"You gonna pout all day?" Sam asked. "At least I agreed to stop back off at Prairie Stump and let you gather the rest of your gear."
Hours later, Sam posed his questions as they trotted their horses through grasslands north of Prairie Stump. The landscape was subtly changing—the high mesas and yawning arroyos of yesterday giving way to flatter terrain broken by an occasional rocky gulch and distinguished by more yellow soil. Fewer scrub oak, more clumps of cedar, and immense expanses of buffalo grass mingled with the ever-present cacti and sagebrush. The scents of tangy evergreens, fresh dew, and prairie wildflowers sweetened the air. Vibrant mountain bluebirds and scores of horned larks flitted about through endless yellow fields.
Annie had been giving Sam the silent treatment ever since they'd left the hotel for the second time; she was pleased to see how uncomfortable he'd become. "Am I going to pout all day?" she repeated. "And I don't have any reason to act the least bit sulky, do I?"
He glowered.
She took a long, deliberate moment to adjust her hat. "First, you kidnap me, a woman who has committed no crime, and drag me through three states. Despite my numerous denials, you decline to believe I'm not an outlaw or a murderess. You refuse even to look at the identification in my handbag that would prove I'm not the person you're seeking. Simply because I resemble a face you've seen on a wanted poster, you're determined to turn me in for the reward money. Not to mention the fact that you tried to put the moves on me at the hotel last night, then subjected me to—er, new indignities—on the trail this morning. After all the outrages you've heaped on me, you expect me to be pleasant as well?"
He ground his jaw. "I'm just saying it's a long trek up to Central. Why snip at each other every step of the way?"
"You're suggesting a truce?" she asked in disbelief.
"Things would go a mite easier on you if you'd quit defying me at every turn. Hell, even if you could escape, there's a lot of rugged country between here and Gilpin County. You're a woman, and out here alone, you'd likely die of exposure."
Indignation charged Annie's voice. "Now wait just a minute, Mr. Samuel Noble. Seems to me you're contradicting yourself. I thought I'm supposed to be some hardened criminal, a female desperado who would hardly be daunted by an odyssey through the wilderness. Don't tell me you're starting to believe I'm telling the truth?"
To her satisfaction, she watched his face darken a shade. She smiled in grim triumph. "Well? Which is it, Mr. Noble? Am I a ruthless murderess or some fragile hothouse flower?"
"I'm just saying you don't know the terrain," he grumbled.
"If I don't know the terrain, how in hell did I get from Rowdyville, Colorado, to Deadend, Texas, in the first place?"
He had the grace to appear embarrassed, glancing away and scratching his jaw. "Reckon you got a point. Still, you're a female—"
"We've more than established that,'' Annie cut in. "And although you obviously think of yourself as the superior species, I assure you I'm hardly the helpless wilting violet you assume most women must be."
"You're determined to be a thorn in my side, ain't you?" he burst out in exasperation.
"Can you blame me? Oh, I'm perfectly willing to be agreeable—the instant you start believing me and let me go."
He scowled, clearly at a loss, and returned his attention to the trail.
Annie inwardly seethed. Sam Noble was so maddening—refusing to believe her, ridiculing her as a defenseless woman, and then suggesting they be pleasant to one another while he took her to be hanged. Oh, she'd be amiable, all right. She might even have a few kind words to say after she shoveled him six feet under.
***
They exchanged barely a word that morning, or at noon, when they stopped for lunch. Annie had just gotten back on her horse, and Sam was standing beside the filly, about to rebind Annie's wrists, when all at once a curse escaped him.
He glanced up at her in alarm. "Damnation, your wrists are bleeding. Why didn't you say something?"
His abrupt expression of concern seemed to catch Annie off guard, and hoarse emotion roughened her voice. "Have you given me any reason to believe you would have cared?"
Gazing up at Annie's expressive face, Sam was struck by her turmoil and even wondered if she might be on the verge of tears. Self-loathing roiled up in him, especially as he again studied the ugly, oozing welts on her wrists. Why hadn't he given more thought to what the twine was doing to her? He'd been too damn angry, of course.
But he should have considered that her woman's skin was much more delicate than a man's. Lord, hadn't he touched that baby-soft flesh of hers? Hadn't he tasted that incredible, warm mouth? Part of him hungered to kiss those angry welts even now.
He stifled a groan. He was getting into trouble with this woman. Big trouble.
And she was right. He hadn't given her any reason to assume he would care if her wrists were bleeding. But he did care. He wasn't an animal.
Still, he was caught in quite a pickle. After she'd attempted two escapes, he had no reason to assume he could trust her. But he couldn't continue to bind her wrists. Out here on the trail, dirt would seep into those wounds; with the twine further irritating her raw flesh, those welts would quickly fester. Folks had died of less.
Given the fact that this woman's fate might already be sealed, some men might not have cared, either. But Sam Noble did. Annie was a human being, after all, and she deserved basic human consideration.
He looked up to see her regarding him with turbulence and confusion. He extended his hand. "Get down."
Though she appeared wary, she accepted his assistance.
Once she was beside him, Sam placed his hands on her shoulders and spoke soberly. "Look, I gotta have your word you won't try to escape again."
An incredulous laugh escaped her. "You do?"
"I gotta have it so I can quit binding your wrists. I don't like the look of them welts. Not at all."
Observing the tense expression on Sam's face, Annie was surprised, even touched, by his show of compassion. She was also quick to recognize an opportunity.
"All right," she replied evenly. "I promise."
Skeptically, he raised a brow. "You're sure now?"
Annie muttered a supplication to the heavens. "What do you mean, am I sure? You're the one who just made the suggestion, aren't you?"
"I don't want you taking sick before we reach Central," he continued gruffly. "But if you try to hightail it again, I may have to shoot you."
Bitter disappointment lanced Annie. Sam Noble wasn't really concerned about her; he was only being practical. If her wounds festered and she got sick, she might slow him down.
"Don't worry, Mr. Noble, I've been warned," she retorted. "We mustn't allow a case of blood poisoning to stand between you and your bounty."
He grunted. "Reckon we'd best wash them wounds and wrap 'em before we hit the trail again."
***
As they rode off, reason began to prevail over Annie's hot head. Whatever Sam's motives, it had been kind of him to unbind her wrists. He'd also helped her cleanse the wounds and had even torn some strips from one of his clean shirts to cover the welts and shield them from trail dust. At his surprisingly gentle doctoring, Annie had felt herself softening toward him, coming perilously close to tears again. It was such a relief to be riding without the constant, stinging torment of the twine abrading her oozing flesh.
Granted, she was still fuming over her fate, at being Sam's captive when she'd done nothing wrong. But she was smart enough to realize that his earlier suggestion that they be more congenial toward one another might be her one real chance of getting out of this mess alive—if she could win his confidence and trust, and convince him she wasn't Rotten Rosie. Certainly, that was one helluva big "if," but she had to admit defying him had gotten her nowhere fast.
It was time to cultivate some patience, perhaps even try to humor or charm him—which would likely get her into deeper trouble, she mused cynically, recalling her shameful response to Sam's fiery kiss and bold caresses. Still, what did she have to lose? It wasn't as if the man were a monster. He'd demonstrated basic decency, protecting her more than once now. And although his motives were at least partly self-serving, he had freed her wrists when he'd had no reason to trust her. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't raped her, when other men in his shoes surely would have.
Perhaps she might still appeal to him. And learning more about her enemy could only enhance her chances.
Clearing her throat, she said casually, "So tell me about yourself, bounty hunter."
He eyed her dubiously. ''You're speaking to me again?"
"Aren't you the one who suggested we be more pleasant?"
He gave a shrug. "So what do you want to know?"
"About your family, where you grew up, that sort of thing." She eyed him curiously. "You mentioned being part Indian . . ."
"One-quarter Cheyenne."
"So tell me how that came about."
A thoughtful smile curved Sam's lips. "Well, reckon it all started with my grandpa, who fifty years ago was a missionary to the tribes in Indian Territory."
"Your grandfather was a minister?" Annie asked, amazed.
"Yep, a Baptist preacher. He met my grandma, a Cheyenne squaw, in No-Man's-Land. They were married, and my pa was born along the trail as they headed west. My grandpa became a circuit rider in California. My pa grew up out west and married young. When I was just seven, Pa moved the family to Colorado, back when gold was discovered at Pike's Peak."
"Your father was a miner?"
"Nope, a gambler hoping to win his fortune the easy way, fleecing gold nuggets off the Fifty-niners. My ma was a schoolmarm. She taught at New Eden, the mining town where we settled."
Annie shook her head in wonderment. "A gambler and a schoolteacher. What a combination!"
Sam's jaw tightened. "My pa was gone a lot, always heading off for the nearest boomtown, hoping for easy pickings among the miners." His mouth twisted with contempt. "Unfortunately, he squandered much of his winnings on red-eye and loose women."
"I'm sorry," said Annie.
His expression wistful, Sam clucked to his horse. "My ma was left to raise me and my sister."
Annie stifled a laugh. "Pardon me for saying it, but you don't sound like a schoolteacher's child."
He grinned. "My younger sister Betsy does, though I was pretty much a wild hare from the start. My ma tried to give me book learning, but I preferred spending my time hunting and fishing, or hanging around town listening to the old-timers."
"Ah, so maybe there's a little of your pa in you?" she suggested wryly.
"Maybe a smidgen," he conceded, pressing together his thumb and forefinger.
"Well, at least you weren't raised entirely without a male influence."
"Yep. Plus a few years after my folks settled in Colorado, my grandpa moved back, I suspect to bring redemption to the sinful hill rats and sage-nutties . . . and of course to my pa. When Grandpa died, Grandma went back to live with the Cheyenne. She's still among her people to this day, though they're a renegade band ever since the Indians were officially removed from Colorado."
"Was she happy going back to her Native American roots?" Annie asked.
Though he appeared perplexed by the term she'd used, Sam nodded. "She loved my grandpa more'n life, but never really fit into his white world—one reason they kept moving around, I reckon."
"And your parents? Did your father ever settle down, or quit gambling and philandering?"
Sam shook his head. "When I was thirteen, we got word that he'd been shot in an argument over a game of five-card stud."
"What a shame," murmured Annie.
"My ma passed on from the ague two years later. That's when my sister and I went to live with Grandma and her band."
"You lived with the Cheyenne? How did that work out?"
His face lit with pleasure. "We made out just fine. Betsy was thirteen and still needed a woman's influence. She stayed there even longer than I did, then up and married a white trapper. She moved off with him to Wyoming Territory, and I get a letter from her every now and again."
"Do you miss her?"
"Sure, I do. She's the only kin I got left, except for my grandma." He sighed. "I enjoyed my years with the Cheyenne and also learned a lot from their braves—how to hunt and fish the Indian way, how to track. Thanks to my Cheyenne brothers, I found purpose for my life when I went on a vision quest."
"Vision quest?" Annie repeated, remembering someone else who had mentioned that term to her only days before. "What does that mean?"
"It's traditional among young Cheyenne males to go into the wilderness for a awuwun, a starving. After days of fasting and meditating, the brave's spiritual sign or totem is supposed to appear. I went on my quest when I was sixteen. It was then I saw the hawk that pointed me toward my life as a bounty hunter."
"Did you leave the tribe then?"
"I did later, though I've never severed my ties. I still visit my grandma and her people several times a year. I'm grateful for the direction the Cheyenne gave me."
"I see," murmured Annie, mulling over his words. "So you really believe in what you do?"
He regarded her solemnly. "I believe in right and wrong, in upholding the law."
A smile pulled at her lips. "You must also have a big conflict in your nature, having a circuit rider preacher for a grandfather, a Cheyenne Indian for a grandmother, a schoolteacher for a mother, and a gambler and womanizer for a father. Where does all of that leave you, Sam Noble?"
He chuckled. "Well, when I meet up with a feisty filly like you, I'm not sure whether I want to preach to you, teach you, scalp you, shoot you, or take you to bed."
Annie struggled not to laugh. Then a more thoughtful expression drifted in. "I'm not used to being around men who have a code."
"Code? You mean like Billy Singletree was talking about?"
"Yes. A sense of justice and fair play, a feeling of purpose in your life. You do want to do what's right, don't you, Sam?"
"I try to."
"Well, I can tell you you're dead wrong in apprehending me," she declared passionately.
He sighed. "Annie, must we start up again?"
"We must. Tell me, what makes you so certain I'm the one you're seeking?"
He appeared mystified. "Why, your face is on the wanted poster, woman."
"Yes, but why did you come all the way to Deadend to find me?"
"You know, that was odd," he admitted. "You see, there's a white man, Moon Calf, the sacred idiot, living among my grandmother's people. Some time back, three Cheyenne warriors out hunting come across him in the woods. The man was in bad shape, wandering around without a memory. Truth to tell, he's not right in the head, but the Cheyenne think he possesses powerful spiritual medicine, 'specially since he can charm animals."
"How fascinating."
"Before I headed out to track you, I stopped off to visit my grandma's people, and Moon Calf had one of his visions. He told me and my grandma I must ride south till I found you. He even told me I should bring along an extra horse. At first I thought it was just more of his crazy ramblings, but my grandma insisted I should heed the sacred idiot's words." He glanced pensively at Annie. "My grandma knows of these matters, so I figured you were hiding out again."
Annie could only shake her head. "Then there was something mystical about your finding me."
He scowled. "Yep, I reckon you could say that."
Annie made a gesture of pleading. "If you believe in Indian mysticism, then why won't you believe I'm from another time?"
He fell grimly silent.
She spoke with utmost sincerity. "Sam, when are you going to believe me? I'm from the late twentieth century, and you somehow rode across time to find me."
"And that's the most loco story I've ever heard!"
She maintained her patience with an effort. "I don't claim to understand everything, but perhaps I've been sent here to the past for a reason. Maybe I'm supposed to find my great-great-grandmother and help her—especially since my family history may hinge on whatever happens to her."
Sam shook his head. "Woman, you're talking haywire again. Travel through time just ain't possible, which means you have got to be the most accomplished liar I've ever met."
Annie was outraged. "And you're the most stubborn man, determined to cling to your wrongful beliefs no matter what. It would be so easy to prove I'm telling the truth—all we have to do is to go to Rowdyville and find the real Rosie."
"Lady," he reiterated, "I already found her."
That comment proved the final straw for Annie. She knew she had to get away from the infuriating bounty hunter before she said something really unforgivable. Muttering a curse, she spurred her horse and galloped ahead.
For a moment, Sam watched her departure in disbelief. Tarnation, this woman was plumb crazy! So much for trusting her. How could she promise not to escape, then pull a stunt like this? Fuming, he spurred his own mount and galloped after her, coughing as he inhaled her dust.
At last he reached her side, grabbed the reins, and brought both horses to a halt. Quickly he dismounted. Even as he hauled her down beside him, her expression seethed with defiance.
"Do you want me to shoot you, woman?" he yelled, fingers digging into her shoulders.
She faced him down unflinchingly. "Why not? Why don't you just admit that's exactly what you want?"
Oh, she was a siren, tempting him with her heaving bosom, blazing eyes, and that big, lush mouth as the wind whipped sexy little tendrils free from her braided hair. He wanted to shake her till her teeth rattled, but even more, he burned to establish his dominance over her.
He couldn't hit a woman, of course, but he had to do something. He had to . . .
"I'll show you what I want," he said roughly, and hauled her into his arms.
He heard the strangled sound rising in her as his lips seized hers. The taste of her, the incredible softness of her wet mouth, sent desire raging through him, making him even more determined to master her. Damn, but he'd been starved for this ever since he'd tumbled her beneath him this morning. He molded her womanly curves close and slipped his hands beneath her coat to caress her shapely bottom.
She writhed against him, unwittingly rubbing her pelvis against his manhood—arousing him to agonized hardness. Out of control, he kissed her with ruthless desire until he could taste the melting in her, until her sounds of panic faded into frantic little moans. Her surrender sent wild passion roaring through his veins. He took all she offered, plundering deep with his tongue, crushing her so close that they seemed to be one aching, throbbing being.
He was on the verge of tumbling her to the ground when some remnant of decency and self-control stayed his trembling hands. What was he doing? After years spent hunting desperadoes, hadn't he learned never to become personally involved with a prisoner? Would he stoop so low as to exploit a woman he was taking to the gallows?
At last reality penetrated his crashing heart and reeling senses, and he wrenched his mouth from hers, staring into her bewildered, flushed face.
"What was the meaning of that?" she asked breathlessly.
He reached out to brush a tendril from her soft cheek and spoke huskily. "I don't know, but you make me so blame crazy, woman, I don't know my head from my butt. Crazy to control you, to punish you, and . . ." He raked his hot gaze over her.
Though her cheeks turned a deep, enticing pink, she shoved him away, hard. "Not on your life!"
He shook a finger at her. "You ain't much for keeping your word, are you, woman?"
"I didn't escape."
"You damn sure tried to."
"I needed to blow off some steam."
"You mean you needed to make me choke on your dust."
The siren smiled then. "That, too."
Sam felt a vein throbbing in his temple at her relentless baiting and narrowly resisted an urge to horsewhip her—or kiss her again. "You're damn lucky I didn't shoot you. Are you going to mind now, or do I have to hog-tie you regardless of the sorry state your wrists are in?"
"I'll be happy to cooperate," she retorted, "if only to forestall more of your advances." She mounted her horse.
The two continued their ride in silence. Annie felt frustrated with herself for allowing Sam to provoke her again, and even more deeply jarred by the intimacies they had just shared. Never before had she felt such an intense pull, such an overpowering need to mate with a man. Sam Noble was a wicked kisser and clearly the strongest and sexiest guy she'd ever met. She blushed at the very thought of how wantonly she might have responded had he hauled her down to the ground with him.
Admittedly, there was strong sexual attraction between them. But Annie was realistic enough to know that mutual lust, while satisfying in its way, would never win her freedom, for she didn't doubt for a moment that this remorseless bounty hunter would bed her, then cheerfully claim his blood money. Seducing her would be little more than a perk to him. If she was to save her life, she had to depend on her wits and not this overwhelming chemistry.
Still, Annie was beginning to despair of ever getting through to her mule-headed captor. Sam refused to waver one iota from his obstinate belief that she was Rosie. What was she to do? At the rate they were going, they'd likely be in Central City within a week, where she might be subjected to swift and barbarous frontier justice. How could she persuade him to give her a chance to prove her claims?
Although Annie wasn't aware, Sam, too, felt beset by turmoil as he rode beside her. He still ached for her, was still shaken and confused by the passion they'd shared.
He stole a glance at her proud, angry face and stifled a groan. She was a handful, but she was also damned near irresistible. And she'd gone and done it again, tormenting him until she popped his cork, centering all his emotions in a part of his anatomy that had no place in bounty hunting. Either she was a very hot and passionate little critter, or she was the best damn tease since Jezebel.
Despite his bravado, Sam remained conflicted, not certain what to believe. Logic argued that she was his quarry, a rough-and-tumble female fugitive who wouldn't hesitate to stoop to lies or deceit, or to provoking him sexually to get him into bed and off the path of justice. Yet his gut still urged him to believe her—his gut or some instinct far more primitive.