Blackwolf's Redemption

She knew why he’d come after her. The same thing that had made him risk his neck getting her off that ledge, that had made him give her shelter, food, even these ridiculous sweats.

He was a man of honor. He felt responsible for her, but then, he’d probably feel that same responsibility for anybody. It had nothing to do with her.

Somehow, stupid as it seemed, that was infuriating.

“I am not your responsibility,” she said coldly. “You got that, Mr. Blackwolf?”

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. He glared at her, glared some more. Then he said something in what she figured might have been Sioux or Comanche, took her none-too-gently by the arm and, despite her yelps of protest, marched her out of the terminal and back to the Silverado.

CHAPTER NINE

SHE fought all the way, digging in her heels, calling him names he hadn’t thought women knew, but then, this was a woman like none he’d ever met. Tough. Strong. Fragile. Vulnerable. She was a mass of contradictions and, damn it, so was he, or else why would he have yanked her out of that gloomy bus station and hustled her back into the cab of his truck?

“Do not try to get away,” he said grimly, once he got her there, “because I’ll just go after you again and bring you back. You got that?”

The look she gave him said she got it, and more. Despite everything, he came close to laughing. What mattered was that he didn’t, he just went around the truck, got into the driver’s seat, turned the key, jammed his foot to the floor and the Silverado skidded onto the road, the roar of its engine and the squeal of its tires a good approximation of the anger boiling inside him.

Yes, but who was he angry at? Her? Or him?

He drove fast, up Main Street, out of town, turned off on a muddy excuse for a road he remembered from his high school days, a place where you could cut classes and find half a dozen other bored jerks doing the same thing. Once there, he shut off the engine and looked at her.

“Question one. Where did you figure on going?”

Nothing. She went on staring straight ahead, arms folded, profile looking as if it had been done by a chisel.

“Okay, question two. How were you going to get there? Far as I can tell, you don’t have a dime to your name.”

Still nothing. Jesse glowered.

“Question three. Why didn’t you want to go looking for Jack the Quitter?”

Was that a faint twitch of her mouth? Maybe they were making progress.

“If I were in your shoes, all alone, no money, nothing but my clothes on my back—”

“Your clothes,” she said caustically. “My back, your clothes. Don’t you want to point that out, too?”

“If I were in your shoes,” he said, as if she hadn’t interrupted him, “I’d sure as hell want to locate Jack the Jerk.”

Another twitch. “Very amusing.”

“Very valid, you mean. Why aren’t you interested in finding him? The man brought you here. He left you in the canyon. He’s responsible for you.”

She swung toward him. “Look, take my word on this. Jack isn’t—he isn’t here.” She turned away, fixed her eyes on the windshield again. “Now, will you take me back to the bus station?”

“You haven’t answered my other questions. Where are you going to go?”

“Wherever the first bus out will take me.”

“And how will you pay for a ticket?” More stony silence. Jesse grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Damn it, woman, stop pretending I’m a stranger. I saw you dressed.” His eyes narrowed. “I saw you undressed. Damned near every inch of you, and—”

“Such a gentleman,” she said, her defiance matched by the rise of color in her face.

“I’m not a gentleman. I never pretended I was.”

“I don’t think you could. Pretend to be a gentleman, I mean. A man like you just—just takes what he wants and to hell with—”

She gasped as he pulled her against him and kissed her, his mouth hard and bruising against hers.

“Stop while you’re still ahead,” he growled when he lifted his head. “If I’d taken what I wanted last night, things would be a lot different this morning.”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” she said, her voice trembling.

He didn’t know what it was supposed to mean, either. If they’d made love, it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. Morning still would have come and he’d still have sent her on her way….

Except, he hadn’t sent her on her way, even though they hadn’t made love.

Just as he’d figured, she was complicating his life and he seemed powerless to stop it.