Montana Wildfire (49 page)

Tom Rafferty's shoulder crashed into Jake's gut. The air whooshed from Jake's lungs as he was sent hurdling backward. The world tipped, and he lost sight of Amanda. An unfamiliar wave of panic washed through Jake when he realized that there was no way he could help her. Not until he'd taken care of Tom Rafferty.

Amanda fought bravely, not to mention dirtily. She lashed out with her feet, connecting with Henry's meaty thighs and shins more times than not. He grunted in pain, but the fingers coiled around her upper arm didn't loosen. Though he tried diligently to get the gun, he was forced to use his free hand to ward off the fingernails clawing at his cheeks and eyes.

"Give it up, honey," Henry panted. "I'm bigger than you. Like it or not, I'm going to get that gun. And when I do..."

Amanda didn't waste her breath responding. Instead, she redoubled her efforts to fight off both Henry and the panic she felt bubbling inside her. To her right, she heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh. It was followed by a muffled grunt of pain.

Jake's? Tom's? She didn't know. The faster her mind raced, the more her panic grew. Jake was wounded, weak, and he'd lost God knows how much blood. She'd seen Henry remove the knives hidden in Jake's moccasins; Jake now had only one blade to defend himself with. How long could he last before Tom Rafferty wrested the weapon from him? How long could
she
hold
Henry
at bay? The answer to both questions were the same. Not long enough.

"You ready to give up yet?" Henry sneered, and gave a tug that threatened to dislocate Amanda's arm from her shoulder. God, how it hurt!

She was struggling to aim the gun at Henry's chest, but he must have known what she was about, because he leaned to the side. Big, strong fingers curled crushingly around her upper arms. Before she could gasp, Amanda felt herself being hauled up against Henry's chest.

A quick glance to the side told her Tom and Jake were wrestling for control of the knife. And Jake did not look to be winning. Dear God, she had to get away from Henry, now,
before
Tom got his hands on the knife. An image of that steely blade being shoved between Jake's ribs flashed through her mind. Her heart squeezed unbearably tight.

Amanda resumed her struggles with a vengeance. And when Henry's beefy upper arm veered close enough, she sank her teeth into it without compunction.

"You little bitch!" Henry yelped. His fingers went slack around her arms, and he pulled instinctively backward. "I'll kill you for that, honey. Damned if I won't."

"And I'll be damned if I'll
let
you!" she yelled right back in his face.

If there was any leash on Henry Rafferty's temper, that remark snapped it neatly in two. He sneered and lunged for her.

Amanda made to sidestep him. Her gaze trained on a charging Henry, she didn't see the thick branch curling over the ground. She did, however, feel it slam into her ankle, tipping her off balance. She cried out when she felt herself going down. There was no way to stop the fall, though she shot her free arm out with exactly that intention.

The hard, cold earth crashed into her front just as Henry Rafferty's body slammed onto her back. The air was shoved from her lungs. Amanda reeled from both blows. Her only conscious thought was to keep a tight hold on the gun.

Henry grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. His weight eased only long enough for him to toss her onto her back. Her hips felt like they were being crushed when he settled his weight atop them.

"It's over, honey. Might as well give up." A sinister grin curled over Henry's lips as he lunged for the gun.

Over? Amanda was damned if that was true. She hadn't come this far to give up now. Nor would she until she'd weakened herself so much she no longer had the energy to struggle. She hadn't reached that point yet. Close, but not yet.

Henry's fingers wrapped around her wrist, squeezing tight. She felt her fingers go cold, felt them loosen around the gun.

"No!" With the last of her strength, she shoved at Henry, trying to dislodge him. He didn't budge, but the move did surprise him enough for his grip to loosen. It was only a fleeting weakness, but she took full advantage of it. She yanked the gun up between them and leveled the barrel at Henry's chest. Her fingers felt icy and numb, but she retained enough feeling in them to keep her index finger coiled around the trigger.

"I'm going to enjoy making you suffer for that," Henry snarled. "I'm going to enjoy hearing you beg me to—"

His fingers tightened around her wrist. Her fingers reflexively curled inward. A flex was all it took to slam the trigger home and to halt Henry Rafferty's words forever.

Surprise glinted Henry's eyes, then pain, then nothing at all. The brown orbs glazed over. His big body went limp and fell to the side. He hit the ground with a resounding
thud.

"Amanda!"
The shot had barely rung out when the name tore from Jake's throat. Tom Rafferty's hands were wrapped around his wrists, tightly, trying to squeeze Jake's fingers from around the hilt of the knife. With his free hand, Jake delivered a blow to Rafferty's shoulder. The result was double-edged; while Rafferty let go of Jake's wrist, Jake's fingers were too numb to retain hold of the knife. The weapon tumbled to the ground, far enough away to be no threat to either of them.

The air still rang with the repeating echo of the gunshot. Jake's heart constricted, and a stab of pain unlike anything he'd ever felt sliced through him. Dear God, he was shaking. The reaction had nothing to do with his wounded arm, or the exertion of struggling with Tom Rafferty. It had
everything
to do with thinking for one heart-stopping, gut-wrenching minute that Amanda Lennox was dead. And that he, by not getting to her soon enough, had inadvertently killed her.

Amanda heard Jake's voice, but it came from a distance. Her gaze, wide-eyed and horrified, was fixed on Henry Rafferty's lifeless body. Blinking hard, she forced her gaze away from the gaping hole in the big man's chest, a hole that continued to pump blood onto his shirtfront and the ground. Suppressing the shivers that racked her body wasn't possible. She didn't try.

"J-Jake?" she whispered hoarsely. Amanda glanced to the side, and winced when she saw Tom Rafferty's fist make solid contact with Jake's already swollen jaw.

Jake grunted as his head snapped to the side. Alarm coursed through Amanda when she saw how weak his struggles were.

Tom Rafferty landed another stinging blow. Then another. Jake tried to deliver a punch of his own, but missed. Rafferty's aim was more accurate.

A fist connected with Jake's temple hard enough to make stars dance behind his eyes. He blinked them away. Only sheer force of will—and raw fear for Amanda life—kept him conscious. He was panting, and his brow and upper lip were coated in the same sweat that pasted his hair to his scalp and face. His efforts to dislodge his attacker were becoming slow and clumsy. Gritting his teeth against the pain that tore through his arm, he aimed a punch at Tom Rafferty's temple. And missed again.

Tom waited until the fist whizzed past his face, completing an arc that would have knocked free quite a few of his crooked yellow teeth, had it connected. Chuckling evilly, his hands snaked out. Long, thin fingers wrapped around a thick copper throat. And squeezed. Hard.

"You don't look so dangerous now, do you, breed?"

Jake croaked, but didn't—couldn't—respond. He tried clawing at Tom Rafferty's arms, but the pain in his body, combined with lack of air, made his efforts ineffectual.

Tom laughed harder. "That's right," he sneered, "you go ahead and fight. Won't do you any good. Nothing's going to stop me from strangling the life out of your miserable red hide. Or, better yet, maybe I'll let Henry finish skinning you. He'll like that."

Jake's vision was going black and fuzzy around the edges. His lungs burned, and his head and arm throbbed unbearably. It was only a matter of time before he died—dammit, this was
not
the way he'd intended to go!—but he continued to fight.

His bleary gaze fixed on a spot just behind Tom Rafferty's lanky shoulder. He decided he must be in more dire need of air than he thought, because now he was seeing things. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and squinted, but... damned if the image would go away. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he saw Amanda Lennox standing a few short feet away, that blasted pistol of hers aimed at Tom Rafferty's back.

Jake told himself it was an illusion, a product of wishful thinking. But he didn't believe it. A part of him needed to believe Amanda was there, needed to believe that the prissy white princess—
his
prissy white princess, dammit!—was ready and willing to kill for him. It took effort to look past the irony of
that
thought!

"You hear that, Henry?" Tom Rafferty said, and his grin was pure evil. He scowled, his fingers loosening just a bit when his brother made no reply.

"Henry?"

"Henry's d-dead, Mr. Rafferty. I k-killed him."

Tom's head came up. His gaze narrowed, snapping over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw Amanda Lennox.
Amanda Lennox?
Now wait just a second! He'd heard a shot, and he'd naturally presumed that Henry had... But if
Henry
hadn't... His attention shifted to the fire lit spot where he'd last seen his brother struggling with the woman. What he saw now snapped his tenuous hold on sanity.

She'd killed him! That bitch had killed Henry!

And now... dammit,
now
he was going to kill the only person he figured meant anything to her. He was going to kill the breed. Then he was going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully. Until she begged him to end her life. Just the way Henry would do it. Tom was going to have some
fun
.

Tom's gaunt cheeks went crimson, and a feral growl issued from somewhere deep in the back of his throat. He bared his teeth like a rabid dog and turned his attention back to the Injun. His fingers squeezed so hard his knuckles hurt.

Amanda was breathing hard and fast through her mouth. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. Her knees were shaking so badly it was a wonder she was still standing. She wasn't too far from Tom Rafferty, she could probably hit him... but not if she didn't bring some of her trembling under control. And what, she wondered frantically, would happen if she did pull the trigger... and missed? What if...

God, what if she
hit Jake instead?

It was a risk she would have to take. Because if she did nothing, Jake was going to die. Amanda squinted until her eyes were almost closed. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, turned her head... and pulled the trigger.

The bullet roared from the barrel in a deafening explosion. The repercussions of the shot slammed up Amanda's fear-weakened arms. Though she wanted nothing more at that moment than to collapse, she forced herself to stay erect.
She had to know who she'd shot!

Time slowed to a crawl. For a minute, it looked like she hadn't shot anyone. Tom Rafferty continued to straddle Jake's stomach, but neither man moved. Both seemed frozen eerily in place, as though they'd been sculpted from ice.

It wasn't until she yanked the hammer back and prepared to shoot again that she saw Tom waver. His chin went up, and a cry of alarm gurgled in his throat as his spine arched. A wet stain soaked through his shirt; it spread quickly. Firelight and moonlight made his blood glisten a gruesome shade of black.

The gun slipped from Amanda's hands. She barely noticed as she covered her face with trembling palms. Her shaking, which had never really ceased, resumed with a force that rocked her. The tremors started on the inside, working their way to the surface in numbing, ice-cold waves.

Her sobs bordered on hysterical; she couldn't control them. In seconds, her hands were slick. Hot tears dripped paths down her wrists, where they were finally soaked up by her sleeves. She didn't realize she'd fallen to her knees until she felt the collision of hard, lumpy ground beneath her.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Jake wasn't even aware of hissing the blasphemy under his breath as he struggled to roll Tom Rafferty's weight off and to the side. The effort put his wounded arm through a burning sort of hell, but he didn't give up until the chore was done.

Getting to his feet proved a hard-won lesson in agony. Not only did his arm hurt, but the way the blood rushed from his face made the bruises there throb. He sucked in a sharp breath, swayed, and came damn close to falling right back down again. If there was an inch of him that didn't hurt, he couldn't find it. He ached in places he didn't even know he had!

Oddly enough, the pain raging through him was secondary. More important was the gut-wrenching need to get to Amanda, to wrap her in his arms, to somehow ease the anguish he could hear in her heartrending sobs. He realized only now that he'd never heard her cry before. Damn, but he'd had no idea the sound would tear him apart this way.

She was kneeling by the time Jake reached her. Her arms were coiled around her middle, and she was rocking back and forth. Her eyes were scrunched closed. Tears streamed down her paler-than-pale cheeks, running in wet rivulets down her neck, beneath her collar. The way her jaw and lower lip trembled cut Jake up inside.

"Ah, God, I'm sorry, princess. So damn sorry," Jake murmured hoarsely as he knelt in front of her. Ignoring the pain, he reached for her. His breath went shallow when Amanda came willingly into his arms. Her whimper of gratitude made his heart stop.

Jake angled his head, laying his battered cheek on her silky head. He held her close, stroked and soothed her, for what felt like hours. Eventually, her sobs eased. It took much, much longer for her tears to stop. Her shaking never did.

"J-Jake?"

He stroked her hair with his cheek, and murmured throatily, "Right here, princess." His gaze shifted to Tom Rafferty's body. A tremor ripped through him, and he tightened his hold on Amanda, as though he was trying to melt her body right into his own. If only he
could.