Montan a Wildfire

Only once she'd proved she was still alone did Amanda realize she'd been holding her breath until her lungs burned. She released it in a rush. The fingers clutching the pistol to her chest stopped quivering. Well, all right, maybe they hadn't stopped trembling completely, but her shaking had begun to ease. The coward in her took that as a good sign. Now, if only she could get her heart to stop drumming wildly in her ears.

Easing away from the tree, she cautiously picked her way to the next hazy trunk. The process was repeated two more times, until her fingers really did stop shaking.

The muffled noise she'd heard before came again. It sounded closer... she thought. Of course, as Jake had sarcastically pointed out, at this time of the morning distance and place was easily distorted.

Damn Jake Chandler, she fumed as she moved to the next tree, molding her back against the scratchy bark. Damn him to hell and back! In less than twenty-four hours he'd turned her world upside down. She wasn't sure how he'd accomplished that in such a short amount of time, and so easily. Or was she?

Last night's kiss—and her wanton reaction to it—had haunted her dreams and fueled her confusion. If it was one thing Amanda hated, it was confusion. She could easily learn to hate Jake for making her feel it.

Another twig snapped. It was closer, she was sure. The sound blended with the whisper of dry leaves scattering on the breeze and the bird that continued to shrill loudly overhead.

Amanda's fingers tightened around the pistol. The handle was hot from the heat of her palm. Her index finger twitched on the trigger. She didn't know why; it wasn't as though the thing was loaded. It wasn't as though she had any bullets to load it with! Still, having the gun in her clammy hands made her feel better. Safer. Not a lot, but a bit.

Something—footsteps?—sounded in front of the tree she was hiding behind. The noise was soft, fleeting. If she hadn't been listening for it, she wouldn't have heard it.

Whoever was out there was moving closer.

Amanda's hands started to shake again. She sucked in a steadying breath and promised herself that on its release she would muster her courage and stop stalling. When she exhaled, she would jump from behind the tree, brandishing her weapon, and face whatever, whoever, was out there.

The air pushed from her stinging lungs when she'd held it for as long as she could. Before she could command her feet to move, she'd sucked in another. All right, after this one...

Coward! a tiny voice taunted in her head.

Amanda's brow puckered in a frown. Her spine bristled. Was it her imagination, or was that voice not in her head?

Her gaze snapped to the side. Her eyes widened.

If it took her entire life, she would never know how Jake Chandler could be standing so close without her being aware of him. She was aware of him now, she would have to be dead not to be! His presence—his body heat and earthy scent—tingled through every nerve in her body.

His grin was slow and taunting. "Didn't think I'd let you face this alone, did ya, princess?"

A movement caught Amanda's attention. She glanced down, and noticed belatedly that Jake was holding his left hand close to his stomach. Something small and fuzzy and brown nuzzled his cupped palm. As she watched, Jake leaned forward and lowered the furry thing to the ground.

The rabbit wasn't fully grown, nor was it a baby. For a split second the animal looked stunned, as though surprised to suddenly feel earth beneath it's feet. But only for a second. Tipping its head to the side, the rabbit glanced at Jake, then with a shove from its long, powerful back leg, bolted headlong into the woods. It's small feet crunched over dry leaves and twigs.

The noise it made as it ran sounded remarkably like footsteps.

Chapter 7

Amanda stifled an embarrassed groan as her gaze strayed to Jake. He was standing beside her—close beside her. His right arm was arched above her head, the forearm resting against gritty bark. His left thumb was hooked through a belt loop at his hip. His ankles were crossed, which made his hips jut at a cocky angle. His thigh, she noticed belatedly, rested a mere fraction of an inch from her own.

"Well?" Jake asked, his voice soft, husky. "Did you think I'd make you face that mean little bunny by yourself, princess?"

Amanda ignored his heat, his nearness, his sarcasm. At least, she tried to. What she couldn't ignore was the way her heartbeat stuttered and her breathing shallowed. Her gaze shifted, skimming Jake's lips; her heart stopped entirely when she saw the very corners curve up in a wolfish grin.

"Yes," she hissed softly, "that's exactly what I thought, Mr. Chandler. That's exactly what you wanted me to think."

"You must've gotten the wrong impression, Miss Lennox."

"I don't think so." Amanda sighed. It was humiliating enough to know she'd come out here with a gun, chasing what she thought were footsteps but what was in reality nothing more than a harmless rabbit. She swallowed hard, and felt a desperate need to change the subject. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me."

He shrugged, and his shoulder came into sizzling contact with hers. Amanda knew she tensed, she wasn't sure if Jake did or not. Nor, she told herself, should she care.

Jake nodded to the gun she fisted to her breasts. "Loaded?"