gage’s big hands dug into her hair, holding her in place as he tipped her head back and his mouth crushed down over hers.
Heat and ravenous need, power, and strength combined in a kiss that was more taking than tender. His tongue plunged in as he deepened the kiss, stirring hot licks of desire and making her knees feel weak. It wasn’t what she had expected, and exactly what she wanted.
Rising on her toes, Abby kissed him back with the same lusty need, clinging to his powerful shoulders, her nipples hard as they pressed into his heavily muscled chest. Gage slanted his lips over hers, kissing her one way, then the other, delving deep, making her tremble.
The kiss was about to burn out of control when Gage’s lips softened and the kiss turned gentle, coaxing instead of taking, teasing one side of her mouth and then the other. Abby moaned and her arms slid up around his neck.
Gage kissed her one last time, then caught her wrists and drew them away, stepped back so they were no longer touching.
“I shouldn’t have done that, but I had to know. Unfortunately, I was right. You taste even better than I imagined.”
“Gage . . .”
Still breathing hard, his eyes a fierce shade of blue in his suntanned face, he shook his head. “As much as I want you, this can’t happen. Not now. I don’t sleep with my clients.”
Embarrassment trickled through her. “How very professional of you.”
“That’s right. It’s one of the reasons I don’t take women on an expedition. Too much temptation.”
Irritation slid through her. “You don’t need to worry. I want this trip to succeed far more than you do.” She looked back at him, determined to save her pride. “I just . . . I was curious, that’s all. You have a certain reputation. I wanted to know if it had any basis in fact. Now that my curiosity has been satisfied, your professionalism is safe.”
Gage’s jaw turned hard. He was still aroused, his broad chest rising and falling faster than normal.
He reached out and caught her shoulders. “I don’t think you understand. This isn’t over. Once we’re safely back home, we’re going to finish this. I’ve wanted you since the moment you walked into my office. That hasn’t changed. I’ve dreamed of having you naked and spread open beneath me, dreamed of being inside you. Now that I know that’s what you want, too, I promise you it’s going to happen.”
Her pulse throbbed and fresh desire curled through her.
Gage bent his head and kissed her one last time. “Until then, I have a job to do, and so do you.” Turning, he walked to the door. “Lock this place up and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” The door clicked shut behind him.
Stunned, Abby just stood there staring at the place where he had been. Her embarrassment, she realized, was gone. Gage had been dreaming about her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
She took a shaky breath, recognizing for the first time the danger she had put herself in.
Abby had admired Gage Logan for years. She’d been attracted to him even before she’d met him. But Gage wasn’t interested in anything but sex. He was the great explorer. He had women falling at his feet. He wanted her, yes, but as soon as he’d had his fill, he’d be gone.
Abby wasn’t a no-strings kind of woman. Now that she had come to know him, the attraction had only grown stronger. If she let herself fall for Gage, he would break her heart.
A shaky breath trembled out. At least, she was safe for the time being. Gage’s strict no-drinking policy also applied to sex. All she had to do was remember the consequences of letting her guard down, allowing herself to fall more deeply under his spell.
She couldn’t let it happen. She refused to become just another of Gage’s women. She was worth more than that.
Abby locked the door and poured a couple of inches of scotch into a glass. The first sip warmed her; the second eased some of her tension.
She could handle Gage Logan. She was a smart, independent woman. The thought occurred that she wanted Gage, but maybe someone else would do. Maybe another man could help her get her head on straight and she could forget Gage Logan. Kyle Jenkins’s handsome face arose. The sexy young cowboy had made his interest clear.
But instead of excitement or desire, Abby felt oddly disloyal. It was insane. She didn’t owe Gage her loyalty or anything else. She meant nothing to him, not even enough for him to break one of his ridiculous rules. The problem was she didn’t want Kyle. The man she wanted was sleeping in the cabin next door.
Abby downed the scotch, undressed, and climbed in bed. If Gage wanted to play games, so could she. Abby smiled as she relaxed back on her pillow, thinking of ways to drive Gage over the edge. It could be fun, she told herself. As long as she didn’t let her guard down or her heart get involved.
But first and far more important was finding the Devil’s Gold, restoring King’s legacy. There was still a chance the men in Denver knew she and Gage were headed to the ranch. A chance that whoever wanted the map would follow them into the mountains, make another attempt to steal the map, or lie in wait till they’d found the gold, then try to steal it from them.
Until this was over, the simple truth was, she needed Gage Logan.
King Farrell was no fool.
And neither was his granddaughter.
* * *
Though the bed was surprisingly comfortable, Gage spent most of the night tossing and turning, replaying the scene in the cabin next door. Part of him wished he had taken Abby up on her impulsive offer. The other half wished he had left her back in Denver.
A trip like this was dangerous, even without the very strong possibility that the men they’d left behind would follow them into the desert. And capable or not, Abby was still a greenhorn. After what had happened to Cassandra, he didn’t want the responsibility of trying to protect a woman he cared about.
Cared about. The words spun through his head. He more than cared about Abby. His body still ached for her. Images of all that fiery hair and those sexy curves kept him awake half the night. But it was her confidence and determination that appealed to him most, her zest for life that stirred something deep inside him.
It seemed as if he’d just fallen asleep when sunlight burned through the windows, rousing him. With a groan, he rolled over to check the time, climbed out of bed and hit the tiny shower, then dressed in a pair of khaki cargo pants and an olive drab T-shirt and headed next door to check on Abby.
She was already gone, he discovered, and he turned his attention to the ranch house, hoping he hadn’t missed breakfast. Grabbing a plate, he filled it from the steaming dishes on the sideboard—eggs, bacon, country potatoes, and toast—then carried his plate over and sat down beside her.
She had plaited her hair in that single loose braid she’d been wearing the day he’d met her. The urge to remove the band and run his fingers through all those silky strands had his body stirring to life.
Abby looked up from beneath her thick dark lashes and gave him a too-sweet smile. “Sleep well?”
Amusement trickled through him. “No. Believe me, I paid the price for what didn’t happen last night.”
Abby laughed softly, breaking the tension.
Gage ran a finger down her cheek. “I meant what I said. We aren’t finished. Not by a long shot.”
One of her eyebrows came up. “Then again, maybe we are.”
He smiled. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
Their eyes locked, and a challenge passed between them. Then both of them went back to eating.
“What’s on our schedule today?” Abby asked.
“I want to go over to the Superstition Museum, take a look at some of their records. We’ve got an appointment with Isaac Mason, the guy in charge. I’ve also got the names of a couple of people who are experts on the history of the mines in the area.”
She nodded. “When will we actually be going in?”
“Mateo is working out the final details. Walt’s a little old for a trip this tough, so Kyle is going to guide. With luck, we’ll be heading into the mountains at first light tomorrow.”
He could almost see the excitement shining in Abby’s golden eyes.
“You don’t waste any time,” she said.
His gaze remained on her face. “Maybe I have a good reason to finish and get us back to Denver.”
Abby’s cheeks flushed. “I guess we’ll see,” she said, echoing his words.
Gage just smiled. Abby wasn’t the only one who could be determined. Sooner or later, Abigail Holland was going to find that out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THEY HEADED FOR THE SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN MUSEUM, WHICH sat on a ten-acre chunk of desert back down the road toward town. There wasn’t much there, Abby thought, as Gage drove up the dusty lane and parked the SUV, but as they began to wander the trails, passing a huge ore crusher that caught Gage’s attention, an old barn, and a number of wooden outbuildings, there was definitely plenty to be learned.
“Lots of mines in this area at one time,” Gage said. “Most of them played out by now.”
“So it’s logical there could have been a big discovery in the Superstitions way back when.”
“Or more than one. The trouble is, hundreds of people have tried to find gold in the Superstitions, and no one ever has. At least not since Jacob Waltz.”
“The Dutchman.”
“That’s right.”
“No one until now,” Abby said with a grin.
Gage’s smile reminded her of his hot kiss last night, and desire curled in her abdomen. She had never been obsessed with a man before, and she didn’t like it.
Focusing on the here and now, she passed a WATCH FOR SNAKES sign and ignored a shiver. As they headed into the museum, a man in his fifties with light brown hair going gray walked toward them.
“You must be Logan,” he said to Gage. Abby figured the man had probably looked Gage up after he’d made the appointment and recognized him from photos and articles on the internet.
“That’s right. Gage Logan.”
“I’m Isaac Mason.” The men shook hands. Gage introduced her, and Isaac shook her hand. “Always nice to talk to people interested in history.”
Gage asked questions as Isaac gave them a tour of the museum. “We’re particularly interested in anything you can tell us about the Peralta family,” Gage said.
Isaac started nodding. “The connection between the Superstitions and the Peraltas dates back to the sixteen hundreds. Pedro Peralta was governor of New Mexico in 1610 when it was a province of New Spain.”
