Linda Warren - Deep In The Heart Of Texas

A blast of cold wind hit her, reminding her of the low nightly temperatures. The extra clothing prevented her from being miserable with cold yet, but she knew it would get much worse.

The moon beamed just brightly enough for her to see shapes in the darkness. Sounds she’d never heard before filled the night, soft, cooing, rustling sounds. Fear, her new companion, became distinct and vivid and tightened her nerves into knots.

“Stay close behind me,” he said over his shoulder.

She didn’t intend on staying anywhere else. As long as she could see him, she felt safe.

They walked and walked, trudging up hills through thickets and bushes, then down into valleys of tall dried weeds. Miranda tried hard to keep up. She had to.

It amazed her that he knew exactly where he was going. Each tree, bush and trail seemed familiar to him. Several times he held a branch so she could walk through without being slapped in the face. At least he was considerate, she decided.

Leaves crunched beneath her feet, bushes tugged at her clothes, and several times she tripped on something but always managed to steady herself. Her strength was waning, though. An aching weariness gripped every muscle, and her legs began to cramp. Ask him to stop, her brain told her, but his words reverberated in her head. No questions, tears or complaints. She had to go on. She had to show him she wasn’t a whimpering whiny female.

The wind chilled her to the bone, and the night sounds surrounded her with magnified intensity. Her legs grew tighter and tighter, and she could barely move them. The hermit’s back became a dim shape. She was falling behind.

As that realization crossed her mind, her legs locked in pain, and she fell flat on her face. “Oh, Lord, just let me die,” she whispered, praying for the pain in her legs to ease.

“Get up,” a booming voice ordered from above.

For a moment she thought it was God talking to her, but God wouldn’t have that note of impatience in His voice.

It was the hermit.

So much for considerate.

“Get up,” he said again.

She struggled to her knees. Words like “I can’t” or “Please help me” hovered on her lips, but she ignored them. She couldn’t fall apart this soon. They’d just started their journey. She was stronger than this, surely.

The dog licked her nose and she wrapped her arms around him in gratitude. He liked her. That incentive, that warm touch, was all she needed to propel herself to her feet. Pain shot up her back, and she winced in agony, but she wouldn’t complain. She had given him her word.

The hermit turned and headed off again. Miranda slowly followed, ordering herself to pick up her feet, each step excruciating. After a few minutes he stopped.

“Time to rest for a while,” he said. He removed the pack and sank to the ground, leaning against a tree, the rifle beside him.

Miranda collapsed on a bed of dried leaves at his feet and took several gulps of cold air to still her racing heart. Thank God, thank God, she said over and over in her mind. Now her legs could rest.

As he watched her prone body, he knew she was exhausted and in pain. He’d expected her to ask him to stop, but she hadn’t. It was probably because she recognized the futility of going up against that stubborn nature of his—the one he’d been told about so many times. Especially by Sheila. He shook his head to clear the memory.

Women. He would never figure them out. Not that he had to anymore, but he’d say one thing for Miranda Maddox. She had guts. The unfamiliar woods, especially at night, were frightening to her, yet she kept walking, determined to go on. He had pushed her hard, but he had to. It was crucial that she be able to withstand the strain of the ordeal ahead of them. Amazingly she’d passed his test.

Yeah, the lady had guts.

Miranda lay on her stomach, her head on her arm. As she relaxed, the cramps in her legs began to diminish. Her body became aware of another problem—the bitter cold. An icy chill stung her nose and lips, her fingers. She rolled over, her hands finding the pockets of her coat. As she stared up at the sky, she caught her breath. Through the cobweb branches of the trees, glistening stars sparkled like diamonds, beckoning, beguiling everyone to gaze at their special wonder.

The same stars sparkled over the ranch, over her father and mother. They had to be worried about her. Her parents were divorced and her mother lived in California, but she was probably here by now. She could never cope with a crisis. She panicked if she broke a fingernail. So Miranda felt sure her mother was sedated and aware of very little. But her father was strong; he would be handling the whole situation, figuring out how to bring his daughter back, regardless of cost.

Why was Spikes doing this? Her father trusted him completely. Why—

Something rustled in the leaves beside her, and she instantly pushed herself into a sitting position, scooting nearer to the hermit. She remembered what he’d said about coyotes, and she tensed again. But she wouldn’t panic. She wouldn’t lose control.

As that resolve entered her mind, a hideous-looking creature ran across her legs through the leaves into the darkness. Fear gripped her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

“It’s only an armadillo searching for food. He’s harmless,” the hermit said.

“Oh.” She swallowed hard, not knowing anything about armadillos except that they had armored bodies, long tails and pointy noses. She’d never thought she would be up close and personal with one. But the hermit said they were harmless and she believed him. She leaned against a tree, trying to quiet her racing heart.

The silence stretched between them. She sat on the ground not two feet from him. Neither spoke. For a moment she wondered if he was asleep, but realized he wasn’t. He was too cunning for that.

Glancing toward the stars, she let their beauty calm her. Something suddenly occurred to her, a question she had to ask. She gathered her courage. “Could you tell me what day it is, please?”

“Wednesday night” was the quiet response.

“Wednesday night? They kidnapped me on Monday morning,” she said slowly. “I remember sitting on the patio, drinking coffee, and trying to decide what I was going to do with my life. Someone clamped a rag over my nose and mouth, and everything went black. I woke up in that awful room. I thought I was in some horrible dream because I’d wake up, then fall back asleep. They must have drugged me. It was probably good they did, or I would have lost my mind.”

She waited for a response, but none was forthcoming.

The dog whined.

The hermit muttered a few words in a low voice; she didn’t catch them.

“Did you say something?” she murmured.

“No,” he said in a clipped tone, but he had. He was talking to the dog.

The dog came over and rested his head in her lap. She stroked the soft head with her hand. “What’s his name?”

“Bandit,” he replied. Bandit the traitor, he thought to himself. That stupid dog really liked her.

“Oh, because of the black circle around his left eye?” She couldn’t see the circle in the darkness, but she had earlier.

“Yeah.”

“He’s a sweet dog,” she added, and continued to rub his head.

He didn’t answer, but saw her glance up at the sky again, her hand resting on Bandit. “Here in the vast outdoors my problems seem insignificant.”

“They’re not,” he said shortly.

He had his mind on Spikes, but she obviously didn’t. “I’m not talking about Spikes,” she told him. “I’m talking about my problems before I was kidnapped. I’d just broken up with my fiancé, after getting engaged at Christmas. It was what I wanted and…”