Mia fumed as she stared impatiently up and down the asphalt road. She’d had it with Mr. Shanghai Knight. After incredible sex, he’d been sweet to her afterwards—for maybe a minute or two. Then he’d closed up on her again, as tight as a clam. He was all business—determined to get her home as quickly as possible so he could be shed of her for good. His cheerfulness toward her was due entirely to this goal.
Well, she was fed up with his on-again, off-again brand of romancing.
Maddened, she thumped her right foot as she stared down the road. Why couldn’t somebody just come and put them both out of their misery? But no! The desert was as ornery as her cowboy companion. There wasn’t a single vehicle on that narrow black ribbon that cut through sage and cacti for miles in either direction and shimmered against the far horizon.
“Somebody will come along,” Shanghai said in such a deep, matter-of-fact, know-it-all voice she wanted to kick him. “You wanna place a bet on how long it’ll be? I say no more than five minutes.”
Everything he’d done, said, or not said since they’d made love and left the cabin had annoyed her.
“No, I don’t want to place a bet! I’m hot and I’m thirsty and I’m tired. You walk too fast, and my feet hurt.”
“All you have to say is more or less than five minutes and we’ll have a bet.”
At his good-humored tone, she hissed in a breath. The handsome jerk was enjoying her bad mood way too much.
“I said I’m not betting you!” Her foot thumped harder.
The sun blazed down on them from a cloudless blue sky that acted like a mirror, magnifying its intensity. Her black skirt and blouse and the shawl that covered her hair soaked in the heat rays.
Being hot made her feel grumpier. Not that she could blame that on him. But then again, why couldn’t she? “How far do you think we walked?” she demanded.
“Only three or four miles.”
“Only?” The tender places between her legs felt raw from walking. That was definitely his fault.
“Lucky thing we hit a road so fast,” he said smugly, looking entirely too pleased.
“Lucky? We might as well be on the moon!”
“Simmer down. Somebody will come along, and you’ll be rid of me.”
“I can’t wait. But you said that five minutes ago!”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Not by much.” She kicked at a rock.
He chuckled. “You got another rock in your shoe, darlin’?”
“ No, I don’t have a rock! Thank you very much! And don’t call me darlin’!”
“All right—Missy Ethel Mia Kemble. There, is that better?”
“No! It isn’t better! I hate being called Ethel, which everybody in Spur County knows. Even you.”
When he laughed, she stared down the asphalt road again. She was spitting mad. That’s what she was. He’d made love to her like he was crazed for her. Then he hadn’t said so much as a single nice word afterward. What was she—a mere sex object? A human doll to play with and discard once he’d had his fun?
Quit thinking about it.
“Sometimes I hate cowboys.”
He laughed at that, too.
“That wasn’t supposed to be funny!”
“What’s eatin’ you anyway? You’ve been madder than a hornet ever since we left the cabin.”
So, the thickheaded idiot had actually noticed! She sucked in a breath and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Great! I nearly get myself killed for you—and all I get is the silent treatment!”
Was he really that clueless? “Would you just leave me alone?”
“Gladly.”
His obliging her so readily set a match to her temper.
He’d barely said a single word afterward! He’d simply zipped his jeans up in silence after he’d finished his business, grabbed his backpack, stomped down the steps and headed north, hollering, without looking back, “You comin’?”
He’d expected her to yank up her panties and follow him like a well-trained puppy. And she hated herself because she had. After she’d climaxed once again, she’d felt joined to him on a soul-deep level. When she’d come down from that mystical mountain, she’d felt soft and shy and tender, and she’d wanted to know what he felt, too. He’d been so sweet at first.
She remembered holding his hand against her cheek because he’d seemed so dear, and the memory scalded her with shame.
Where he was concerned she was such a dope.
Well, two could play the not-speaking, not-caring game. From now on, she’d ignore him, too. She’d be as quiet as an oyster. As silent as a tomb.
And no more sex. No more being jerked around by the torment of her emotions afterward.
As she watched the road, she covertly glanced at him. His Stetson shaded the top part of his face. His mouth was set in a hard, straight line. Even so she remembered how it had felt on hers. His wide shoulders made him seem powerful. His jeans rode low on his hips, covering his muscular thighs and legs like a second skin.
He was handsome, the sexiest man alive—at least to her—even now when she was mad enough to bash his head in with a boiling pot. He didn’t seem the least bit upset by their love-making or by the fact she was irritated with him.
Did he start every morning with a bit of wild sex and then proceed with his day like nothing important had happened? She began to wonder again about his regular girl.
Her curiosity about the girl grew to a fearsome level. She itched to ask him.
Of course, she couldn’t, not right now anyway—since she wasn’t speaking to him. She tapped her foot with a vengeance.
Suddenly he swooped down to his knees beside her. Before she could react, he wrapped a big brown hand around the foot that had been restlessly thumping the asphalt. Instead of hollering or kicking at him, she froze at his touch as a million shock waves raced up her leg.
Her pulled her shoe off and shook it out for her.
Then he looked up at her, beaming fit to be tied. “You’re right, darlin’. No rock. Nothin’ but a little sand.” When he slipped her shoe back over her toes and heel, his large hand gave her a wonderful foot massage.
“I said don’t call me darlin’.”
“I reckon it’s a habit.”
“Well, break it.”
“Old habits die hard…er…sweetheart.”
She could tell by his tone his mind was on sex.
She pressed her lips tightly together. “Tell me about it.”
He arose, smiling at her. “Hey, we’re startin’ to fuss like an old married couple.”
She lunged at him then and poked a single fingertip into his hard, wide chest. “Well, we’re not! Maybe we slept with each other a time or two…”
“Three times. Or have you forgotten Vegas?”
“I tried! Believe me I tried! Which means you’re the last man I’d ever marry, Shanghai Knight! The very last!”
“Well, ditto—darlin’! Ditto!”
His words cut—even though they were a jovial response to her angry remark.
To her horror, her eyes began to sting.
She swallowed three times and silently counted backward from ten. She’d never live it down if she cried in front of him right now.
“There! I see a truck,” he hollered, shielding his eyes as he looked past her. “Six minutes was all it took.”
“You bet five.”
“Lucky for you, you didn’t take my bet.”
“Lucky me,” she whispered.
Shanghai stepped into the middle of the road and held out his thumb. “Maybe you should get out here with me and hike your skirt or something.”
“What?”
“You said your feet hurt. You want a ride, don’t you? Or do you prefer to stand out here all day in that black widow outfit giving me hell?”
A black, three-quarter-ton Dodge pickup pulling a trailer overloaded with hay was barreling toward them as Mia stepped into the road. She pulled the shawl off her hair and fluffed it about her shoulders. Then she held out her thumb, too.
When she pulled a sleeve off her shoulder, the driver slammed on his brakes so hard he skidded off the road, into a clump of prickly pear, coming to a stop as bits of the unlucky shrub blew about in whorls of dust.
She started coughing, and the driver started hollering.
“Well, I’ll be danged. I cain’t believe it—Shanghai Knight! Everybody in ten counties is searching for you and I hit the jackpot. What in tarnation are you two doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“We’d sure be obliged for a ride, mister. The little lady’s feet are killin’ her.”
“Get in then!” The man beamed at Mia. “Bless your heart, ma’am.” His white smile was pleasant even though he was missing a front tooth.
“Lionel Williams,” he said, extending a beefy hand.
“Howdy, Lionel.”
Mia nodded and smiled as the men shook hands. Then Lionel leaned across the cab and opened the door.
“I seen you ride, Shanghai. Lots of times. I’m a great big fan.”
“Thanks.”
Shanghai hung back and helped Mia climb up into the truck. Then she felt his gaze on her butt, and her skin heated.
“And you must be that Kemble gal I read about, who everybody gave up for dead?”
Mia was about to nod when he said, “What was it like—hanging out with the drug lord?”
When she froze, Shanghai put both hands on her butt and gave her such a shove, she fell into the middle seat.
“Did you know they’ve got at least a hundred posses out looking for you two? The Border Patrol is stoppin’ ever single car at the border. All the big bridges are backed up for miles. It’s a real international incident. Made the national news even.”
“We swam the Rio Grande,” Shanghai said. “Then we walked.”
“You’re kidding. We’re close to twenty miles from the border.”
“No wonder my feet hurt.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. I cain’t wait to tell Cathy. That’s my wife. She’s always complainin’ ’cause she don’t get enough excitement on the ranch. My cell don’t work out here too good, or I’d call her right now. We’ll call your folks at the Golden Spurs, too, just as soon as we git to Two Nails.”
“How far is it?”
“Not far. I reckon no more than thirty miles.”
Mia felt herself begin to relax. It was wonderful being in a truck—driving north, away from Mexico.
“Two Nails Ranch?” Shanghai asked a few minutes later.
Lionel nodded.
“You know Stewart Lowrey?”
“Grew up with him. Rode a few bulls with him when we were kids. He was good. Not as good as you, though. He’s got him a place five miles down the road from Two Nails. He’s doin’ good.”
Mia watched the road, saying nothing, just feeling glad she wasn’t walking. When the men on either side of her fell silent, Lionel flipped the radio on to his favorite station, which naturally was Country and Western.
As the truck lurched along the deserted road lined with prickly pear and yucca, singers whined about lost love. Mia wished he’d change stations. Not that she said so. But the familiar laments began to make her long again for a certain impossible man’s love.
“Somethin’ sure smells good,” Shanghai said as he and Mia tromped into Lionel’s kitchen. “Homemade biscuits, I bet.”
The small dark woman with black hair and glasses looked up from the pot she was stirring and smiled at Mia. “You bet right, mister.”
“There’s no better smell on earth,” Shanghai said. “I always wished I had a mama to make biscuits for me.”
“That’s certainly what my Lionel thinks. I make them for him every day. Maybe you should get married.”
Shanghai glanced at Mia. His stricken expression was somehow so compelling, her throat tightened. Maybe he wasn’t quite as set against her as she’d thought.
His idle comment about his mama spurred memories. The gossip in Spur County had been that Shanghai’s mama had run off because his daddy had been so mean to her. Cole had told her that after their mother had left, Old Man Knight had been so mean to Shanghai he’d finally run off, too.
Mr. Knight had seemed easygoing in public, and apparently he’d been nicer to Cole after Shanghai left. Maybe because he’d learned his lesson from having teamed up with her father to drive Shanghai away.
Mrs. Williams’s gingham apron and wisps of her raven hair were smeared with flour. There was even a dab of the white stuff on her nose. Mountain “oysters” were sizzling in a frying pan beside a pot of simmering pinto beans. A rolling pin lay on her countertop on a pile of raw dough and flour.
“You must be Cathy,” Shanghai said, his deep voice as gentle as the one he used to use with Mia when she’d been a kid.
More memories tugged at Mia’s heart. When she’d been five, a big rat had bitten her in the attic. When she’d told Shanghai, he’d tattled to her daddy. As a result, she’d been forced to get rabies shots. Shanghai had probably saved her life again, but she’d hated the shots and had gotten spitting mad at him.
When she was over the shots, he’d sought her out one day with a present. She’d been thrilled by the silver ribbon and paper, of course. Inside she’d found a toy horse and a cowgirl. She’d loved them. She still had them.
The screen door slammed. “Cathy—you’re never going to believe who…”
Lionel gave his wife a big bear hug and then introduced everybody quickly. “So, the whole state of Texas is looking for this pair, and I find them. Meet Shanghai and Mia.”
“Howdy. Welcome.”
“They’ve got to call people to pick them up,” Lionel said.
“You must be starved.” Cathy’s brown eyes filled with concern.
“No,” Mia began. “We don’t want to trouble…”
“We are for a fact, ma’am,” Shanghai said.
“Then we’ll have lunch first—before you call all those folks. It’s not quite ready. And Mia, you look to be about my size. Why don’t I lend you some clean jeans and a shirt. You could send them back to me when you get home. You could have a bath, too.”
“I really…”
“Follow me.” Cathy paused. “Oh, and Lionel, why don’t you lend Shanghai a razor, so his friends will recognize him?”
“Do I look that fierce?”
“Pretty fierce.”
“You’re too kind, ma’am,” Shanghai said, again in that deep, gentle tone that turned Mia’s insides to mush.
Damn his hide for making her feel tenderness. She wanted to be furious at him for the rest of her life.
Mia felt wonderful to be so clean and to be wearing normal ranch attire—jeans and a checkered blouse. She’d put her shining hair up in a ponytail, too.
They ate in the kitchen as if they were family. Shanghai gobbled down more biscuits than Mia would have believed possible for one man to eat, and all the time he talked constantly of their adventures, much to the amusement of their gracious hosts.
It was infuriating to know he had so much talk in him—for other people. From time to time, he would glance at Mia across the table and smile, as if inviting her to add something, but she was too annoyed since he’d taken charge of the conversation. Still, as she listened, she kept thinking about what had happened at the cabin.
Soon Shanghai would make those calls to the Golden Spurs. Strangely she was no longer in a hurry to get home. It was pleasant being in this kitchen with the Williamses. Pleasant being with Shanghai in such normal surroundings with them as a buffer.
They weren’t rich, but they seemed happily married. What would it be like to have a real husband? To spend the rest of her life with the man she loved? To know he loved her back and that he wanted her for more than sex?
The next time Shanghai looked at her, a lump formed in Mia’s throat.
Would he disappear from her life as he always had before? She wished she still felt as angry at him as she had earlier. Anger was a protection of sorts. Too bad it never lasted—at least as far as he was concerned.
If he vanished again, this time she would have to find a way to put him out of her mind and heart forever.
But how? Every time she stared into Vanilla’s eyes, she would find him there.