ChasetheLightning (8 page)

He lifted a quizzical brow. “You afraid I’m going to shoot
you?”

“Well, you
are
a bank robber.”

“This isn’t a bank.”

“Very funny.”

“Dammit, woman, give me my weapon!”

“No.”

“You can give it to me,” he said, his voice low and deadly,
“or I can tear this place apart looking for it. It’s up to you.”

He meant it. She didn’t doubt him for a minute. With a sigh
of exasperation, she relented. “Stay here,” she said, “I’ll get it.”

He watched her leave the room, annoyed that she thought he
would do her harm. He had never raised a hand to a woman in his life.

She returned a few minutes later carrying his gunbelt and
holster. She held it out to him the way she might have held a dead rat. “Here.”

“Obliged.” He took the gunbelt, slid his Colt from the
holster, and opened the loading gate to check his ammunition. He spun the
cylinder; then, satisfied, he dropped the gun back into its leather.

“Before we go to town, we need to talk about that gun,” she
said earnestly.

He stood to buckle the belt around his waist, settling it
comfortably.

“So talk,” he said.

“Men just don’t carry guns in public anymore,” she said.
“Not in town anyway.”

He nodded. “A lot of cow towns had rules like that. Liquor
and firearms don't mix.”

“You don't want to attract unwanted attention, do you?”

He considered it. “Okay, I'll leave the gunbelt here and
tuck my Colt under my shirt.”

“But that’s carrying a concealed weapon! That's against
the…”

“Law?” he finished with a smile.

Exasperated, she threw up her hands. “You won't like modern
jails. I can promise you that.”

“Hell, I don’t like any kind of jail,” he said lightly.
“I’ll be…discreet.”

“You really don’t need to wear it here in the house,
either,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I promise not to attack
you.”

His gaze moved over her, hot and heavy. “Afraid I can’t
promise you the same,” he drawled, and resisted the urge to smile. “But that
hasn’t got anything to do with six-guns, now does it?”

She wasn’t laughing at him now.

They finished the rest of the meal in silence.

Putting down his coffee cup, Trey pushed away from the
table. “Is it all right with you if I use the bathtub?”

“Of course. There are clean towels in the cupboard.”

He nodded. “I don’t reckon you’d wanna wash my back?”

“I reckon not,” she retorted.

Smothering a grin, he sauntered out of the room.

He was trouble. More trouble than she had ever imagined, she
thought as she watched him walk away.

But he came wrapped in a mighty nice package.

Trey stood in the bathroom, watching the tub fill with
water. It was nothing like the bathtubs he was used to. It was oval shaped, and
made of some slick material he didn’t recognize. And it was sky blue. Amanda
had shown him how to adjust the water to whatever temperature he preferred. He
shook his head. Hot running water piped right into the kitchen and the
bathrooms. He had never heard of such a thing.

Earlier, he had grabbed his razor from his saddlebag, noting
as he did so, that while all his gear was still there, the money was missing.
He would have to ask Miss Amanda about that, he thought. He had risked his life
for that money, and he didn’t intend to lose it now.

He shaved over the sink while he waited for the tub to fill.
Removing his gunbelt, he wrapped the belt around the holster and sheath and
laid it on top of the sink. He put the lid down on the toilet, sat and pulled
off his boots, then stood up and shrugged out of his clothes. He carefully
unwrapped the bandage swathed around his middle. The wound ached, especially
when he moved too quickly or forgot about it and bent over, but he had no
complaints. Hell, he was lucky to be alive.

He lowered himself into the tub, sighed with pleasure as the
hot water enveloped him. Leaning back, his head resting against the wall, he
closed his eyes. Heaven, he thought. Pure heaven.

* * * * *

Amanda finished making her bed, trying not to think of Trey.
Downstairs. Naked. In her bathtub.

The thought brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. What was
wrong with her? She shied away from the answer. Tried to think of something
else, but it was useless. He had been in her house a matter of days and had
taken over her every thought. And her dreams, as well, she thought irritably.
Oh, but what dreams!

Going downstairs, she took a load of towels out of the
washer and tossed them into the dryer, then went into the kitchen to wait for
him. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she glanced out the window, wondering
what he would think of her car, of the town.

He entered the kitchen a few minutes later. It was all she
could do to keep from staring at him. He had shaved, revealing a strong square
jaw, and had put on the shirt she had seen in his saddlebag. The dark red
accented the black of his hair and made his brown eyes seem ever darker.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

She noticed he was wearing the shirt loose, square tails
outside his pants. Quite casual, she thought, until she remembered his remark
about concealing his six-gun. Now that she was looking for it, she could see
the slight bulge beneath his shirt.

“Must you?” she asked.

He grinned. “You worry too much. I'm not here to rob any of
your banks.”

“You won't consider leaving it here?”

“No.” It was a flat negative and brooked no argument.

She sighed. “All right, but if you get arrested, I don't
know you.”

“Why would I get arrested?”

“You ever hear of metal detectors? No, of course you
haven't.”

He frowned, suspicious. “What the hell are metal detectors?”

“A way to tell if you're carrying a gun, even if it's
hidden. They have them in all the courts these days. Maybe in banks. Some
schools, even.”

“Schools? What the hell for?”

“We live in a complicated and violent world,” she replied
with a shrug.

“Well, I guess things really haven’t changed all that much
then,” he commented. “You aren’t planning on us going to any courts or banks,
are you? And I’m sure not going to school! So, now that we’ve got that settled,
are you ready to go?”

“All right.” Maybe she could persuade him to leave the gun
in the car, once she showed him that it could be locked away safely. “Just let
me grab my bag.”

He followed her outside, his expression puzzled when he
glanced around the yard. “How are you aiming to get to town? I don’t recall
seeing a buggy in the barn. And the only horse here is ‘Pago. You planning on
us riding double?” He flashed her a roguish grin. “Not a bad idea at that,
especially if you hang on real tight.”

She felt a rush of heat sweep into her cheeks. “We’ll take
my car, of course.”

“Car? What sort of animal is that?”

“You’ll see. Wait here.”

Leaving him waiting on the porch, she went down the stairs
and crossed the yard to the garage. Opening the door, she went inside, smiling
as she imagined his reaction.

The Jag was only a year old. Her uncle had bought it on a
whim. She had tried to talk him out of it. Sick as he was, he rarely left the
house except to go to the doctor, but he had insisted. He had always intended
to buy one before he died, he had told her, and time was running out. He had
let her pick it out. She had chosen the cheapest one available, which was far
from cheap, but he had waved her choice aside.
Pretend you’re buying it for
yourself
, he had said.
Which one would you choose?
Without
hesitation, she had picked a convertible. Platinum, with butter-soft ivory
leather interior, walnut trim, walnut gearshift knob, wood and leather steering
wheel, all for a mere sixty-six thousand dollars before tax and license. Uncle
Joe had insisted on chrome sports wheels. Another twelve hundred and ninety-five
dollars. Premium Alpine sound system with six CD disc auto changer? Only
eighteen hundred dollars.

When she saw the total, with tax and license, she had almost
fainted dead away. The Jag cost more than three times what her parents had paid
for their first house! Uncle Joe had waved her protests aside. “It’s only
money,” he’d said with a grin. And while that was true, it was more money than
most people made in a year.

She ran her hand over the hood. She had considered selling
it after her uncle died, but not for very long. Sleek and silver, it was poetry
in motion. And fast. So darn fast. It looked like it was moving even when it
was standing still. “A silver bullet” the salesman had said. Something like
zero to sixty is less than seven seconds. She had gotten a ticket for speeding
the day she drove it off the lot.

Sliding behind the wheel, she slipped the key into the
ignition, put the top and windows down. The engine purred like a well-fed cat
as she backed out of the garage.

Trey was staring at the car, eyes wide, when she drove up.

“Well,” she called, “what do you think?”

“What the hell is that?” he asked, backing away from the
edge of the porch.

“It’s an XK8 Jaguar convertible. Come on, get in.”

He looked dubious as he descended the stairs and walked around
the car to the passenger side.

She leaned across the seat and opened the door for him.
“Well? Are you going to get in?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“You’re not afraid, are you?”

“Hell, no,” he retorted. “Just figuring out how to mount
this thing.” He slid into the passenger seat and jammed his worn boots one at a
time into the passenger side footwell.

He was a good liar, she thought, smothering a grin. “This is
the steering wheel,” she said, tapping it with her finger. “This is the
dashboard. This is the radio.” She sighed, thinking of all the things he had to
learn. “A radio plays music.” She turned it on, and the voice of Conway Twitty
filled the air.

Trey frowned as music surrounded them. “How is that
possible?” he asked.

“It comes from a radio station. A building. A place that has
to do with air waves and radio signals, and…oh, I don’t know how to explain it.
Kind of like a telegraph without wires, I guess. You did have telegraphs back
then, didn't you?”

“I know what a telegraph is,” he said grimly. “But they
don't play music!”

She turned the radio down. “This is a CD player. It plays
music, too.” She slid a Kenny Rogers CD into the player. “This is the
temperature gauge. And this,” she reached across him. “This is a seat belt. You
fasten it like this.”

“What’s it for?” he asked, tugging on the strap across his
chest.

“To keep you from flying out of the car if we get in a
wreck.”

“Wreck?”

“An accident,” she said, putting the car in gear. “Don’t
worry about it. I’m a good driver.”

He muttered an oath as she pulled away from the front of the
house.

“Hang on.” She grinned as she accelerated, loving the feel
of the wind in her face and hair.

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. He didn’t look
scared, exactly, more like wary.

He had just settled back in his seat when a plane flew
overhead.

“What the hell is that?” he exclaimed.

“It’s an airplane. A jet. It’s a way to travel when you’re
in a hurry, or you’re going a long way and you don’t want to drive, or take the
train.”

He shook his head. “I see it, but I don’t believe it. People
are in that contraption?”

She laughed. “Yes, lots of them.”

“Voluntarily?”

She wanted to laugh harder, but one look at his face changed
her mind. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's an awful lot to
take in, especially all at once. I know I'd never do as well in your time if
our situations were reversed.”

His answering smile was her reward.

The road was straight for the first few miles, lined by
imported trees that had been planted years ago as windbreaks. The rolling
desert alongside the road was in full bloom after the winter rains. There was a
wide pleasant hollow off to the right. She always expected to see the delicate
desert whitewall deer for which the area was noted browsing there, but she
never had, though she had seem them in other places now and then.

“Nice looking buck,” Trey commented as they sped by. “Too
bad I didn't bring my rifle.”

“What?” Her foot lifted off the accelerator. “Where? I
didn’t see…”

“Back there a ways,” he said. “Bedded down by those cactus
on the ridge.” He grunted softly. “A long ways back now, fast as we're going.”

“I've never seen any deer there!”

“You’ve gotta know how to look,” he said, and grinned at
her. “I guess there are some things I could teach you after all.”

For once, his comment didn't seem to have a double meaning,
and she smiled. “I guess there are.”

The wildlife was one of the reasons she had bought the
house. She had grown up in the city, where the only wildlife she had seen had
been a dead possum in the road from time to time. But here, there were deer,
javelina, ground squirrels, raccoons, eagles, and an occasional coyote. In the
short time she had lived here, she had seen them all, and heard the coyotes
singing at night. The forty-five minute drive to town seemed a small price to
pay.

They rode in silence for a while. She glanced at Trey’s
stern profile. “You okay?”

“Just thinking. Does everyone have a…” He gestured at the
car. “One of these?”

“Most everyone. Cars replaced the horse and buggy in the
early part of the twentieth century. Horses are a luxury few people can afford
these days. Mostly they’re used for pleasure riding and horse racing. Oh, and
some of the police departments have mounted divisions.”

He fell silent again as he pondered that. Once his initial
trepidation wore off, he found himself enjoying the ride. The speed was
exhilarating. He ran his hand over the outside of the door, tapped it with his
finger.

“What is your…car…made of?”

“Gee, I’m not sure. Aluminum, maybe? I really don’t know.”

“Whatever alum-inum is,” he muttered, and then asked
abruptly, “Why do you live alone?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“In my time, young women didn’t live alone unless they
were…” His voice trailed off.

“Go on,” she urged. “Unless they were what?”

“Never mind,” he said gruffly.

“I live alone because I prefer it,” she said. After spending
two years being with her uncle almost day and night, she needed the solitude.

His next question caught her off guard. “Why aren’t you
married?”

“Why aren’t you?”

“How do you know I’m not?”

“Are you?” It had never occurred to her that he might be
married. She wasn’t sure why. Thinking of it now stirred something within her,
something that felt very much like jealousy.

“No.”

“Too busy robbing banks?”

He glowered at her. “That’s none of your business.”

“And my marital status is none of your business. But, if you
must know, I’m engaged.”

She slowed as the road curved. When they rounded the second
bend, the city came into view. It was a pretty sight, nestled in a valley among
the trees and red cliffs. The sun played hide and seek behind a scattering of
fluffy white clouds that drifted across the powder-blue sky.

Trey jerked his chin toward the town. “Is that where we’re
headed?”

“Yes. That’s Canyon Creek.”

“I’ve been there a time or two.”

She grinned at him. “Well, I’ll bet it’s changed some since
you saw it last.”

He grunted. “Reckon so.”

Ten minutes later, she pulled into a parking place on Main
Street. “Well,” she said, switching off the ignition. “We’re here.”

He grunted softly. On horseback, the journey would have
taken hours.

Unfastening her seat belt, Amanda took the keys from the
ignition. She started to get out of the car, then paused.

“Trey?”

“Yeah?”

“We can put your gun in the trunk and lock it. No one will
know it’s there, or be able to get it out.”

He glanced in the backseat, which wasn’t big enough to hold
a satchel, let alone anything bigger. “What trunk?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He got out of the car and followed her around to the back.
She slid a key into a lock and lifted a part of the car. “See?”

He blew out a breath. “You never let up, do you? All right,
this one time.”

He pulled the Colt from under his shirt and put it in the
trunk. She smiled her thanks as she closed the lid. Grabbing her handbag from
the backseat, she dropped the keys inside.