Linda Warren - Deep In The Heart Of Texas

The pain in her legs changed her opinion about entering this cave. She hoped it wasn’t far. At least it would be a place to rest her weary body. Yes, that was the how she’d think about the cave.

Suddenly dawn crept through the turbulent clouds, dimly lighting the woods in a yellow glow. The night faded behind them, and morning beckoned with a tempestuous hand. The hermit stopped by a thicket on the side of a hill. He laid down his rifle and reached with both hands to pull back some branches. “Go ahead,” he said. “Climb through, but be careful. Don’t break any of these branches.”

She looked at him, annoyed by that critical tone of his voice, but her emotions shifted as she glanced back at the hole he’d provided. This was too much like the room he’d rescued her from. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go through that misery again. Her first instinct was to turn and run, but she knew perfectly well that wasn’t wise. She’d be lost within minutes and the buzzards would have her body for dessert. If Spikes didn’t find her first.

Biting her lip, she tried to still her fears. Lightning snaked across the sky.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day,” he said impatiently.

Bandit darted through the hole. She took a deep breath, counted to ten and followed. The muscles in her legs tightened in protest and she fell to the dirt floor of the small cave. Dust and the smell of dog filled her nostrils. All reason left her as a large rat ran past her. She screamed, covering her eyes. Bandit caught the rat in a heartbeat and killed it. She waited for bats to swoop around her, but all she heard was the crunching of bones as Bandit started to eat the rat.

“Oh,” she moaned in disgust, feeling as though she was going to be sick.

The hermit loomed over her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

The hermit glanced at Bandit eating the rat. “Have some manners, boy. Take your supper to the other end.”

Was that laughter in his voice? No, it couldn’t be. This man never laughed.

He squatted down at the entrance, right beside her prone body. “You have to move farther in,” he told her.

The knots in her legs were so tight and painful, she couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it. “I need a minute,” she said in a pained voice.

“Why?” he snapped. “We’re going to get soaking wet if we stay here. The rat’s gone. It can’t hurt you.”

“I…can’t move,” she finally admitted.

“Why not? If—”

“My legs are cramped up, okay?” she shouted. “Now leave me alone and let me deal with my own misery.”

He swore under his breath and stepped over her, bending because the cave was too low for him to stand upright. He reached under her armpits and pulled her farther inside.

He knelt at her feet and took off her sneakers. Shock rippled through Miranda as he touched her, but she was too weak and exhausted to say anything. His big hands began to gently massage the calf of one leg, then the other. She sighed with pure pleasure.

Heavens, his hands felt so good. Each touch, each stroke, eased away the pain. This man would never hurt anyone; she was positive of that. Why was everyone afraid of him? She wasn’t anymore, and somehow she felt she never would be again.

God, he’d forgotten how good it felt to touch a woman. Even through the jeans, her flesh was soft yet supple, and—

He had to stop. He couldn’t keep touching her. Removing his backpack, he leaned against the other wall just as it started to rain outside. “Better?” he asked, and his heart pounded against his chest with emotions he hadn’t experienced in years.

“Yes, much,” she replied. “Thank you.”

“You should have said something. I wouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”

“I think you enjoyed pushing me hard,” she remarked with a touch of humor as she removed the wool cap.

Blond hair tumbled around her shoulders. He found he couldn’t tear his eyes away, and that surprised him. For the first time he really saw her. She was very beautiful with creamy flawless skin, a straight dainty nose and a perfectly shaped mouth. Her silver-blond hair seemed natural but probably wasn’t. There was nothing natural about women like her. He knew her type—rich, spoiled and factitious down to her soul.

As he realized what he was thinking, he brought his troublesome ramblings to a halt. He was comparing her to Sheila again. He’d been doing that for a while now. It was unfair to this woman, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

He forced his eyes in another direction, but he had to admit Miranda Maddox showed more strength than Sheila had ever possessed. She must have been in a lot of pain—the knots in her legs were like goose eggs—yet she’d never said a word. Never complained. Never shed a tear. Yeah, she had strength. He had no idea why that pleased him so much, because he knew damn well that the sooner he got her back to her father the better.

The steady tattoo of the rain enclosed them in a comfortable silence. Now that the pain had eased, Miranda let the soothing sound of it calm her nerves. She didn’t want to think about the dangers that lay in wait outside the cave.

Pulling his hat low over his eyes, he tried to relax, but with Miranda Maddox a few feet away, that wasn’t easy. Damn the woman, he thought. He didn’t care about her, or her story, or why she was in this mess. That was what he told himself, over and over, but despite that, he found he was becoming increasingly curious.

Damn the woman.

He was empty inside. He had nothing to give anyone. Yet she was stirring up those basic primal emotions a man feels toward a woman. Maybe it wasn’t possible to destroy all feeling. Maybe some things were natural, God-given, and he had to accept that. Even if he didn’t like it much.

The rhythmic beat of the rain became louder. Miranda glanced toward the entrance. It was sleeting. She could see tiny icicles forming on the bushes. That reminded her of Christmas—how long had it been since Christmas? Barely three weeks. It seemed a lifetime since the whole family had gathered at the ranch to celebrate. Kevin had surprised her with a beautiful engagement ring. She was happy. Or so she’d believed until—

“We’d better eat and then try to get some sleep.” The hermit’s words interrupted her thoughts. He opened the backpack and pulled out a towel. Inside was a big loaf of bread and something Miranda didn’t recognize.

“Deer jerky,” he said, almost as if he could read her mind.

Deer jerky? What in the world was that? She frowned at the dark strips of meat.

“It’s dried venison—deer meat,” he told her. “Quite tasty, especially if you’re hungry.”

Slipping the knife from the sheath around his waist, he sliced the bread into big chunks and handed her a piece.

She nibbled on the bread and watched as he chewed a piece of dried meat. Not wanting him to think she was one of those finicky females, she picked up a strip of meat and began to chew.

It wasn’t bad, especially if you were hungry, like he’d said, but the bread was exceptional. “This is delicious bread. Where do you get it?”

“I bake it,” he replied in a dry tone.

“Oh,” she murmured, licking her fingers and feeling chastised. None of her friends or acquaintances baked anything, so how was she to know? “I should have guessed you were a regular Renaissance man,” she said to take the scowl from his face.

The scowl only deepened as he took a drink from the canteen.

She didn’t want him to think she’d insulted him, so she hastened to add, “A Renaissance man is a person with lots of skills, who can do anything. It comes from—”

“I know that.” Slowly lowering the canteen, his dark eyes impaled her. “I’m not stupid.”