Jake Chandler was sitting astride a striking white palomino horse that, on closer inspection, had a handwoven blanket thrown over its back, but not the befitting saddle. Despite the lack, his seat was straight and perfect.
Their gazes met and held. Green silently asked a question of granite-hard silver. Silver answered, reluctantly.
Amanda sat back in shock. Her head still reeling with surprise, she saw Jake reach up and—could it be?—politely tip his hat to her. So, she'd convinced him to help after all.
Now why didn't she feel relieved?
"I'll warn you now, I'm no great tracker," he said as he leaned back and studied her. "You should know that up front."
"That's all right," she replied cautiously, "neither am I."
"And I'll want my money as soon as the brat's been found."
She nodded, still unable to believe she'd convinced him to help her; still not sure whether she should be glad she had. "Yes, of course."
"Once my job's over, once you have your cousin back, I ride out. No questions asked."
"All right."
He sighed, and crossed his hands over the white's sleek neck. "You'll do as I tell you, when I tell you to do it?"
"I..." Oh, why not? It was too late to stop lying now. "Yes."
"You won't argue or complain?"
"Rarely." Well, she thought it only fair to warn him about that. While she might be a coward, she wasn't meek and mild. When her hackles were raised, people knew it. Now that she thought about it, that was one of the reasons Miss Henry had politely asked her to leave the Academy—before the last term was over.
Jake nodded. "Good enough. Well, don't just sit there, princess. Come on. The tracks lead this way."
"But I thought you said you didn't...?" Her mouth snapped shut. It was too late. Jake was already guiding his horse through the woods. If he'd heard her, he gave no sign.
Amanda reined in the mare, and, with a gentle flick of her wrist, began threading her way past the trees, following in Jake Chandler's wake.
Try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Chapter 3
It was an hour past dusk when Jake gave the signal to stop.
Amanda glanced at his upraised arm. Her cynical gaze snagged on the way he inclined his head and nodded to the small, moonswept, oval-shaped clearing bordered by pine trees, which their horses had just stepped into.
Apparently this was where he'd decided they would make camp for the night. Of course, she was just guessing about that. The only way to know for sure would be if he'd stopped to consult her about where she thought they should stop, and when. He hadn't. Jake had decided the matter for himself. And that annoyed her.
Her gaze narrowed as she glared at the back of that large copper hand. In one sweeping glance she assessed the arrogant set of his shoulders and the casual way his body swayed atop the glistening white horse he was reining in.
He pulled his mount to a stop, then slid lithely to the ground. Not once did he look and see if she was doing the same. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten her presence entirely as he led the white over to a low-hanging branch, looped the reins around it, then swaggered—not walked, swaggered—into the thick, rustling coat of underbrush.
Amanda glared at his back. She watched him saunter out of sight; if looks could wound, Jacob Blackhawk Chandler would have landed on his knees. Exactly where he belonged. The man's self-assured attitude said he never doubted she would obey him. His confidence irked her, and for a split second she entertained the idea of continuing on without him, just to defy him.
What would his reaction be when he came back to the clearing and found her gone? Would he be angry or, as seemed more likely, relieved to be rid of her? She wasn't sure. Nor was it likely she'd find out. The urge to spite him was overridden by another, stronger demand: the need for sleep.
She was exhausted. Worrying about what had happened to poor Roger—dear Lord, she was thinking nice thoughts about the little hellion again; she must be tired!—had given her a headache. Concern for the boy's safety, as well as her own should his father find out what happened, had tapped more of her energy than she would ever admit to the man who'd just rudely deserted her.
Shifting her weight in the saddle, she was quick to discover that her head wasn't the only thing that hurt. Everything hurt. Muscles she didn't know she possessed were sore from spending so many hours in the saddle. With Roger, she'd stopped often to rest. Jake Chandler didn't allow stops—they ate in their saddle. At least, she did; he didn't have a saddle. And he never seemed to miss having one or to tire.
Her ankle throbbed from the jostling of the chestnut mare beneath her. Waves of pain radiated up her leg, sliced through her hip and rippled higher. The ache was dulled only by the weariness through which she perceived it.
As much as she wanted to continue searching—the sooner she found Roger, the sooner she could deposit him on his father's doorstep and collect her fee—Amanda knew how pointless it would be to continue looking tonight. The tracks were vague in daylight; they would be impossible to see in the muted light of a quarter moon. Though it was embarrassing to admit, she knew that had they ridden on for even half a mile further, she would have fallen asleep in the saddle. Even now her eyelids felt weighted and scratchy as she forced herself to blink.