Nora Roberts: Lawless

Even if this woman was different. Somehow. That was what bothered him the most. He’d always been able to figure people. It had helped keep him alive all these years. He couldn’t figure Sarah Conway, or what it was about her that made him want to see that she was safe. Maybe he was getting soft, but he didn’t like to think so.

He couldn’t help feeling for her some, traveling all this way just to find out her father was dead. And he had to admire the way she was sticking it out, staying at the old mine. It was stupid, he mused, but you had to admire it.

With a shrug, he kept riding. He was nearly to the Conway place, anyway. He might as well take a look and make sure she hadn’t shot her foot off with her daddy’s rifle.

He smelled the fire before he saw it. His head came up, like a wolfs when it scents an enemy. In a similar move, the mustang reared and showed the whites of his eyes. When he caught the first flicker of flame, he kicked the horse into a run. What had the damn fool woman done now?

There had only been a few times in his life when he had experienced true fear. He didn’t care for the taste of it. And he tasted it now, as his mind conjured up the image of Sarah trapped inside the burning house, the oil she’d undoubtedly spilled spreading the fire hot and fast.

Another image came back to him, an old one, an image of fire and weeping and gunplay. He’d known fear then, too. Fear and hate, and an anguish he’d sworn he’d never feel again.

There was some small relief when he saw that it was the shed burning and not the house. The heat from it roared out as the last of the roof collapsed. He slowed his horse when he spotted two riders heading up into the rocks. His gun was already drawn, his blood already cold, before he saw Sarah lying on the ground. His horse was still moving when he slid from the saddle and ran to her.

Her face was as pale as the moon, and she smelled of smoke. As he knelt beside her, a small brown dog began to snarl at him. Jake brushed it aside when it nipped him.

“If you were going to do any guarding, you’re too late.”

His mouth set in a grim line, he pressed a hand to her heart. Something moved in him when he felt its slow beat. Gently he lifted her head. And felt the blood, warm on his fingers. He looked up at the rocks again, his eyes narrowed and icy. As carefully as he could, he picked her up and carried her inside. There was no place to lay her comfortably but the cot. The puppy began to whine and jump at the ladder after Jake carried her up. Jake shushed him again and, grateful that Sarah had at least had the sense to bring in fresh water, prepared to dress her wound.

Dazed and aching, Sarah felt something cool on her head. For a moment she thought it was Sister Angelina, the soft-voiced nun who had nursed her through a fever when she had been twelve. Though she hurt, hurt all over, it was comforting to be there, safe in her own bed, knowing that someone was there to take care of her and make things right again. Sister would sometimes sing to her and would always, when she needed it, hold her hand.

Moaning a little, Sarah groped for Sister Angelina’s hand. The one that closed over hers was as hard as iron. Confused, fooled for a minute into thinking her father had come back for her, Sarah opened her eyes. At first everything was vague and wavering, as though she were looking through water. Slowly she focused on a face. She remembered the face, with its sharp lines and its taut, bronzed skin. A lawless face. She’d dreamed of it, hadn’t she? Unsure, she lifted a hand to it. It was rough, unshaven and warm. Gray eyes, she thought dizzily. Gray eyes and a gray hat. Yes, she’d dreamed of him.

She managed a whisper. “Don’t. Don’t kiss me.”

The face smiled. It was such a quick, flashing and appealing smile that she almost wanted to return it. “I guess I can control myself. Drink this.”

He lifted the cup to her lips, and she took a first greedy sip. Whiskey shot through her system. “That’s horrible. I don’t want it.”

“Put some color back in your cheeks.” But he set the cup aside.

“I just want to…” But the whiskey had shocked her brain enough to clear it. Jake had to hold her down to keep her from scrambling out of bed. Her shift tangled around her knees and drooped over one shoulder. “Hold on. You stand up now, you’re going to fall on that pretty face of yours.”

“Fire.” She coughed, gasping from fee pain in her throat. To balance herself, she grabbed him, then dropped her head weakly on his chest. “There’s a fire.”

“I know.” Relief and pleasure surged through him as he stroked her hair. Her cheek was nestled against his heart as if it belonged there. “It’s pretty well done now.”

“It might spread. I’ve got to stop it.”

“It’s not going to spread.” He eased her back with a gentleness that would have surprised her if she’d been aware of it. “Nothing to feed it, no wind to carry it. You lost the shed, that’s all.”

“I got the horses out,” she murmured. Her head was whirling and throbbing. But his voice-his voice and the stroke of his hands soothed her everywhere. Comforted, she let her eyes close. “I wasn’t sure I could.”

“You did fine.” Because he wanted to say more and didn’t know how, he passed the cloth over her face. “You’d better rest now.”

“Don’t go.” She reached for his hand again and brought it to her cheek. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He brushed the hair away from her face while he fought his own demons. “Go on to sleep.” He needed her to. If she opened her eyes and looked at him again, if she touched him again, he was going to lose.

“The puppy was barking. I thought he needed to go out, so I-” She came to herself abruptly. He could see it in the way her eyes flew open. “Mr. Redman! What are you doing here? Here,” she repeated, scandalized, as she glanced around the loft. “I’m not dressed.”

He dropped the cloth back in the bowl. “It’s been a trial not to notice.” She was coming back, all right, he thought as he watched her eyes fire up. It was a pleasure to watch it. With some regret, he picked up the blanket and tossed it over her. “Feel better?” “Mr. Redman.” Her voice was stiff with embarrassment.

“I don’t entertain gentlemen in my private quarters.”

He picked up the cup of whiskey and took a drink himself. Now that she seemed back to normal, it hit him how scared he’d been. Bone-scared. “Ain’t much entertaining about dressing a head wound.”

Sarah pushed herself up on her elbows, and the room reeled. With a moan, she lifted her fingers to the back of her neck, “I must have hit my head.”

“Must have.” He thought of the riders, but said nothing. “Since I picked you up off the ground and carted you all the way up here, don’t you figure I’m entitled to know what happened tonight?”

“I don’t really know.” With a long sigh, she leaned back against the pillow she’d purchased only that morning. He was entitled to the story, she supposed. In any case, she wanted to tell someone. “I’d already retired for the night when the puppy began to bark. He seemed determined to get out, so I climbed down.

I saw the fire. I don’t know how it could have started. It was still light when I fed the stock, so I never even had a lamp over there.”

Jake had his own ideas, but he bided his time. Sarah lifted a hand to her throbbing head and allowed herself the luxury of closing her eyes. “I ran over to get the horses out. The place was going up so fast. I’ve never seen anything like it. The roof was coming down, and the horses were terrified. They wouldn’t come out. I’d read somewhere that horses are so frightened by fire they just panic and burn alive, I couldn’t have stood that.”