Montana Wildfire Page 11

  Someone was out there. Someone was watching them. The hair at her nape still prickled with awareness. Goosebumps still tingled on her forearms and legs.

  She opened her eyes, and pulled the man crouching beside her into focus. Jake's features were hard. The copper flesh between his brows was pinched in a warning scowl, and the muscle in his cheek pulsed erratically as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

  His expression would have intimidated her, had she time to be intimidated. She didn't. She had to warn Jake about whoever was out there, and she had to do it before whoever it was took them by surprise. "I... I heard a noise, Mr. Chandler."

  "A noise? That's it?" Jake rolled his weight back on his heels. His hands hung limply between his knees. Too limply, Amanda thought. It was as though he was making a conscious effort not to wrap his fingers around her throat and squeeze—the way his eyes said he wanted so badly to do.

  His sleep-tousled hair swayed around his shoulders when he shook his head in disgust. "Well, isn't that dandy! You almost get my knife planted in your skull just because you wanted to tell me you heard a noise. Shit, lady, should I even ask what you'd do if you saw a bear?" He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to answer. "Forget I asked."

  Resentment coiled in Amanda's stomach. She welcomed the distraction. Anger was good, it was healthy... and it was much, better, much safer than the terror that had preceded it.

  Feeling suddenly small and vulnerable curled up in a shivering ball at his feet, she pushed herself into a sitting position. She had to look up to meet his eyes, but at least she didn't feel so vulnerable, so miserably feminine! Her fingers, she was glad to find, didn't shake too much when she tucked a thick, sleep-tangled curl behind her ear.

  Her gaze lifted, and meshed with his hard, steely glare. "I did hear a noise."

  "I'll bet." His tone said he doubted it, as did the sharp glint in his eyes. Amanda bristled. "Know what else I'd bet on? I'd bet the noise you say you heard was made by a squirrel. Or the wind."

  "Are you calling me a liar?" Her chin tipped, her green eyes shimmering a challenge.

  One black brow slanted a reciprocal dare. His voice remained as cold as the look in his eyes. "No, princess, I'm calling you an alarmist. There's a difference."

  "Not much of one! Would I have woken you up if I didn't think it was important?" She sucked in a steadying breath. It didn't help. Her fingers curled around fistfuls of her wrinkled calico skirt. "I'm telling you, I. Heard. A. Noise!"

  "And I'm telling you it was the wind."

  "What wind?" she demanded. To prove her point, she licked the tip of her index finger. Jake's glare tracked the movement. Amanda tried not to notice the heat that gaze caused to spread up her arm. It was impossible not to notice her reciprocal shiver of reaction. Her tone lost its sting as she held her wet finger up in the air. "There's a breeze, I'll grant you that, but no wind. And even if there was—which there isn't, but if there was—it still wouldn't explain the twigs I heard snapping."

  She paused for affect—of which there was little, except the veiled suspicion she saw shimmering in his eyes. "Footsteps, Mr. Chandler. That's what I heard. Footsteps."

  "No, Miss Lennox. What you heard was a squirrel. Or a dog. Or a fox. Or... hell, I don't know." His shrug was jerky and strained as he pushed to his feet. "If you were from around these parts you'd know that at this time of morning, sound travels. Things seem louder than they are. Noises get distorted, warped. What you say you heard could have been damn near anything, coming from damn near anywhere."

  Amanda gritted her teeth with frustration. There was no reasoning with this man, really there wasn't. "I didn't hear just 'anything,' I heard footsteps. And they were close by."

  He glanced away. "So you say, and so I still don't believe. Now, if you'd seen someone that would be different..."

  Amanda scrambled to her feet. Hoisting the skirt up so it wouldn't trip her, she dogged his footsteps with a stilted, limping gait of her own. She contained—barely—the urge to smack him good.

  Why wouldn't Jake believe her? she wondered, as she stared at a point midway between his shoulder blades. He'd shrugged on a shirt at some point during the night. The faded, forest green cotton stretched over his sinewy shoulders, the color an earthy compliment to his copper skin and jet-black hair. The material left no doubt as to the powerful muscles bunching beneath. Her traitorous heart skipped a beat.

  Exactly when her resentment began to fade, Amanda couldn't say. She only knew that it had dulled, and that she didn't like it one little bit. Fury was sensible, safe. This white-hot awareness of all things male—of all things Jake Chandler—well, that wasn't sensible at all. And nothing about it—about him—about her reaction to him—could be misconstrued as safe. Just the opposite; it was hot and dangerous.

  She tore her gaze from his back and found herself staring intently at his hips; lean and firm, provocatively molded by tough, clinging denim. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. Lord, he was nicely shaped. And had she really thought looking there would be a safe, sensible thing to do? She was wrong. Dead wrong. Glancing at his rock-solid thighs wasn't any better.

  Dammit! Wasn't there an inch of his body that was safe to look at? Was there a sliver of him that didn't spark some complex, erotic reaction in her? If so, Amanda couldn't find it.

  She raked him head to toe, her gaze momentarily cool and objective. The man had no obvious flaws. Oh, hell! the man had no unobvious flaws, either. From the top of his head to the tips of his bare feet, every inch of him was formed to appeal to the eye—and the soul. Every single inch!

  He was heading for the tree trunk he'd sunken his knife into. The progress of his swaggering strides made the air around Amanda shift. Feeling the kiss of it against her cheeks, she slowed her pace and drew in a curious breath.

  She froze. Her fists uncurled. The skirt slipped from her slackened grasp, rustling around her ankles in wrinkled calico folds. She might as well have walked face first into a solid brick wall; the scent of him had that great an affect on her.

  The morning smelled abruptly of spicy man and freshly milled soap. It was a fatal combination; a flagrantly male, blatantly seductive one.

  Jake felt the heat of her gaze on his back, but most of his attention was trained on his knife. The hilt bit into his palm when his fingers curled around it. The muscles in his shoulder and arm strained as he wrenched the blade free. Chunks of bark rained to the ground, nipping at the tops of his bare feet.

  He stared at the blade, scowling darkly. An image of what would have happened had his aim been true—which it usually was—flashed through Jake's mind. The vision was brief, wispy, gone as quickly as it had come. His reaction was disturbing; it lasted a hell of a lot longer!

  A shiver iced through him. The sensation started where the cool wooden hilt was warming to his palm. Tremors vibrated up his arm in increasingly chilly waves, and...

  Dammit! he was shaking again. A cold sweat broke out on his chest and brow. His gut twisted, and his heart felt tight, as though invisible fingers had clamped around it and squeezed it in a death-grip. Unwelcome sensations invaded his body and his mind, humming through the rest of him with alarming speed and accuracy. If Jake didn't know better, he would have sworn he was getting his first real taste of fear.

  He took a few needed seconds to compose himself. The grass felt cold and dewy beneath his feet as, tucking the knife into its leather sheath, he turned to look at Amanda.

  His heart sank. She wasn't standing where she should be. In fact, she wasn't standing anywhere at all. The clearing was empty.

  Miss Abigail Henry owned and ran the best finishing school Boston had to offer. The teachers there had diligently taught Amanda how to make excruciatingly small embroidery stitches, how to master the pianoforte and harp, and how to command a battery of household servants. Roland Lennox had paid a small fortune for his daughter to learn everything she needed to know to become a lady. Amanda had learned it all—grudgingly, true, but she had le
arned it.

  Only now did she realize her educators had left out life's most important lesson: how a woman managed to convince a stubborn-as-all-hell male to listen to reason!

  That Jake didn't believe she'd heard noises was frustrating. That she couldn't make him believe her was infuriating. Truly, he'd left her no choice. Either she searched the woods to see who'd made the footsteps that she had heard, or they would never know who was out there. Not knowing, always wondering if she was being secretly watched and evaluated, was unendurable.

  It had taken Amanda less than a second to decide to search the woods herself. It was the only way to get the job done, since Jake had made it clear he wouldn't do it.

  Up ahead another twig snapped. Amanda heard a muffled sound that might have been a voice, but might have been something else—it was too distant to be certain.

  She molded her back against a thick tree trunk, and her fingers trembled as she slipped the antique pistol from her pocket. As she'd done before, she prayed that the sight of it would be enough to scare whoever was out there away. And if it wasn't... well, she hoped Jake Chandler could live with her death on his conscience! If he even had a conscience, that is—he'd given her every reason to believe he didn't.

  The branches above shifted. Tiny paws scampered through the underbrush. The rustle of grass sounded exceptionally loud. Except for that—and one very shrill bird chirping from a branch high above—the woods were quiet. Too quiet, she thought, as, holding her breath, she slowly peeked around the tree.

  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?"

  "Yes," she lied with surprising ease. Well, it was either that, or tell him the truth and risk his opinion of her—which was already frighteningly low—lowering still more. She wasn't sure why the idea that Jake would think her a fool should bother her so much, it just did.

  He extended one coppery hand and wiggled his fingers expectantly. "Good. Hand it over."

  "I will not!"

  He grinned again.

  Amanda's heart stopped... again, then throbbed to vibrant life. Her knees felt watery. Oh, how she hated that! Embarrassing though it was to admit it, even to herself, the tree trunk grinding into her spine was the only thing keeping her erect.

  His eyes narrowed. The muscle in his cheek jerked. "Maybe you didn't hear me right, princess. I said give me the gun."

  "There's nothing wrong with my hearing, Mr. Chandler," she snapped, her voice rising to a very loud whisper, "but perhaps there's something wrong with yours. I said no."

  Jake sucked in an irritated breath and released it very, very slowly. The hand he'd extended curled into a fist, flexed twice, then gradually relaxed. His voice, when it came, sounded strained. "Give me the f—goddamn gun, lady. Now!"

  Amanda gasped. She felt her ch
eeks heat, though she refused to acknowledge that she was blushing. Of course not! She'd heard worse—from this man's lips, come to think of it. "There's no need to use that sort of language, Mr. Chandler."

  "No? Well, I for one think there is. And what you just heard is nothing compared to what you're going to hear if you don't hand over that pistol."

  Amanda knew she couldn't give him the gun. She'd told Jake it was loaded and it wasn't. If he discovered the truth, he'd be furious with her... again. She'd already seen enough of this man's volatile temper for one day, thank you very much. She tipped her chin and met his gaze with a level one of her own.

  "Mr. Chandler—" Her breath caught when he slashed his index finger across her lips, halting her words before they'd really begun. She felt the calloused roughness of his skin, the heat as well as the promise of his touch. His eyes darkened. A tremor rippled through his finger, through her. Her shiver of anger dissolved into a shiver of something entirely different, something strong, potent, distracting.

  Amanda leaned back against the tree when Jake angled his head, bringing his face near hers. His lips were a hair's breadth away from her ear. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the warm puffs of his breath on her cheek. She anticipated the contact of his mouth on hers. Anticipated, yet dreaded it.

  "Mr. Chandler..." she said suddenly, breathlessly, just to hear the sound of her own voice. At that moment, she would have said anything to break the tension that stretched like a taut, heated wire between them. She'd overlooked just one thing: the way her lips would move against Jake Chandler's finger when she spoke. His skin felt pleasantly warm, pleasantly rough. It abraded her tender lips and sparked a slow burn in her blood. "I'm not entirely sure the noise I heard was made by that rabbit."

  "Maybe not that rabbit specifically, but something just as harmless."