One by one he tossed the metal bullets atop the bedspread, and she watched in despair as they bounced on the pale ivory surface. Though the effects of the alcohol were beginning to wear off, the sluggishness wasn’t entirely gone. Her coordination was slow, her reflexes off, and her head was throbbing fiercely. There was no possible way to get to the bullets before he did, even though an equal amount of distance separated them from the bed.
Hope swallowed hard as her gaze wavered between the bullets and the man she was quickly beginning to dislike. “Is there a point to all of this?” she asked tightly.
“Um-hmmm,” he nodded, lazily regarding her through heavy lids. “The point being, you are not going to leave this room until you tell me why you came here.”
“I’ve already told you,” she repeated, keeping her voice stern but soft in respect to her aching head. "I made a mistake. People do make mistakes, you know. Unfortunately, mine had to be in entering your room.” She hesitated, willing calm into the rising panic that laced her words. “Now, why don’t you give me back my knife and my bullets so I can leave and find the room I’m supposed to be in.”
“Sorry.” If it wouldn’t have hurt so much, Hope would have screamed when the man merely shook his head and clucked his tongue. “It was a nice try, that story about stumbling into the wrong room. Very original. But I’m not stupid enough to buy it.”
“You’re not—”
To hell with the knife and bullets, she decided abruptly. The rat could keep them for all she cared.
Taking a deep breath, she spun on her heel and bolted for the door. Since the man seemed so intent on keeping her here, she was more than a little surprised that he didn’t rush from the chair to stop her. When the doorknob refused to turn under her sweat-coated palm, she realized why.
“Damn it!” she yelled, ignoring the searing pain throbbing in her temples. Pulling back her foot, she hurled her toe into the solid piece of wood. The pain that exploded in her foot was small in comparison to the anger that rushed through her blood. Shifting her weight onto the foot she hadn’t been foolish enough to injure, Hope lifted her fists and began pummeling the door. “Help!” she screamed as loud as her headache would allow. “Someone help! Let me out!”
The staccato click of boot heels echoed in the hallway, and her spirits soared. Thank God, help was on the way!
“I’m in here,” she called, her heart hammering quick with the relief that warmed her blood. “Quick, please, he’s trying to rape me!”
The footsteps approached the door and hesitated. She increased her frantic pounding. Through the crack beneath the door she heard a thick, slurred chuckle, then the footsteps moved on. Shocked into sudden silence, she took a step back and regarded the closed door with all the warmth she would show a rattlesnake. And speaking of rattlesnakes, there was a certain arrogant reptile laughing quite humorously behind her back.
She turned, silencing the deep, pleasantly husky chuckle with an icy glare. “You rat,” she hissed, her lips thinning into a hard white line. “You knew he wouldn’t stop, didn’t you?” She paused, taking a deep gulp of air. “Of course you knew. That’s why you didn’t stop me from making a total idiot out of myself, isn’t it? Because you knew he wouldn’t care enough about what was happening in here to even think about offering help.”
“Don’t be a fool,” he scolded, his tone patronizingly dry. “Of course I knew he wouldn’t stop. Yelling and screaming goes on around here night and day. Nobody thinks a thing of it. Where are you going?” To his surprise the woman gathered the cloak tightly around her and marched with rigid determination toward the single window behind his chair.
“As far away from you as I can get,” she informed him briskly as she gave a push to the smeared bottom pane of glass. Her heard skipped as beat as the wooden frame stuck, then slid high. Unfortunately, it slipped down just as easily, but that minor hindrance could be worked around. She was feeling braver, more confident with the cool night air wafting around her, clearing her senses. Her headache receded to a dull throb.
“We’re on the second story,” he informed her, his tone dry and unemotional. From the sound of his voice, he hadn’t bothered to get up; a fact that hardly surprised her. “It’s quite a fall.”
“Not if I land on that drunk,” she said as she peeked out the window and saw the sprawled from of a man lying face first in the dirt. She wasn’t sure, but she would have sworn it was the same one who had almost smacked her in the face with the swinging bar door.
By the time Hope felt the viselike grip wrap around her upper arm, she had already managed to swing both legs out the window and was perched on the sill. She used one hand to prop up the frame above her head while the other steadied her precarious balance. The rose-colored skirt was hoisted well above her knees, exposing more than a proper amount
of creamy calves and delicately turned ankles. The folds of her cloak, still inside the room, floated down the wall and draped over the crudely planed floor.
“You’re not going anywhere, young lady,” the man growled as a hand wrapped around her other arm. It was all she could do to keep the window from falling on her legs as she was forcefully dragged back inside.
As her back came up hard against his chest, she suddenly prayed Luke would disobey her as he always did and come looking for her, fast. The sight of her gigantic brother would certainly knock that overly inflated ego down a peg or two, something this man sorely needed.
“Let go of me this instant, you idiot,” she demanded, trying to twist away from his grasp. She might as well have been heaving herself against a brick wall for all the good it did her.
In a repeat performance of what she had done to Luke, Hope pulled back her foot and kicked for all she was worth. Apparently she was worth more than she thought, especially if the man’s grunt of pain was anything to judge by.
“Stop it,” he ordered as the heel of her boot collided with his shin yet again.
“Not until you let me go,” she snapped, and slammed her heel down on his toe. Unfortunately, his boots made sure the blow did little damage. She resorted to kicking again.
This time the man waited until her foot was drawn back and ready to strike, the unexpectedly let her go. Hope, unprepared for the sudden release, tumbled backwards, her bottom meeting the hardwood floor in a bone-jarring collision. The force of her momentum thrust her backward, her legs pinned by the twisting skirt and cloak. It was sheer luck that she was able to reach out in time to stop her head from hitting the floor.
So much for fighting fair! She thought as she staggered to her feet and faced her opponent. Expecting a man the size of the rest of the prospectors of Thirst Gulch, it was not a pleasant surprise to see that this one towered over her by almost a full head. Her courage floundered.
“Are you done?” he asked bitterly. Like a dancer, he balanced his weight on one foot while the other rubbed against his sore shin. He wasn’t taking the chance of bending to inspect the damage, she noted, and surmised the reason as a rightful mistrust of what she might do next.
“Are you going to let me out of here?” she countered with an indignant toss of her head. A mistake, that, as her pounding temples were quick to inform her.
The gesture made the chestnut curls ripple over her shoulders, swaying freely at the small taper of her waist. In the scuffle, her cloak had parted, the front pleats working their way to the back so the coarse wool now flowed freely over her shoulders. The parting served only to draw attention to the low-scooped neckline of her dress.