Johanna Lindsey - Savage Thunder

Without thinking about it, she slipped outside the window and dropped down to the porch roof.

Fortu-nately, the slope of it was not steep, but that was where fortune ended. Too late she realized that whoever was sneaking into her room in the middle of the night was going to look outside the window when they found it empty. She didn't doubt that she would be spotted, even in the shadows. But would they risk a shot to wake the whole town? Hadn't they expected to find her in bed, asleep, and easy to dispose of in any number of quiet ways? Would they follow her out onto the roof?

She ought to be screaming already. One good scream could very well scare them away. But her attire, the blasted revealing negligee she was still wearing, kept her mouth shut for the moment.

She didn't wait to see a head sticking out her window. The end of the roof was a mere few feet away, since only the water closet separated her room from the end of the building on this side. She would have a better chance of not being spotted at all by quickly going over the side of the roof, rather than trying to reach the next window from hers and taking the chance that it was open, since she couldn't tell from her current position if it was or not. The railing that topped the roof in front didn't continue along the sides, so she didn't have anything to climb over. She had only to slip over the side at its lowest point, grasp one of the roof supports with her legs, and simply slide to the ground. Then a mad dash to the back of the hotel where the stable was and she would be safe. Some of her people were there. If she had to be hu-miliated by being caught out in her nightclothes, at least it could be kept in the family, so to speak.

That was just what she did, even as she thought about it, though she hadn't counted on the impetus she gained in rushing toward the corner of the roof slamming her into the railing there before she could stop.

She didn't wait to regain her breath. Slipping over the roof was easier work, with the short railing post there at the end giving her something to hold onto until she could locate the longer support post below with her feet.

That was where her luck ran out, however. She swung her legs this way and that, encountering nothing but air. Belatedly, she realized she had been working on the assumption that every porch roof had support posts to hold it up. How else would the blasted thing keep from toppling over? Then where was the damned post? More importantly now, since it wasn 't there, how far was the drop to the ground?

Blast it all, why hadn't she noticed such things when she entered the hotel? There had been a few steps up to the porch at the front of the building, but that was the most she could recall. She had no idea what kind of height she was dangling from, whether the raised porch extended beyond the end of the building, or if she had ground beneath her and an even greater distance to reach it. A quick glance down showed her nothing but shadows.

She supposed she could work her way around the front of the roof in search of the elusive support post, but her hands were already hurting from bearing her weight just these few moments. She might as well drop where she was, while she had some control over it, as opposed to slipping later and perhaps coming down on her backside instead of her feet. And yet she couldn't dredge up the courage to take the plunge. An insidious panic was taking hold, and getting worse by the moment, adding another foot each second to the distance she must fall, until it was somehow a great bottomless pit below her.

It took several heartbeats for her to realize her hands were no longer her sole support, that arms had wrapped around her legs to hold her up. At the same moment she realized it, she heard a soft, familiar drawl say, "Let go," and so the breath she drew for an ear-splitting scream came out in a long sigh in-stead. And she let go. Just as she had hurtled herself into his arms from her coach the day they met, she trusted Colt to bring her safely to ground now.

It wasn't quite the same, however. This time she ended up cradled in his arms. And this time he didn't thrust her immediately away from him.

A long silence stretched between them while she tried to make out his features in the shadows, and failed. How it was that he happened to be there right when she needed him she couldn't imagine and wasn't up to asking just yet.

When the silence was broken, it was with a good deal of sarcasm on his part. "Let me guess. You have an aversion to doors, right?"

He let her down as he said it, though he still didn't put her away from him. In fact, he gripped her upper arms now. To steady her? She preferred to think he didn't want to break contact yet. She certainly didn't want to. But then his question penetrated the mush her mind had become, and she forgot how nice it had been, his holding her, and remembered instead the reason for it.

In a rush she explained, "There was someone. I heard a noise in the hall… my reticule was too far away. couldn't possibly reach it in… I saw the door handle turning. What else was I to do?"

Somehow he got the gist of it. "Are you saying someone tried to enter your room, Duchess?"

"Not tried. The door wasn't locked. I didn't wait around to see it open, but I've little doubt it did."

"What about your guards?"

"There was only one, and I'm afraid he might be dead. That noise I heard—"

He didn't wait for her to finish, but let go of her to shove his revolver into her hand. Nor did he waste time telling her what to do with it. "Stay here," was all he said.

"But where are you going?"

Stupid question, since he had already leaped up to grasp the porch roof and in mere seconds was up and over it — and gone. Jocelyn looked out at the empty moonlit street, at the shadowed hotel porch — which she was standing on, since it did extend beyond the building — at the revolver in her hand.

It was long-barreled and heavy, not at all like her little derringer. She had never used this type of weapon, and doubted she could at the moment, with her fingers still smart-ing from holding onto the roof.

The gun dragged at her arm after another few mo-ments, so she cradled it while she waited, staring up at the end of the roof. She just barely made out the jagged remains of the corner support post that had once stood where she had assumed it would be, but at some time or other was broken off and never re-placed. She felt better seeing that, and knowing she hadn't been a complete dolt in her impromptu plan-ning. But she didn't once think about following through with her own plan now that she was on the ground, of heading back to the stable and the safety it offered. Colt had said to stay there and so she stayed right there.

The room wasn't empty. There were two men inside it, both riffling through the duchess's trunks, care-lessly scattering her gowns and belongings on the floor around them. One had found a jewelry case and was trying to pry the lock open with a small knife, while the other was on his knees with his head buried in the largest trunk. Neither of them gave a thought to the window that Colt entered silently. Their only concern was the door, which they glanced at nervously once or twice before Colt reached them.

It was over within seconds, the heavy lid of the large truck slamming down on the head of one man just as he rose with some find in his fist, and Colt's foot connecting with the jaw of the other — which was a mistake. His foot throbbing, he cursed fluently for not making use of his knife instead, which had been palmed and ready. But he did not nee^ it now, with both men out cold.

With disgust he limped to the bed to inspect his foot for any serious damage, but no sooner had he sat down than Jocelyn's scent assailed him and he leaped up with another round of curses. He was mad enough at that moment to slit both men's throats, but sanity prevailed. It wasn't their fault he had spent half the night standing in the shadows across the street, nursing a bottle of rotgut and staring at her window like a lovesick fool, imagining a half-dozen fantasies that could come true if he chose to make use of that open window.

It had taken a battle royal with his conscience to keep him from crossing the street. So he was natu-rally furious that after his conscience had won, he was here anyway, in her room, and inflamed by the fact that she was below waiting on him.

There was the slim hope that she wouldn't be there, that she would have immediately sought out the rest of her guard to inform them of what had happened. But by the time he returned and found she had obeyed him instead, he at least had put a bridle on his lust and was in control again, even of his temper.

"You can come inside now, Duchess."

Miraculously, he sounded almost pleasant calling down to her. She couldn't know his tone was forced.

"You mean no one was in my room?"

"Didn't say that. You had a couple of visitors, but they've been disposed of. I'll meet you in the hall."

"No, wait!" she called up in a frantic whisper. "I can't go through the lobby. What if someone should see me like this?"

Colt stared down at her, glad the shadows didn't allow him to see her too clearly. So she was embar-rassed about being caught out in her nightclothes? She ought to worry more about letting him see her than some half-asleep desk clerk.

"You like flirting with danger, don't you?"

She misunderstood him completely. "It's not so great a distance. Couldn't you just reach over and lift me up?"

For a long while she saw nothing of his shadow, nor did he answer. Staring anxiously up at the end of the roof, she wondered what the problem was, or if he just hadn't heard her request. It wasn't as if he hadn't done it before. Lifting her up and out of the coach that day hadn't put much strain on him, and there wasn't that much difference in the height here.

She had been lucky so far that no one had come along to see her waiting there at the end of the porch. It had taken Colt more than just a few minutes to "dispose of" the intruders in her room. She shivered, wondering what he had meant by that. But she couldn't continue to wait there indefinitely. As they had traveled north, the temperatures had been grad-ually dropping, with a marked difference now between day and night. Tonight was downright frigid, or so it seemed in her scanty attire. Chills had begun attacking her the moment her fear had dissipated. She simply couldn't stand out here much longer.

"Colt?"

She didn't bother to whisper this time. If he had gone back inside to await her in the hall as he'd said, she was going to be quite annoyed with him, regard-less that he had just — what? Saved her again? She didn't really know what he had done, and wouldn't know until—

She jumped, his hand appeared so suddenly. So he had been there all along — and heard her. Now was not the time to upbraid him for making her wait while he decided whether to lend her a hand or not. In fact, she couldn't afford to upbraid him for anything, not unless she was willing to give him an excuse to quit, which she wasn't. And besides, she had already known how lacking he was in gentlemanly tenden-cies. Far be it for her to expect him to change his habits now just because she was trembling with cold and loath to show herself in a well-lit hotel lobby half dressed.

She returned his gun first, which he quickly hol-stered before extending his hand again. The problem now was that she couldn't quite reach his fingers, even up on tiptoe. She started to tell.him so, but she had a feeling this was the most she could hope for, that he wasn't going to lower that hand another inch, even if he could. For whatever reason, he didn't want to help her back up onto that roof, but she was more determined than he was.

She made it on the first leap, her fingers locking with his. But her feet went swaying through the air, and her fingers started to slip. She was about to cry out, anticipating a hard landing on her backside, when she was jerked up a bit so his other hand could grasp her wrist.

Dangling by only one arm sent pain shooting through her shoulder socket, but she was up and sit-ting on the edge of the roof so fast, there was no time to moan about it. Under the circumstances, however, she didn't feel inclined to thank her so-called savior, especially when an insistent tug forced her immediately to her feet.

Again she was about to upbraid him, scathingly this time, when his curt "Come on, dammit" made her grit her teeth instead and follow him up the slight incline to her window.