Johanna Lindsey - Savage Thunder

When he saw the tears, he snarled, "Don't!" but her wail drowned him out as she threw her arms around his neck. He tried to break her hold, but couldn't without hurting her. And she wasn't letting go, was clinging so tightly she nearly choked him.

"Ah, shit," he said after a moment and carried her to the nearest chair, where he sat down to cradle her in his lap. "You've got no business doing this to me, woman. What the hell are you crying for anyway? I told you it was nothing."

"You call. that. nothing?" she sobbed into his shoulder.

"Nothing to you. It happened a long time ago. Do you think it still hurts or something? I assure you it doesn't."

"But it did!" she cried even louder. "You can't tell me it didn't! Oh, God, your poor back!"

He stiffened. He couldn't help it. "Listen to me, Duchess, and listen well. A warrior can't accept pity.

He'd rather be dead."

She leaned back then, somewhat surprised. "But I don't pity you."

"Then what's all this crying about?"

"It's the pain you must have felt. I–I can't bear to think of you suffering like that."

He shook his head at her. "You're not looking at it from the proper perspective, woman. It was a whipping meant to kill me. There aren't many men who could have survived it, but I did. The scars represent triumph over my enemies. I defeated them by living."

"If you're proud of those scars, like you are of these" — her fingers brushed against the puckered skin over one nipple, making him jerk—"then why have you hid them from me? And you have, haven't you?"

She recalled now the times they had both been completely without clothes while making love, and every time she had reached for his back, he had stopped her by taking her hands and holding them over her head or at her sides. She also recalled the time she had told him she ought to have him horsewhipped.

Dear God, how insensitive! But she hadn't known.

"I didn't say I was proud of them, Duchess. But remember your reaction to these," he said bitterly as he pressed her hands to his nipples, "and your reaction just now, and you have your answer. These bring forth disgust. My back makes women puke."

"Do you know why?" she asked with some heat. "Because you did one set yourself, deliberately in-flicting self-torture, and you're proud of it. But someone else did the other, mutilating this magnificent body, and that's an atrocity beyond description. Who did that to you, Colt?"

He wasn't sure if he'd just been scolded or complimented. "You just watched him die."

It took her a moment to grasp that, but then the color drained from her face. "Oh, God, no wonder you couldn't move when you saw him! I couldn't move myself when I thought he was going to hit me, and I didn't know what it would feel like. But you knew. oh, God," she groaned and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck again, as if by doing so she could take the memory away for him. "You knew exactly what it would feel like if he struck you. and he did! You had to relive that nightmare—"

"Cut it out, Duchess," he said gruffly. "You're making it out to be worse than it was. I felt nothing. It takes live nerves to feel pain, and I've got few of those left."

"Oh, God!" She started crying again.

"Now what?"

But she shook her head, aware that he wouldn't want to hear her say that was worse. Only he knew what she was thinking. And he knew what she was doing, trying to smother him with the soothing only a female could offer. She'd have his head at her breast if he'd let her, and trouble was, the thought was too tempting by half.

He had to get her mind on something else, and spotting the rifle she'd dropped on the floor, he asked, "Where were you heading with that rifle?"

"I'm afraid I didn't hear you come in," she snif-fled. "It had finally occurred to me that you might have had more difficulty at the,saloon after I left."

"And so you were going back to save me?"

"Something like that."

She expected him to laugh. Instead she felt his hand in her hair pulling her head back so he could kiss her. And she didn't wonder about the almost desperate quality of that kiss, for it could have been more on her part than his. Their time together was running out, and they both knew it.

There was a light swirling of snow outside the windows of the private car as the train rolled into the Cheyenne depot. After spending nearly a year in the warm Mediterranean countries before sailing to America, Jocelyn had not seen snow in a very long time.

"Is the weather too severe here for horses, do you think?" she asked as she let the curtain fall back into place.

Colt was shrugging into his coat. "Wild horses have lived here for hundreds of years, Duchess. You think folks can get along without their horses?"

She smiled a little self-consciously. She'd told Vanessa she meant to locate her stud farm here, but that decision had been impulsive, influenced by the man casually preparing to leave the train — and her. If she had no other reason to live in this territory, perhaps another part of the country would be better for raising her Thoroughbreds.

"But would you breed horses here?" she asked him.

"I intend to, with that little filly you owe me. If you're worried if she'll survive, don't be. The weather is actually ideal for animals, the summers not too hot, the winters not too cold."

"It was my own stock I was concerned with. Didn't I mention that I am considering staying here?"

"For God's sake, why?"

She turned away from his expression of horror, a lump rising in her throat. It hurt, it really did, and she was about to tell him not to worry about it, that if she did choose the Wyoming Territory for her farm, she'd make sure it was far away from him.

But he came up behind her, placing a hand on each shoulder to tell her, "Forget I said that. What you do now is your own concern, since my job's over."

But how in the hell was he going to get through each day knowing she was close? Colt wondered. He had thought she'd do whatever it was she had come here for, then take the train back East. He could forget about her then. But if she didn't leave.

She shrugged his hands away, but he'd felt her stiff-ness before she did. "I can't imagine why I keep forgetting how eager you are to end our association. If you'll just take me to a hotel, you can be on your way. I'll have your fee delivered to your sister's ranch as soon as it arrives."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I—"

"No. you won't, Duchess."

Jocelyn's lips clamped together. He'd done this to her once before, only then she had merely wanted to talk to him. Now she wasn't so intimidated by that implacable expression. She was also allowing her temper to push aside her hurt. So he wouldn't wait? So he wanted all ties with her broken immediately?

After the week they had just spent together, she had thought she had begun to understand him a little better. She had even begun to hope.

"If you're worried that I'll deliver the money, I won't. I assure you, you won't have to see me again. But I certainly haven't carried that kind of money in my valise. If you can't wait until my wagons arrive, I suppose I can wire my closest bank and have the money transferred — what is it now?" she demanded when he kept shaking his head.

"You try and pay me that money and I'll burn it. I never wanted the damn money and you know it. You just have that filly delivered when she's ready to be parted from her mama, and we'll be square."

"So you stuck with a job you hated for nothing? At least let me pay you the going fee—"

"No."

She glared at him. "You're determined to make me feel guilty for taking advantage of you, aren't you?

But I'll have to disappoint you. If I feel anything, it's certainly not guilt."

With that she swiped up her valise and marched out the door. Colt gritted his teeth, angry enough to spit.

His saddlebags were still in the bed compartment, or he'd have been right behind her. Damned women.

Was she trying to make him feel guilty for not taking her money? All he wanted was to get away from her before he did something stupid, like tell her how he felt about her. He could just imagine her reaction to that. She'd run like hell — if she didn't laugh first.

He recalled what she'd said about visiting that sa-loon, that she'd never have the opportunity again because once her people rejoined her, she couldn't be so bold. The same thing applied to him and he knew it. She might be willing to share his blankets as long as they were alone and no one else knew about it, but some of her people were bound to be here waiting for her. She'd be appalled if they found out she'd taken her half-breed guide for a lover. If she had a bee under her bonnet now, it was likely because he'd re-minded her it was over before she could dismiss him. That was when she had gotten all stiff and huffy.

Slamming out of the private car, Colt had to run to catch up with the duchess. She should have gone di-rectly to the stock car so they could retrieve the horses first, but instead she was moving briskly into town. He had half a mind to just let her go. She was safe enough now. But worrying about her had become a habit. Until he was sure her people had arrived ahead of them by train and he could turn her over to them, he was still stuck with her.

Jocelyn was too angry to notice where she was going, who she was passing, or anything else about Cheyenne, Wyoming. She felt — used. Good Lord, had this past week just been his way of getting even with her? He had felt used by her, and now he'd made sure she felt the same. What a low, despicable thing to do. But what else could she think? Just this morning he had made wild, passionate love to her, had held her tenderly in his arms afterward. Now he couldn't wait to part company, to never see her again. Never? Oh, God, she'd never see him again, never know his touch again. How could she bear it?

Her feet slowed, her chest filling with pain. She tried to recall where she was, that she couldn't cry on a public street, but the tears gathered anyway. And then her wrist was caught and she was jerked to the side, and her first thought was, Not yet, he hasn't deserted me just yet. But a hand clamping over her mouth and a sharp prick on her neck swiftly changed that notion.

"Yer lucky the boss wants ta see ya first, gal, or I'd slit yer throat right now. Make any funny moves an'

I'll hafta disappoint 'im."

She understood the warning. She just wasn't sure she cared to heed it. Why wait? Why suffer the Englishman's abuse before she died, when she could see the matter ended then and there?

Besides the man who held her against him with no more than a hand over her mouth and a knife at her throat, there was one other she could see. He was pressed against the side of the building at its corner, his hand stuck inside his heavy coat. She didn't doubt it concealed a gun, since he could be seen from the street. She had been dragged back somewhat, so she was less likely to be seen in the shade between the two buildings, not unless someone passed by this nar-row alleyway as she had done.

She didn't understand why they just stood there. Surely they had horses waiting behind the buildings to take her away. All they were doing was giving her time to decide she wouldn't go with them. If she didn't get her throat slit immediately, she might be able to fight free, or at least to scream.

She was just about to kick backward when the other man said, ^'He's comin', Dewane."

Who was? Not Colt. He should still be at the train getting his horse, or even on his way home already.

But she knew it was Colt, and knew they wouldn't be waiting on him unless they meant to kill him. Panic immobilized her, stole her warmth and color. And then he was there, coming around the corner, and brought up short by a gun shoved in his face.

"Don't even breathe," he was told.

Colt didn't, because the rage came up to nearly choke him. How stupid could he get, not to wonder why the duchess had suddenly changed direction to duck between two buildings? He thought she was just trying to lose him, but that was no excuse. One look at her revealed she was so frightened she was even crying. That did it, brought on his killing instinct as nothing else could. Neither of these two bastards was going to walk away if he could help it.

"Ya can relax, Clint. He ain't gonna do nuthin' long's I got this purdy neck in jeppaardy. Ain't that right, Injun Thunder?" Dewane chuckled. "Don"member me, do ya? 'Spect ya*ve outdrawn so many men, ya cain't keep track, huh?"