She could feel him pulling away from her. Not physically, but mentally. She let him go, because she had no choice. He needed time to deal with everything that had happened, with what they'd both just confessed. She was smart enough to acknowledge that she needed time too. Oh, not to deal with having killed Tom and Henry Rafferty—she was shocked to realize how quickly she'd come to terms with that. She'd done what had to be done at the time. One of them had been about to kill her, the other had been about to kill Jake. She'd stopped them. It was that simple.
No, what she needed time for was to come to terms with the fact that her confession had been humiliatingly one-sided. She'd given Jake a chance to tell her how he felt. He hadn't taken it. He hadn't admitted feelings for her, and she was starting to believe the reason was because he didn't have any. The idea was devastating, yet the sooner she faced up to it the better off she'd be. Jake Chandler did not love her. And he never would.
"How much longer before we reach Pony?" she asked softly, breathlessly. It was either change the subject, or cry. The latter she refused to do. She didn't want Jake to see how badly he'd hurt her. Her pride couldn't take a blow like that; it had sustained one too many as it was.
Jake lifted his head and looked at her oddly. While his gaze registered surprise at the swift change of topic, he didn't argue it. If anything, he looked relieved. "Another day if it doesn't snow again," he answered cautiously. "Why?"
"I think you know."
You'll get your cousin back if it kills me. And I'll get...
What? What will you get. Jake?
My money. Every last cent of it... the sooner we get the brat back, the sooner I can be rid of you.
The remembered words hung in the air, thicker than the charred scent of wood surrounding them. The brat was back. In two days, Jake would be rid of her. Forever. Did the idea please him? There was no way to tell. His expression was as tight and as unreadable as ever.
With a growl, Jake pushed away from Amanda and spun on his heel. She tried not to notice the sudden chill that blasted over her in all the places his body had warmed her. Tried not to, but did. The question was, did Jake? If he made the observation, it didn't affect him enough to stop him from leaving.
"I'm going to take that walk," he grumbled over his shoulder, his long, silent steps never breaking stride.
Amanda watched him meld with the shadowy trees—the white bandage wrapped around his arm stood out in stark contrast. Her gaze blurred with unshed tears, and a lump of emotion wedged in her throat, clogging his name there. She didn't realize she'd taken a step to follow him until she felt the support of the tree behind her melt away.
Given the chance, would she have swallowed her pride—bitter tasting though it was—and chased after Jake? The question would forever remain unanswered. She'd taken no more than a step when Roger tossed fitfully in his sleep and called out her name.
Amanda felt a weight of responsibility settle over her like a lead blanket. Though her gaze wavered between the boy and the spot where she'd watched Jake disappear, there was never a question in her mind as to what she had to do.
She'd been hired to take care of Roger. No matter that her life was falling apart. No matter that her insides felt ripped and shredded. She wasn't being paid to indulge in self-pity, she was being paid to get Roger to Pony. She hadn't done a very good job so far, but her job was still days from being over.
As she turned her steps to the child huddled beneath her blanket, Amanda realized that she needed to see this job through to its end much more than she'd originally thought she would. Not for the money—though she needed that too—but to help heal her battered self-respect. She'd rarely finished anything she'd started in her life, but this time she would. She needed to prove to herself that she could do it, and...
Oh, who was she kidding? She needed to prove it to Jake, no one else. He thought her a silly Bostonian princess—hadn't he said it often enough? She needed to prove that she wasn't... not anymore, thanks to the time she'd spent with him.
Since it was inevitable they would part company—he'd made that painfully clear—Amanda wanted to sever the ties between them completely and cleanly, in the way they'd originally agreed upon. She would get Roger to Pony, and she would collect her hard-earned salary from Edward Bannister. Then, she would pay Jake the money she owed him. Immediately and in full. Only in that way could she prove to them both what she doubted Jake even now believed. That, when she set her mind to it, Amanda Lennox was a woman of her word.
Chapter 24
"Stop it, princess. You look fine."
"I look awful."
"No, Miss Lennox, you don't," Roger said. "Honest. You look fine. Besides, I think my father is going to be looking at me more than you anyway."
The trio had reined in their horses at the very outskirts of Pony. Amanda, positioned between Jake and Roger, barely glanced at the small but busy mining town. If she'd had time to think about it, that would have told her something; it would have told her that boardwalks, false-fronted stores, and numerous tawdry saloons were becoming all-too familiar sights.
She cast a quick glance at Roger and was again stunned by how much the boy had changed. Bad dreams had kept him awake most of the last two nights, but he was easily comforted by Amanda's soothing touch and voice. More often than not, he clung to her until he found his way back to sleep.
By day he'd been sullen and introspective; not only wasn't he as quick to ridicule, but he was also not quick to talk at all. He rarely spoke of his time in captivity, and he never mentioned the Raffertys. When he talked at all, it was to voice his eagerness to be reunited with his father.
There were physical changes in the boy as well, the primary one being that he was noticeably thinner. The baby fat that had once rounded his cheeks and stomach was gone; his time with the Raffertys had melted it away. His arms and legs, hidden in the laughably large folds of Jake Chandler's clothes, now looked gangly and awkward.
Roger's rumpled attire reminded Amanda of her own. She sighed, and a scowl puckered her brow when she glanced down. The yellow muslin dress wasn't as bright as it had been when she'd bought it. The sun had faded the color from daffodil to watery butter. The fabric itself was wrinkled from having been crammed into her saddlebag.
Roger, she noticed with a touch of sarcasm, wasn't the only one who'd shed a few pounds. Last night she'd convinced Jake to return her corset. After weeks of freedom, the contraption felt tight and confining. Lord, she could barely breathe! She hadn't had to work the laces very tightly, however, and her bodice still felt loose, telling her that s
he had lost weight as well.
Her gaze had settled on her wrinkled muslin lap. She realized it only when a big copper hand inserted itself into her view and settled heavily atop her thigh. The imprint of those thick, familiar fingers burned through the cloth, branding like hot iron into her skin. A shiver rippled down Amanda's spine, reminding her to the second of how long it had been since Jake had touched her. Too long, the sizzling jolt of sensation that shot through her said. A surge of desire clawed at her, and that bizarre emptiness reasserted itself. Both left her feeling breathless and shaken.