“If you say so,” she replied. She tried to shrug, but his hands, pinning her arms to her side, made it impossible. She continued with feigned lightness, “Honestly, I don’t know why I brought the subject up in the first place. It was foolish of me. Can we go now?”
Although Drake dropped his hands to his side, he continued to block her path to the horse. Hope tried to step around him, but somehow Drake always ended up in front of her, thwarting every attempt. His intent, no doubt. “No, we can’t. Not until you tell me what you meant by my feelings for Angelique—or lack thereof.”
“Lack?!” All the hurt and anguish she had bottled up for the last six weeks exploded in the single word. Although she tried to hold them back, bitter tears stung her eyes. She wiped them angrily away. “How dare you lie to me, Drake Frazier? Especially after insisting I be honest with you.”
Drake scowled darkly. “My feelings for Angelique have been dead for years. I’m not lying to you about that.”
“No?” she demanded hotly, her hands instinctively balling into tight fists at her side. “Then I must be hearing things, gunslinger, because that night in the cabin it was her name you called out in your sleep. Angelique’s—not mine!”
Spinning on her heel, she stalked around him. Drake was too busy trying to take in what she’d just said to stop her. His initial instinct was to go after her, but the blow she had just dealt him kept his feet firmly rooted to the ground. Only at the rumble of hoofbeats did he finally look up.
She reined the black stallion around and dug the heels of her boots firmly into the mustang’s flanks. The black bolted, and a lesser rider would have lost her seat. Hope held firm, and in no time the two were running as one.
The wind whipped at her hair and caressed the trail of salty tears that fell from her eyes. The sobs that tore from her lungs were heard only by the gnarled tree she passed.
...it was her name you called out in your sleep.
She urged the horse faster, but no matter how quickly the ground passed beneath the stallion’s hooves, the truth of her words kept coming back to haunt her.
It had taken Drake the rest of the day, and a goodly portion of the night, to find Hope’s camp. Without the benefit of sunlight to illuminate her tracks, or a campfire to divulge her whereabouts, he had been just about ready to call off his search for the night.
But luck was with him. As he made ready to break and prepare his own camp, he had stumbled on Hope’s. She was fast asleep, tucked snugly in the bedroll, her gentle snores echoing through the night. The gritty dirt was her only pillow and her chestnut hair spread over it like a bolt of rich, dark silk.
While Drake had presumed that fear of him finding her had been Hope’s reason for not lighting a campfire, he soon found out exhaustion had pla
yed a bigger part in it. Now, as he sat back and watched her sleep, stretched out near the crackling fire he’d made, he toyed with the idea of waking her up and fixing them dinner.
The idea was just as quickly abandoned. Considering the angry terms they’d parted on, it might be better if they both got a decent night’s sleep before coming face to face again.
Head to head would be more like it, he silently corrected himself as he downed the cup of coffee he’d fixed over an hour before. The foul-tasting brew had long since grown cold, but he drank it without complaint. What good would complaining do when there was no one to listen?
From the corner of his eye, Drake could see Hope bent at the waist, curled beneath the bedroll. The blanket was not so thick that he could miss the outline of her perfectly shaped backside, or the soft indentation where calf tapered into thigh. Even completely dressed and covered chin to foot in a lumpy bedroll, he could feel his body’s response to her nearness. Knowing full well what satiny delights lay concealed beneath that coarse blanket did nothing to ease the desire spreading through his blood with the force of a rapidly burning brushfire.
Scowling darkly, he fought the surge of confusion that swelled in his chest and tore his gaze away. His encounter with Hope that afternoon was still fresh enough in his mind to make him blanch when he thought of it.
He’d called out Angelique’s name in his sleep? He still couldn’t believe he’d been so foolish—as though he had any control over it! Was it any wonder Hope had treated him like a walking case of cholera for the past six weeks? He couldn’t blame her for feeling betrayed and hurt. How would he have felt had the situation been reversed?
It was a stupid question. He knew damn well how he’d feel. Even now his chest tightened with the intensity of an emotion that could be nothing short of raw, hard jealousy.
Again, his eyes settled on Hope’s sleeping form. She looked like a child, he thought, as he watched her shift restlessly. Her brow was smooth, her expression serenely peaceful. A thick fringe of dark, red-tipped lashes concealed the bitterness that constantly swam in those velvet brown eyes.
Innocent eyes, he thought. The eyes of one who has lived through a tragedy that could scar a man’s, or woman’s, very soul. The pain was always there in the haunting gaze. You had only to look to see it. Now there was more pain and this time Drake knew he had been the one to put it there.
Clenching his hands into fists he vividly remembered the feel of her flesh beneath his palm, and the rippled strip of skin that ran the stretch of her back. He felt the pain the scar signified to Hope—both mentally and physically—as though it were his own. The strong surge of emotion shook him to the core, leaving shock in its wake, and still more confusion.
Although Drake hungered to wake Hope up and reassure her, over and over, that Angelique meant nothing to him, he didn’t. To do so would be to open up speculation on exactly what he did feel for his ex-fiancée. It would also force him to confront the feelings he harbored for Hope.
He couldn’t do that; not yet—not now—maybe not ever.
Combing tired fingers through his hair, Drake pulled his gaze from the sleeping woman. Stubbornly, it was drawn back time and again. With a resigned sigh, he strode past his own bedroll, kicking it as he passed, and slipping into the one covering Hope. Pulling her soft body next to his, he was rewarded with a soft sigh as she cuddled against him in sleep. With the feel of soft curves pressing against him, finally, he slept.
Chapter 14
Elbert Sneyd pushed his wire-rimmed half-spectacles up until they sat atop the bump in the middle of his long, narrow nose. Clearing his throat, he nervously peered over the top rim and sent his client an inquisitive glance. His voice was high, femininely so. “You’re sure about this?”
Lacing his fingers across his chest, Drake relaxed against the plush burgundy cushion of the Hepplewhite-style chair. “Quite sure.”
“Very well, then.” Reluctantly, Elbert nodded, his narrow gaze focusing on Drake.