B.J. Daniels - Stolen Moments

“Who are you?”

Levi awoke with a start, amazed she’d actually fallen asleep. Probably the side effects of that drug he’d given her earlier. The sound of an explosion rang in her ears, but only the smell of smoke made her believe she hadn’t dreamed it.

Before she could move, she looked up to find the cowboy standing over her, yelling down at her, his words making no sense. What had blown up?

“Who are you?” he asked again.

She sat up, pulled the scratchy wool blanket to her and gazed up at him, afraid. “What?” was all she got out before he jerked her to her feet.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded as he ripped off the blanket and threw it onto the cot.

“You know who I am,” she cried, staring at him as if he were a madman as well as a kidnapper.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded from between clenched teeth.

“Levi.”

He frowned. “Levi? Levi who?”

She couldn’t understand what it was he wanted from her or why he was so upset. “McCord. Levi McCord.”

He released her as if she were a live wire. “McCord? Levi McCord? Not—” He stared at her. “Tell me you’re not related to Senator McCord.”

Was this some sort of trick? “He’s my father.”

He swore loudly, raked a hand through his hair, then looked at her again as if he’d never seen her before. “You’re James Marshall McCord’s daughter.”

“Olivia McCord,” she said almost indignantly. “Levi’s a nickname.” She frowned as a thought buzzed past like a bullet. “But you had to know that when you kidnapped me. Why else ” She stopped, even more confused. -

He let out a harsh laugh and looked up at the ceiling, still shaking his head. He was a madman. Or he really hadn’t known who she was. Or both. He swung his gaze back to her and cursed, his eyes dark and disturbed.

She came fully awake with an anger of her own. “Who are you?” she demanded. Her head had cleared some from the short, fitful, exhausted sleep and the rude awakening and the drug he’d given her earlier. “You kidnapped me and you didn’t even know who I was?” What kind of sense did that make? She was even more angry than she had been. The anger felt so much better than the fear. “Talk to me, damn you.”

“Not now,” he growled as he thrust the flashlight into the backpack and pulled the drawstring closed, his movements hurried, anxious. “We have to get out of here.”

He stepped to the door, opened it and stood silhouetted against the snowfall, waiting impatiently for her.

She moved as if sleepwalking to the window opening in the wall and looked out. Below her in the clearing, what was left of the A-frame burned bright in the night. Her heart thudded at the ramifications. They could have been in that cabin!

“Come on,” he ordered when she didn’t move toward him. “Trust me, now isn’t the time to give me trouble.”

She turned to look at him, feeling the effects of adrenaline and exhaustion, anger and fear. She didn’t move, just stared at him, determined not to take another step until she had an explanation. “Tell me. Now.”

He shook his head in obvious frustration. “Let me put it to you simply. Somebody firebombed the cabin because they thought we were inside it. I don’t know how close they are or if they’ve already found our tracks and are headed up this mountain right now, but I think they’re probably not going to give up until they kill us. How’s that?”

She swallowed hard. “Why would someone want to kill us?”

“You tell me.”

He was blaming her for this?

“But I’m not staying here to find out,” he said before she could respond. “Now get your butt out that door or I’ll drag you. Believe me, you won’t slow me down that much. At least not for long.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. The moment she moved toward him, he grabbed her and propelled her through the open doorway. It was still dark outside, except for the fiery glow where the A-frame had been.

The air felt colder. Or maybe it was just the cold inside her as he pulled her through the pines, his grip strong and firm and unrelenting. She had to run to keep up with his long stride. They dropped down the other side of the mountain, away from the smell of charred wood.

She felt dazed. Who had blown up the A-frame? Why had the man now dragging her off this mountain kidnapped her without even knowing who she was? It made no sense. Nothing made any sense. But if he meant her real harm, wouldn’t he have just killed her and left her behind at the shack? Or...was she worth more to him alive?

The air suddenly turned white and wet with fog. He kept moving. The mist wove through the snowladen pines, growing denser and denser until she couldn’t see but a few feet in front of her. He slowed a little, not much.

Then she heard it. The sound of water lapping softly. Moments later, they stumbled on the bank of what appeared to be a wide creek. On the snowy edge, he finally stopped and she leaned over, her hands on her knees, to catch her breath.

Without warning, he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, reminding her again how strong he was as he waded into the icy water.

She started to protest, but he stopped her with a low warning growl. Common sense told her this was not the time.

He headed upstream into the fog, his hand resting on her rump as she bounced along on his shoulder. She thought she heard a helicopter. He must have, too, because he stopped for a moment to listen, then continued upstream.

Finally he put her down on the opposite bank and climbed out beside her. She watched him through a film of fog as he went to a spot along the bank and pulled branches back from a canoe.

The movement came out of the smudged darkness of the pines off to her right. She saw it from the corner of her eye, but didn’t get a sound out before the movement became a man. He seemed a part of the fog, a blur of white clothing and mask, until she saw a rifle in his gloved hands. She didn’t have time to think, let alone react. Unlike her kidnapper. He turned, sensing danger. Just as the attacker swung the rifle butt at her, the cowboy grabbed for the barrel and jerked, throwing the attacker off balance.

The blow did little more than send her sprawling into the snow. But by then the cowboy had sent the attacker flying. The man landed on his back hard, the rifle falling from his hands and sliding down the bank into the cold stream. As the cowboy leaped after him, she saw the attacker pull something from his boot. A knife blade glittered as the two struggled in the snow.

She froze as she watched them fight, her thoughts frantic. What should she do? Run! But run where? She got to her feet but couldn’t see more than a few feet in the dense fog and didn’t know the terrain, didn’t even know where she was. Think! The canoe. Take the canoe. She rushed over to it and was hurriedly trying to pull it out of its hiding place when she heard a splash behind her and swung around.

“Did he hurt you?” her kidnapper asked, sounding almost concerned for her. He picked up his Stetson from the snow and shoved it down on his head, then stumbled toward her, his breathing labored. He was covered in snow, and blood seeped from a wound on his temple.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded. He wiped at the wound. It didn’t look deep or life threatening.

She shook her head and looked past him. The attacker was gone. “Where is he?” she asked, her voice breaking.

The cowboy pointed across the creek. “He got away.”

She stared into the darkness of the pines. “What makes you so sure he won’t be back?”

“I’m not, but I would imagine he’ll go for help. He was wounded. Not bad. Just a cut on his arm, but enough that I don’t think he’ll be back—at least for a while. By then we’ll be gone.”