Cherished (22 page)

“I didn’t pick anyone! He picked me! He
wanted to marry me ...”

“I’ll bet he did.” Cole hauled her up to a
standing position and drew her to him with one arm locked around
her waist. His narrow-eyed gaze was filled with speculation.

“Those brothers of yours. Were they in on
this scheme with you?”

She glared at him. “There was no scheme ...
and I already told you they had nothing to do with what happened in
Denver.”

“Outlaw blood just happens to run in your
family,” he mocked.

The remark echoed so closely the kinds of
things Aunt Katharine used to hint at that Juliana was suddenly
overwhelmed with mortification. For the first time since she had
learned that John Breen had actually put out a bounty on her head
and accused her of all sorts of horrendous crimes, she wondered how
her aunt and uncle were reacting to this turn of events. If they
knew about this, it would humiliate them beyond words. If it ever
reached the St. Louis papers ...

Suddenly she jerked free of Cole Rawdon and
whirled away from his cold blue gaze, from his mocking, distrustful
face, toward the massive pine-crested rims to the west. They
shimmered silver in the dawn, as majestic and awesome as any
kingdom on earth, and she lifted her face to the mighty peaks,
yearning to lose herself in them. It had all sounded so simple,
trying to find Wade and Tommy, trying to reunite her family, which
had been split apart for so long. How had it all gone so wrong?

Because one man had seen something he could
not have and had wanted it badly enough to destroy another person’s
life to get it. More than one life, she realized, thinking of her
aunt and uncle, of the harm that such a scandal could do to
Victoria as well. Heaviness descended over her heart as she thought
of the pain they were suffering now, thanks to John Breen. When she
thought of the hopelessness of her own predicament, captured by a
man as heartless as the very hills surrounding her, a man who
believed the worst about her and who would not stop until she was
delivered right back to John Breen’s doorstep, she wanted to
scream. But she wouldn’t lose control in front of Cole Rawdon.
Instead, she spoke bitingly without turning to look at him.

“You can leave my family out of this. What
happened in Denver is between me and John Breen. You can believe
his side of it if you want to, but don’t expect me to tell you one
thing that would help you find Wade and Tommy.”

“I suppose they’re going to try to rescue
you?”

Rescue her? They had probably forgotten her
very existence. She was the sister from a childhood home that at
the moment seemed even to Juliana like a hazy, distant dream.

She turned toward Cole Rawdon, glad at last
that she could say something that might alarm him, that might make
him sleep just a bit less easily in the coming nights. If he were
nervous, on edge, he might make a mistake. And a mistake on his
part would be to her advantage.

She regarded him in her haughtiest manner.
“They might. That wouldn’t be too healthy for you, Mr. Rawdon.”

To her infuriation, he laughed. Juliana
resisted the urge to slap the smile from his face. “You’ve sure
changed your tune from last night and from a little while ago,” he
commented, his expression filled with contempt. “I could’ve sworn
you wanted to make friends.”

“I don’t! I didn’t! I just ...”

“Wanted to charm me into trusting you enough
to turn my back on you. I know.” He did turn his back then, and
started toward the horses. “Pack up and make it quick, angel. We’re
leaving pronto.”

As he walked away she glanced down and
started to tremble. A strange queasiness ran all through her. His
gunbelt was lying on the ground just beyond the oilskin where he’d
been sleeping. Both of the big Colt pistols were in their
holsters.

Her throat tightened. From the relatively
short time she had spent in this brutal, violent West, she had
learned one thing: Guns were power—and power, in her case, would
bring freedom. If she could bring herself to grab that power and
use it, she just might make it to Cooper Creek yet.

She swallowed. She had to try. And if she had
to shoot Cole Rawdon to get away from him, then she would.

She stooped down and slipped one of the Colts
from the holster smooth as silk. Then she covered the other one and
the gunbelt with the oilskin. The Colt was heavier than she had
thought it would be, and it felt ominously cold in her hand. She
repelled the urge to drop it on the ground, and instead closed her
hand around it. There was no doubt in her mind that she could hit
Cole Rawdon if she fired at him. Tommy had taught her how to shoot
tin cans without missing a one of them—he’d said she had a good
eye. But she’d never thought to use a gun on a human being,
especially not since that day in Independence when she’d come home
to find—

Juliana’s knees grew weak and she forced
those memories away. All she had to think about now was Cole Rawdon
and getting away. Not one thing else.

Juliana took a step forward. Then another.
She approached him warily, her hair fluttering in the morning
breeze, the gun raised before her as she stepped across the matted
grass.

He was intent on saddling the horses and
never glanced up at her approach. When she was a dozen feet away
from him, she stopped. Sunshine poured down upon her head, making
her feel hot despite the iciness of her palms. Perspiration beaded
at her temples and her heart thudded painfully against her
ribs.

“Don’t move, Rawdon.” Juliana’s voice sounded
high-pitched and breathless, not at all like the strong, clear
tones she had hoped to achieve. She tried again as he turned slowly
to look at her, those keen blue eyes noting the gun in her
hand.

“Saddle the packhorse for me.” This time she
managed an authoritative note. “I will be kind enough, you see, to
leave you your precious pinto. But I want all of the supplies. Pack
them.”

To her chagrin, he didn’t look the least bit
alarmed—or even surprised. His eyes were frosty as he gazed at her,
and the darkly handsome face that a short time ago had been gazing
at her with passion now wore a mask of nonchalance that infuriated
her.

“You’re stealing my supplies?” he inquired in
a drawl that made her eyes snap. “But I thought you weren’t a
thief.”

“Don’t talk,” she ordered through clenched
teeth. The gun felt heavy as a cannonball in her hands, and the
perspiration dampening her palms didn’t help. “Just do what I say
and you won’t get hurt.”

He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “And if
I don’t?”

“I’ll blow your damned head off.”

Juliana marveled at her own coolness. It was
a bluff she prayed she wouldn’t have to live up to, but she had
observed enough in the past days to understand that weakness was
despised out here in this savage land. Strength and ruthlessness
were respected, and if she didn’t quite have all those qualities,
it wouldn’t hurt to pretend she did. Cole Rawdon already thought
the worst of her. If he believed she would shoot him, then she most
likely wouldn’t have to do it. So she gestured with the gun, and
barked at him the way she’d heard John Breen bark at his men: “Get
moving and don’t try anything funny.”

“I am moving.” Cole Rawdon took one
deliberate step toward her, his lean, hard gaze boring into her
face. Then he took another. Juliana’s fingers tightened on the
gun.

“Get back,” she snapped. “Don’t come any
closer.”

“Why not? You’re going to shoot me?”

“You bet your boots I’m going to shoot you—if
you take one more step.”

He did.

“You’re lying,” he remarked in a pleasant
tone, almost as if he were discussing weather or crops. “You’re the
girl who fainted outside the Gold Dust Saloon because you saw a
dead man. You nearly puked when I shot those hombres in Cedar Gulch
full of holes. And you wouldn’t let me kill a bear, of all damned
things. Lady, you’re not going to shoot anyone. You don’t have the
stomach for it.”

She felt her knees wobble as he took yet
another step toward her. Good Lord, she was going to have to kill
him after all. Her stomach churned as if it were stuffed full of
greasy rags. Her hands were so clammy she feared she’d drop the
gun, and then where would she be? Juliana was waging a tremendous
struggle within herself, and splinters of tension pierced her
skull.

“You’re willing to risk your life on that?”
she cried frantically.

Cool eyes mocked her. “No risk involved.
You’re too damned chicken to shoot.”

She gritted her teeth. How she hated this
man. He was within three feet of her now.

“Stop!” she yelled, sick with
desperation.

“Go ahead, pull the trigger.”

She willed herself to do it. He deserved to
die. He was a killer. He was going to keep her from Wade and Tommy,
he was going to hand her over to John Breen. She could have her
freedom back. She could have the horses and the supplies and
provisions, enough to last her until she found a town and got her
bearings.

It would be so easy—Cole Rawdon would be
dead, like Cash Hogan and his two horrible companions. For an
instant the memory of those bloodied corpses swam into her mind’s
eye, and she shut her eyes to block it out. The thought that this
gun could do such a thing to Cole Rawdon filled her with revulsion.
The next instant she opened her eyes and saw him right before her,
less than a foot from the barrel of the gun.

He made no move to take it from her. He stood
perfectly still, daring her, challenging her, mocking her.

The pistol was pointed at his chest, but her
hand was shaking so hard, she realized she was in danger of
shooting him in the shoulder or the neck or the stomach instead of
the heart. It didn’t matter, she told herself. It would stop him.
She could get away.

Shoot
, she told herself.
Shoot
him anywhere. It’ll stop him. Do it. Now, before it’s too
late.

She took a deep breath, and tried to squeeze
the trigger, but something inside her kept her hand frozen, the
fingers refusing to function as she wished.

“No!” Juliana shrieked in sheer frustration
as Cole Rawdon at last reached out one hand and twisted the gun
from her lifeless grasp. He tossed it down on the ground, never
taking his gaze from her as Juliana, white-faced, backed up until
she reached a boulder and then sank down upon it.

“Don’t ever draw a gun on anyone unless
you’re prepared to use it,” Rawdon said. “And make sure if you do
that the safety catch is released and that the gun is loaded.”

It was then that she noticed his calm, amused
smile.

“L-loaded?”

“With bullets.” He grinned.

Slowly, the meaning of his words and of his
amusement dawned upon her. Juliana went stock-still. Her lips felt
numb. “You mean ...”

“I was pretty sure you wouldn’t go through
with it, but for insurance I emptied both Colts before you woke up
this morning. I’m afraid I’ve got all the bullets, Miss
Montgomery.”

She didn’t know how she had the strength to
do it, but she flung herself off that rock and straight at him, as
if she were a bullet herself. Flailing her arms at his chest, his
face, she screamed, “I wish I had killed you! You’re despicable!
You don’t deserve to live!”

Her fingers clawed at his eyes, his
cheeks.

“Maybe not,” he muttered as he grabbed her
flailing arms and pinned them to her sides. “But I found out what I
wanted to know. You’re no killer.”

“I wish I was! I wish to
heaven
I’d
shot you!” Her eyes blazed at him like jade set afire. Rawdon
almost lost himself in the glow.

“I’ll put in a good word for you to Sheriff
Rivers when we reach Plattsville today. Maybe he’ll give you an
extra nice little cell.”

“Cell?” His words stunned her enough to make
her stop struggling and stare at him instead.

“Yeah. I figured it’s time for us to say
adió
s
. The sooner the better, right?
I’m turning you in to Rivers. He’ll see you get to Denver for trial
eventually, but you might have to sit in the Plattsville jail for a
while until he can arrange transportation.”

Jail. She’d be in jail—by tonight?

“Anything will be better than having to
endure your company!” Juliana choked. But she was in shock and more
upset than she would show. The thought of jail terrified her. But
at least it would be better than being the prisoner of this man
with his unpredictable moods and cruel jokes, she told herself.
Suddenly, she wanted to cry.

He had left that gun there to test her—or
maybe to torment her into thinking freedom was at hand, but all the
time he had known that whatever way she chose, it would be useless,
and he would be the victor.

Juliana hated him with a passion that
vibrated through her like a thunderbolt. She hated him almost as
much as she hated John Breen. She’d like to see them both dead, she
vowed to herself as tears welled in her eyes. And the more gruesome
the manner, the better.

How ironic that here in the wide-open spaces
of Arizona she was far less free than she had ever been back in
straitlaced St. Louis. By tonight, she wouldn’t even have the open
skies and endless mountains to comfort her but would be trapped in
the filthy confines of a two-bit town jail.

She dropped her head so he couldn’t see the
tears gathering on her lashes and heard him say, “We’ve wasted
enough time here. Let’s ride.”

He gathered up his guns, reloaded them, and
went on with his preparations.

Juliana readied herself with slow, trancelike
movements, dreading what lay ahead. At least she’d be free of Cole
Rawdon come evening. That was the one thing to which she could look
forward.

But for some reason, that prospect did
nothing to lessen her sense of foreboding and deepening gloom.