ChasetheLightning (12 page)

She looked at the picture of Rob she kept on her dresser.
Had his eyes always been that close together, his nose that sharp, his lips
that thin? She thought of Trey’s full lower lip, remembered the touch of it,
the taste of it.

“Stop it!” she muttered. “You love Rob, and he loves you.”

But did she, really? How could she truly be in love with Rob
if another man attracted her so? She’d hardly spared Rob a thought since Trey’s
mysterious appearance. Of course, she could make excuses for that. Trey had
been hurt. She had been naturally curious about who he was and where he came
from. She had been worried about him, afraid he might die.

Curious? her conscience chided. Is that why you kissed him?
Because you were curious?

“Oh, shut up.”

She’d said she was going to wash her hair, so she went into
the bathroom and turned on the shower. Maybe she should make it a cold one, she
thought. Maybe that would drive him out of her mind.

It didn’t.

She washed her hair. She put a fresh Band-Aid over the cut
in her hand. She did her nails. She applied her make up carefully, and refused
to think of why she was going to so much trouble. She pulled on a pair of
stretch jeans and a tank top, put on her shoes and then, with a sigh, she sat
down on the edge of the bed. How could she face him after the way she had run
out of the room?

She almost jumped out of her skin when he knocked on the
door.

“You ever coming out of there?” he called, and she heard the
laughter in his voice. “I’m getting hungry.”

Just like a man, she thought irritably, always expecting to
be waited on. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and opened the door. “I was
just coming down.”

He looked at her, one brow arched.

“Well, I was!” she snapped.

He wisely refrained from saying anything further as he
followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest,
while she opened the refrigerator and slammed things down on the counter.

She had just finished making two sandwiches when the
doorbell rang.

Trey automatically reached for his Colt, swore under his
breath when he realized it was still under the seat in the car. He was getting
damned careless, his mind too much on this woman. He pulled the big Bowie knife
from its sheath on his gunbelt, which was still draped over the chair where
he’d left it the day before.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wide. “This isn’t
the Wild West, you know. Put that thing away.”

The doorbell rang again.

Amanda looked at Trey, who was still holding the knife. With
a shake of her head, she went to answer the door.

“Rob!” Dressed in a white sport shirt, a pair of gray
slacks, and black loafers, his blond hair freshly cut, he looked as handsome as
always.

“Hi, honey bunch. Thought I’d surprise you.” Pulling her
into his arms, he kissed her soundly, then grinned at her. “I see the horse
came back.”

“Yes,” she said, her mind whirling. How was she going to
explain Trey to Rob?

“You got anything to eat?” Rob asked, closing the door
behind him.

“Sure, I was just making lunch.” Taking a deep breath, she
went into the kitchen.

Trey looked up as she entered the room. “Who was at the…?”
His voice trailed off at the sight of a man entering the kitchen behind her.
Trey stared at the stranger, certain they had met before, but of course, that
was impossible.

“Trey, this is my fiancé, Rob Langley. Rob, this is Trey.
He’s…he’s a friend of…of my family’s. From Montana.”

Trey looked at her, one brow arched. Montana?

Rob glanced casually at the wicked-looking blade in Trey’s
hand. “Heck of a mayonnaise knife,” he said.

Trey wasn't sure what mayonnaise was, but he certainly
understood the casual challenge in the other man's words. He shoved the Bowie
back into its sheath as Rob stepped forward, smiling, one hand outstretched.
“Whereabouts in Montana are you from?”

“Billings,” Trey answered, shaking Rob’s hand. At the
moment, it was the only Montana town that came to mind.

“Always a pleasure to meet a friend of Amanda’s.” Rob sat
down at the table. “I didn’t catch your last name.”

“Long Walker,” Trey said.

“Sounds Native American,” Rob said. “Or do you prefer
Indian?”

“It’s Apache,” Trey said. Native American? What the hell was
that?

Rob grunted. “Apache, you say? I’ve met a few in my time.”
He glanced at the gunbelt draped over the chair. “I reckon that’s yours. Looks
like fine old hand-tooled leather. Mind if I have a look?”

Trey handed it across.

Rob examined the leather work with appreciation, touched the
haft of the knife. “Do you mind?”

Trey hesitated a moment, then shook his head. Rob slid the
knife from the sheath, handling the blade in the manner of a man familiar with
weapons.

“Hand-made, or I miss my guess,” Rob said. “And by a master
smith. Impressive.” He slid the knife back into the sheath and turned his
attention to the empty holster. “Authentic—not one of these stiff-leather
Hollywood things. Is there a six-gun that goes with it?”

“It’s…” Trey paused, wondering how to explain that his Colt
was in Amanda’s car.

“I’ll go get it,” Amanda said quickly, and left the kitchen.

Rob raised his eyebrows. “You let her handle your firearms?”

“Seemed safe enough,” Trey ventured. “Although she said they
make her nervous.”

“Weapons make her nervous?” Rob said with a chuckle. “Do
tell. That’s something she’ll have to get over, since she’s marrying a bounty
hunter.”

Before Trey could come up with a suitable reply, Amanda was
back, holding his Colt with both hands. Rob held out his hand expectantly. She
glanced at Trey for approval then offered Rob the pistol, butt first.

“Good girl,” he said with a smile of approval. He thumbed
open the loading gate, spun the cylinder with familiarity. “One empty chamber
under the hammer,” he said. “You’re a careful man. I like that. So am I.” He
punched the five live rounds out into his palm and stood them neatly in a row
on the table, then turned the weapon over in his hands, aimed it at the far
wall, checking its balance.

Next he examined the barrel, reading the patent and proof
marks. His brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“I took this for a replica,” he said. “Look at that bluing.
Damn thing looks almost new, just a little holster wear. But the barrel
markings—is this an authentic Colt .45?”

“I don’t use any other kind,” Trey said.

“Well,” Rob said, looking at Amanda, “I am very impressed.
Your friend walks around using an authentic Colt for his Old West getup.” He
hefted the gun again. “I could get three thousand dollars for this if I could
get a dime.” He looked at Trey. “I don't suppose you’d consider parting with
it? How long have you had it?”

“I'll hang onto it,” Trey said. “I got it in Tucson, a few
years back.”

He didn’t say he’d paid forty dollars for it brand-new. This
man knew too much about guns. Like everything else in this century, the price
of weapons seemed to have sky high, though he couldn’t imagine anyone paying
three thousand dollars for a gun.

Rob nodded as he handed the weapon to Trey. “I’ll be going
to Tucson on business in a couple of days. What’s the name of the dealer where
you bought that Colt? I’d like to pick one up. I collect old guns. The real
thing when I can find them; reproductions when I can’t.”

Trey opened the gun’s loading gate, replaced the ammunition,
and holstered the Colt. He wasn’t sure what a reproduction was, but he sure as
hell wasn’t going to let good old Rob know that.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “The fella I bought it from is dead.”
Bound to be, Trey mused, since the sale had taken place over a hundred years
ago.

“Too bad,” Rob said. “Guess I’ll just settle for lunch.”

“And it’s ready,” Amanda announced as she finished making
Rob’s sandwich. She put a plate in front of Trey and one in front of Rob. “What
would you two like to drink?”

“Iced tea if you’ve got it,” Rob said.

Trey looked up at Amanda, a question in his eyes. She
frowned at him, her expression clearly saying,
don’t ask
.

“I’m having coffee,” she said. “Trey, would you like some?”

“Sure.” He watched as she opened the refrigerator door, took
out a pitcher, and filled a tall green glass with what looked like weak coffee.
She added a spoonful of sugar, stirred it, and set it on the table in front of
Rob.

“Hey,” he said, taking hold of her bandaged hand. “What
happened here?”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I cut it on a knife.”

“You sure it’s okay? Did you have a doctor look at it?”

“It’s fine.” Sliding her hand out of his grasp, she poured
two cups of coffee and put them on the table, then grabbed her own plate, and,
with a smile, sat down between the two men. “So, Rob,” she said brightly. “Tell
us about your trip. Did you catch your man?”

“Honey, don’t I always?” Rob took a bite of his sandwich,
and washed it down with a long swallow of iced tea. “He’s cooling his heels in
jail where he belongs.”

Trey grunted softly. “Bounty hunting pay good these days?”

“Not bad,” Rob said, turning his gaze on Trey. “Bail
bondsmen have a lot of bail money at stake when some dirtbag skips out on a
court appearance. “What line of work are you in?”

“Banking,” Trey replied calmly. He bit back a grin when he
saw Amanda’s eyes widen.

“Good steady work,” Rob said, though it was clear, from the
tone of his voice, that he thought banking was about as exciting as working in
a shoe store.

Trey glanced at Amanda. “I’ve found it to be profitable.”

Amanda almost choked on her coffee at that. Rob leaned over
and pounded her on the back.

Trey took that moment to make his exit. “I’ll give you two a
little privacy,” he said.

Slinging his gunbelt over his shoulder, he clapped his hat
on his head, and picked up what was left of his sandwich. Turning away from the
table, he grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and headed out the
back way.

The stallion whinnied softly when he heard the kitchen door
open.

“Hey, boy,” Trey said, approaching the corral. He held out
the apple. “Here ya go.”

The stallion tossed its head, then plucked the apple from
Trey’s hand. Juice dripped from the stud’s mouth as it noisily ate the fruit,
core and all.

Trey leaned against the fence post. “Did you see him, that
bounty hunter?” he asked the stallion. “Hell, he was so pretty, I felt like
tippin’ my hat.”

The stallion blew out a breath, which sounded strangely
disdainful.

Trey ginned. “Yeah. What does she see in that tenderfoot?”
Finishing his sandwich, he wiped his hands on the sides of his jeans. “He
doesn’t look like any bounty hunter I ever saw. Not like old Wolf Langley… Now
there’s a man to be reckoned with, but…”

Trey swore as his mind made the connection. Langley! No, it
couldn’t be… No wonder the man looked familiar.

Impossible as it was to believe, Trey would swear that that
greenhorn up at the house was related to Wolf Langley.

Amanda sat back in her chair, listening to Rob as he related
how he had tracked Jeb Bolander to his family��s house in West Virginia.

“You should have seen that place,” he said. “Looked like
something out of
Deliverance
. His old lady came after me with a rolling
pin. And his two brothers threatened to skin me alive.”

“Rob, that’s awful!”

He brushed off her concern with a wave of his hand. “Not
really, it happens all the time.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it home safe.”

Her mind wandered as he reminisced about other cases he had
been on. Once, she had been fascinated by his stories; now, she found herself
wondering where Trey had gone. Trey Long Walker. She recalled wondering if he
had Indian blood when she first saw him. Now she knew.

Once, she had thought Rob the handsomest of men; now, she
found herself comparing him to Trey; now Rob came in a poor second.

Once, she had been excited at the thought of being Rob’s
wife; now…

“What?” She gave a guilty start as she realized Rob had
asked her something and she had no idea what it was.

“I said where would you like to go tonight?”

“Go?”

“Sure. We always go out to dinner when I get home. What are
you in the mood for tonight? Italian? Chinese? Hey, there’s a new sushi bar in
town.”

“Sushi!” She grimaced.

“I’ll get you to try it sooner or later.”

“I doubt it. Anyway, I probably shouldn’t go…”

“Why not?”

“Well, I have company, and…”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I’m sure he would, but it would be rude of me to go off and
leave him here alone.”

“I see. So, you’re more concerned about his feelings than
mine, is that it?”

“Of course not,” she said quickly, but…”

“I wasn’t going to mention it, but you didn’t sound too
happy to hear from me when I called the other night.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“I was just…you know, just distracted.”

“By Long Walker?” he asked sharply.

“Yes. No. I…” She looked at Rob helplessly, not knowing what
to say.

“So that’s the way it is. I think I’d better be going,” he
said, pushing away from the table. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your
‘guest’.”

“Rob…” She stood, torn between asking him to stay and
wanting him to leave so she could go out and see what Trey was doing.

He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I’ll call you next
week,” he said.

“Fine.”

She watched him walk out of the room. Why wasn’t she more
upset that he was leaving? Why hadn’t she tried to placate him, the way she
usually did? She hadn’t seen him in almost a week, yet she wanted to be with
Trey more than she wanted to be with Rob.

“I don’t love him,” she murmured. “Maybe I never did.” She
looked at the ring on her finger, then slowly slid it off and put it in the
empty candy dish on the mantle. Surprisingly, she felt suddenly light and
carefree.

Going to the window, she looked outside. Rob’s car was a
distant cloud of dust, but it was Trey who held her attention. He was standing
inside the corral, talking to the stallion. Her gaze moved over him. He was
tall and lean and rugged, a feast for her eyes from his thick blue-black hair
and broad shoulders to his slim hips and long, long legs. He had strapped on
his gunbelt and the wicked looking knife. The Colt looked good on his hip, as
if it belonged there. A few years back, he would have been the perfect model
for the Marlboro man.

She glanced at the dishes on the table. They could wait, she
decided, and went outside, her heart pounding, her stomach fluttering with
excitement.

“He didn’t stay long,” Trey remarked as she approached.

She shrugged. “I think he’s mad at me.”

“Why?”

“Well, he asked me to go out with him, and I said no, that I
didn’t want to leave you here alone.”

Trey raised one brow. “Afraid I’ll steal the family silver?”

“Of course not. The truth is, I just didn’t want to go.”

Trey grunted softly. “I thought you were in love with the
guy.”

She lifted one hand and studied her nails for a moment
before replying, “I thought so, too.”

Trey’s gaze moved over her. She was prettier than a little
red heifer in a field of flowers. “He’ll be back.”

“Maybe.”

Trey fought down an unreasonable wave of jealousy. “No maybe
about it. The man would be a fool to…”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “To what?”

“Nothing.”

“Why the gun?”

“I thought I’d take Relámpago out for a while.”

“Oh.” She hesitated a moment. “Would you mind… Can I come
along?”

“We’d have to ride double.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay by me.” Trey opened the corral gate and whistled
softly. Relámpago followed him back to the barn. Trey saddled the stallion,
then lead the horse out of the barn. Returning to the corral, Trey lifted
Amanda onto the horse’s back, then swung up behind her and took up the reins.
“Where shall we go?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Where were you
going?”

“No place in particular.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Trey clucked to the stud and the horse moved out. Once clear
of the yard, he followed what looked like a game trail.

“What are you doing living out here by yourself,” Trey
asked. “It’s not safe for a woman alone.”

“I’m just as safe here as anywhere else. There’s violence
everywhere these days, especially in some of the bigger cities. Gangs…young men
with guns and a grudge against society, are a big problem. Lots of kids, and
adults, too, are doing drugs…”

“Drugs?”

“Yes. There’s all kinds of things out there that are illegal
that make you feel good—marijuana, crack, heroin. Unfortunately, some of them
also make you crazy in the head.” She laughed softly. “Life was probably safer,
and saner, in your time than it is now.”

Trey grunted softly. His time. How was he ever going to find
his way back to his own time? And did he really want to?

They rode in silence for a while. Trey tightened his arm
around her waist a little, and she leaned back against him. Her scent filled
his nostrils. A few strands of her hair fluttered against his cheek. He moved
his arm a little, and felt the warmth of her breasts.

He shifted in the saddle as his jeans grew suddenly tight in
a particular area of his anatomy.

It was pretty country. Red hills, blue sky, the desert blooming
from the recent rains. For the first time in years, he felt tongue-tied,
awkward, like some green kid with his first girl. Hell, he hadn’t been this
nervous with his first girl. Of course, she hadn’t been a girl, but a woman in
her prime, a little overblown, with a lot of experience where men were
concerned. She had been patient with him and after he had taken her, rough and
quick the first time, she had showed him there was a better way.

Amanda looked at him over her shoulder. “What are you thinking
about?”

And he blushed like a kid caught with his pants down behind
the barn.

“Well, come on, tell me,” she said, grinning.

“We’d better stop here.” He slid over Relámpago’s rump, and
then lifted Amanda from the stud’s back.

“Why are we stopping?”

“My back’s a little sore.” It wasn’t the truth, but he
couldn’t tell her that, couldn’t tell her that her nearness was playing havoc
with his senses.

She sat down on a flat rock. “Tell me about your life,” she
said. “I don’t know anything about you.”

He sat cross-legged on the ground, facing her. “There’s not
much to tell.”

“Oh, come on. A bank robber from the past, and there’s
nothing to tell!”

He grunted softly.

“You told Rob you’re Apache,” she remarked. “On whose side?”

“My mother’s. Is that a problem?”

“No, I’ve always loved Indians.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “They fascinate me. Their way of life and
beliefs. I’ve read a lot about them.”

“It’s a good way to live.”

“Why did you rob that bank?”

As briefly as possible, he told her about Hollinger, and how
the banker had refused to grant his father an extension on their loan. “And
then, when I had the man in my sights, I couldn’t do it,” he said, his voice
thick with self-disgust. “I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

“I’m glad.”

He looked at her askance, one brow raised.

“Bank robbery is one thing, murder is another.”

“Hollinger murdered my old man, and no one did a damn thing
about it.”

“Trey…”

“Why would they?” he said bitterly. “He was just a drunk, a
squaw man.”

Leaning forward, she placed her hand on his knee. “I’m sorry,
Trey.”

He looked up and met her eyes, and suddenly the past didn’t
matter. Nothing mattered but now, and the woman sitting across from him, her
green eyes dark with compassion.

“Are you gonna marry that tenderfoot?”

Amanda stared at Trey. It was a question she had asked
herself ever since he rode into her life.

She was still trying to form an answer when Trey dragged her
onto his lap and kissed her. At the first touch of his lips on hers, her
eyelids fluttered down, her heartbeat increased. The world and its troubles
fell away. Her arms went around him, holding him tight. His tongue slid over
her lower lip, tantalizing, softly entreating, and she opened for him, shivers
of delight coursing through her. She pressed against him, wanting to feel the
hardness of his body against her own. Her hands moved restlessly up and down
his back, then slid under his shirt, reveling in the touch of his skin, the way
his muscles rippled beneath her fingertips.

She drew back as her hand encountered the bandage swathed
around his middle. “Did I hurt you?”

He groaned deep in his throat. “I’m hurting, sweetheart, but
not there.”

He wanted her. The knowledge filled her with pleasure and a
sense of power. She dragged her fingertips lightly up and down his spine. When
his hand brushed against her breast, she moaned with pleasure, leaning into his
touch, wanting more. More.

She shifted uncomfortably as her hip pressed against the
butt of his gun and she burst out laughing.

Trey drew back. “What’s so funny?”

She shook her head, unable to stop laughing. “Is that a gun
in your pocket,” she gasped, wiping the tears from her eyes, “or are you just
glad to see me?”

He frowned at her. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s an old joke.”

“Heck of a time to be making jokes,” he muttered.

But it had come at just the right time, she thought, before
things between them went any farther. There was too much standing between them
now, and Rob was the least of her worries. She was afraid she was falling in
love with Trey, afraid he’d suddenly disappear from her life, and take her
heart with him. That would be bad enough, but if they were intimate…she shook
her head. Now was not the time to be falling head over heels into his arms. Not
until she knew if he felt the same. Not without some kind of commitment, though
promises of forever seemed out of the question, given the circumstances.

Rising, she brushed off her jeans. “I think we’d better go.”

He rose to his feet in a lithe easy motion. “If that’s what
you want.”

“Trey…”

He waved a hand, silencing her. “You changed your mind. Hey,
I understand.”

“I don’t think so,” she muttered drily.

He moved toward her, a hungry look in his eye. “Wanna
explain it to me?”

She held out her hands to hold him off. “Trey, this is all
happening way too fast. And…”

“Not too fast for me,” he replied, a wicked gleam in his
eye.

“And we don’t know how long you’ll be here…”

“All the more reason to hurry.”

“No!” She stamped her foot. “Listen to me!”

“Sweetheart, you’re not saying anything I wanna hear.”

“Trey, I can’t just fall into your arms. I want more than
just a…a…quick roll in the hay.”

He came to an abrupt halt. “Is that what you think this is?”

“I don’t know.” She lifted her chin. “Is it?”

Trey muttered an oath. Women always wanted to talk at the
wrong time.

“I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is I want you,
and as near as I can tell, you want me. Why complicate it with a lot of talk?”

“I don’t know what kind of women you’re used to,” she
retorted, her cheeks flushing, “or what kind of woman you think I am, but I’m
not in the habit of falling into bed with every dusty cowhand who rides up to
my door.”

Trey held up both hands. “Easy now.”

She took a deep, calming breath. “I think we’d better go
back, before we both say things we might regret.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I think you’re right.”

He lifted her onto Relámpago’s back, and swung up behind
her. Taking up the reins, he clucked to the stud.

It was a long, quiet ride back to the house.

There was a battered red pickup truck with a dented fender
parked near the barn when they rode into the yard.

Amanda frowned. “Wonder who that belongs to,” she murmured.

Trey shrugged. He was about to dismount when he noticed two
men dressed in baggy overalls standing in the shadowy interior of the barn.

A third man, dressed in faded blue jeans, a black tee shirt,
and a battered felt hat, stepped out of the house onto the front porch.

“What are you doing in my house?” Amanda exclaimed. Trey’s
arm tightened around her waist. She could feel the coiled tension in him.

“Just waiting for you to get home,” the man drawled. He
glanced at Trey.

“Where’s the bounty hunter?”

“Rob?” A shiver of unease slid down her spine. “Who are
you?”

“Name’s Bolander,” the man on the porch said.

Bolander! Amanda shifted uneasily in the saddle. She felt
Trey’s breath fan her cheek as he whispered, “Easy, sweetheart.”