Montan a Wildfire

"I'm fine." Her chin hiked up a determined notch. Only her moist, trembling lower lip betrayed the lie. Something flashed in Jake's eyes, something that made Amanda remember all the other lies she'd ever told him, as well as her promise to never lie to him again. Sighing shakily, she amended, "I'm a little shaken up, but I'll be fine."

"Bullshit. Lady, you're shaking like a leaf."

"For God's sake, what do you expect? I'm in shock. I've never... k-killed a man before."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't already know. As far as I'm concerned, that's all the more reason you should stay put. I'll tend to the kid."

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

Why not, indeed? Jake was right, she was shaking like a leaf. Inside as well as out. But that was beside the point. "Roger is my responsibility. I insist you let me go to him."

Amanda struggled to pull away from Jake. She'd put barely an inch between them when she felt his palm against the side of her head. He muttered something—one of the curses he was so fond of, no doubt—and tugged her head down to his chest.

"You're beginning to annoy me again, Mr. Chandler."

"Jesus, lady, what the hell is with you? You just killed a man for me. You don't get much more intimate with a guy than that! Now shut up and sit still. You aren't going anywhere."

Amanda continued to squirm. "I want to go to Roger."

"I didn't ask what you wanted, princess."

"I'm telling you anyway. In fact, I'm demanding it. Now let me go!"

"No. Your knees are still too weak. You stand up now, you're just going to topple over again."

Amanda's tone was haughty and very, very proper. "I will not."

"Will too."

"Not."

"Too!"

"Liar."

That did it! Amanda reached out and curled her fingers around Jake's forearms, intending to forcibly remove herself from his no longer welcome embrace. "For crying out loud, they're my knees. Surely I would know whether or not—"

Jake sucked in a sharp breath. The world spun dizzily around him. A wave of agony bolted all the way up to his shoulder. From wrist to elbow, his arm felt like it was on fire. He couldn't suppress the gasp that hissed through his teeth.

Amanda paled and snatched her hand away. It was to

o late. The set of Jake's jaw said the damage was done. She fought a surge of nausea when she felt the warm stickiness of his blood coating her palms. "Oh, God. Jake, I'm so sorry. Does it," she cleared her throat, forcing herself to continue, "hurt badly?"

"Hell no, I was gasping in pleasure," he growled, pushing the words through tightly clenched teeth. "Of course it hurts!" He hadn't meant to shout at her, and the second he saw Amanda's injured expression, he wished he hadn't. It took effort, but he softened his tone. "Take care of the kid while I tend this."

"If you want I could—?"

The inky brow he slanted at her said that no, Jake did not want her tending him. For some reason that wounded her. Amanda ducked her head so he couldn't see the sheen of tears in her eyes, and clambered from his lap. "Excuse me," she murmured with rigid politeness, even as she hurried away.

Through slitted eyes he watched her hesitate as she passed Tom Rafferty's lifeless body, watched her stiffen then continue on. He almost, almost called her back. He wasn't sure what stopped him, except maybe the instinctive knowledge that she needed time to digest what had happened. Come to think of it, so did he. Truthfully, he wasn't sure a dozen lifetimes would be enough time to come to terms with what Amanda Lennox had done.

Amanda Lennox had killed for him. A prissy white woman had put a bullet through a man's back—through a white man's back—to save the life of a half-breed. Did she have any idea of the danger she'd put herself in? Did she know what the law would do if word of what she'd done—and for whom—ever got out? Did she care? No, probably not. But she should.

Shaking his head, Jake plowed the fingers of his right hand through his hair and sighed. He glanced at Amanda, watched as she sawed through Roger's ropes with the knife. Surprisingly, when the boy was free, she clasped him tightly to her chest. Even more surprising, Roger hugged her back with equal ferocity.

Jake's gaze narrowed, and his attention dipped to the long, creamy taper of her throat. His blood ran cold when he pictured a roughly knotted hangman's noose draping her regal collarbone, a place where, by all rights, the finest diamonds and pearls money could buy should rest.