“I know you won’t shoot me in the back,” Abby said.

“You try something stupid and you know I’ll come after you,” Jake responded.

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m not some Denver daisy who went out for a jog this morning. I’ve trained for six months for this. I’m in good shape.”

He didn’t want to think about what kind of shape she was in. He’d seen her long, toned legs and flat belly. He’d seen the muscle definition in her arms. Yeah, she was in damn good shape, all right. So good he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

She approached him. “Let me go.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a cop, damn it.”

Jake didn’t want to have this conversation. It wasn’t his responsibility to judge her guilt or innocence or any of those gray areas in between. All he was supposed to do was take her back.

And he planned to do that, come hell or high water.

Dear Reader,

Once again, Intimate Moments invites you to experience the thrills and excitement of six wonderful romances, starting with Justine Davis’s Just Another Day in Paradise. This is the first in her new miniseries, REDSTONE, INCORPORATED, and you’ll be hooked from the first page to the last by this suspenseful tale of two meant-to-be lovers who have a few issues to work out on the way to a happy ending—like being taken hostage on what ought to be an island paradise.

ROMANCING THE CROWN continues with Secret-Agent Sheik, by Linda Winstead Jones. Hassan Kamal is one of those heroes no woman can resist—except for spirited Elena Rahman, and even she can’t hold out for long. Our introduction to the LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB winds up with Maggie Price’s Moment of Truth. Lovers are reunited and mysteries are solved—but not all of them, so be sure to look for our upcoming anthology, Lone Star Country Club: The Debutantes, next month. RaeAnne Thayne completes her OUTLAW HARTES trilogy with Cassidy Harte and the Comeback Kid, featuring the return of the prodigal groom. Linda Castillo is back with Just a Little Bit Dangerous, about a romantic Rocky Mountain rescue. Finally, welcome new author Jenna Mills, whose Smoke and Mirrors will have you eagerly looking forward to her next book.

And, as always, be sure to come back next month for more of the best romantic reading around, right here in Intimate Moments.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Just a Little Bit Dangerous
Linda Castillo

LINDA CASTILLO

grew up in a small farming community in western Ohio. She knew from a very early age that she wanted to be a writer—and penned her first novel at the age of thirteen, during one of those long Ohio winters. Her dream of becoming a published author came true the day Silhouette called and wanted to buy one of her books!

Romance is at the heart of all her stories. She loves the idea of two fallible people falling in love amid danger and against their better judgment—or so they think. She enjoys watching them struggle through their problems, realize their weaknesses and strengths along the way and, ultimately, fall head over heels in love.

She is the winner of numerous writing awards, including the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence. In 1999, she was a triple Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist and took first place in the romantic suspense division. In 2001, she was a RITA® finalist with her first Silhouette release, Remember the Night.

Linda spins her tales of love and intrigue from her home in Dallas, Texas, where she lives with her husband and three lovable dogs. Check out her Web site at www.lindacastillo.com. Or you can contact her at P.O. Box 670501, Dallas, Texas 75367-0501.

To Papi,

Because you couldn’t put it down.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

He smelled adrenaline the instant he walked into Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue headquarters. It hung in the air like spent powder after a gunshot. Rich and electric and as contagious as an airborne disease to a man who lived for the high.

Jake Madigan lived for the high.

His own adrenaline had ebbed and flowed since the 4:00 a.m. call that had rolled him out of bed. As head of the RMSAR equine unit, he normally didn’t attend the briefings. For most call-outs—a lost hiker or injured rock climber—Jake hauled his horse directly to the site, disembarked and took to the high country. This time, however, team leader Buzz Malone had made it a point to ask him to be at the mass briefing. Jake wondered what had drawn six men from their beds at four o’clock on a Sunday morning. He wondered if it had anything to do with the Colorado Department of Corrections van parked outside.

Shaking off the cold, he hung his duster on the coat tree, set his Stetson on top, and started down the hall where he could hear his fellow team members settling in. In most cases, he’d been told the briefings were informal and held in the galley. This morning, however, the galley stood empty, and light blazed from the war room. A room usually reserved for the press or high-profile operations run by government agency bigwigs.

Jake didn’t much care for government agency bigwigs.

He entered the war room and scanned its occupants, his eyes grinding to a halt on the two men at the front wearing wrinkled suits and grim expressions. He knew immediately the suits belonged to the D.O.C. van outside. He wondered if they’d lost one of their clientele; if they were more interested in getting their convict back—or covering their bureaucratic butts.

At the coffee station set up at the rear, medic John Maitland dumped caffeine into a disposable cup. Snagging his own cup from the table, Jake held it out. “You look like you’ve been up all night, Maitland.”

He filled Jake’s cup. “I drew baby-feeding duty last night.”

Jake wasn’t too keen on the domestic scene these days, but the thought of his teammate getting up in the middle of the night to feed a screaming baby made him grin nonetheless. Nine months ago John Maitland had been a confirmed bachelor. All that had changed the day he’d rescued a pretty redhead up on Elk Ridge. He was now married, with a three-month-old baby girl. Even sleep-deprived he looked happy as hell.

“Baby-feeding duty, huh?” Jake said.

“Beth is breastfeeding, but we’re supplementing with bottles at night so we can take turns with the night shifts. It was my turn last night.”

The word “breastfeeding” rang uncomfortably in Jake’s ears. Trying not to wince, he waited a beat then changed the subject. “What’s up with the D.O.C. van outside?”

“Inmate sneaked out a gymnasium window last night down at Buena Vista.”

“We on alert?”

“That’s right.” John looked over his shoulder to where Buzz Malone huddled with the two suits. “Escapee is a lifer, went in for second-degree murder.”

The worst kind, Jake thought, glancing in Buzz’s direction. A killer on the run with nothing to lose.

“Looks like that pretty wife of yours is keeping you up nights, Maitland.”

Both men turned their heads to see Tony “Flyboy” Colorosa, RMSAR’s Bell 412 helicopter pilot—and resident Romeo—splash coffee into a cup.

“You look like you had a late one yourself, Flyboy,” Jake said.

“What can I say, Jake? Some of us actually have social lives.” Tony whistled a tune as he spooned sugar into his coffee. “You should try it sometime. Might improve that surly attitude of yours.”

“Yeah, and it might stop snowing in Colorado one of these days.” Grinning, Maitland slapped Jake on the back.

Trying not to grimace, Jake blew on his coffee.

“Gentlemen, take a seat.” Buzz moved to the head of the table. “We’re on a tight clock this morning, so I’ll keep this brief.”

Jake took the chair next to junior medic Pete Scully.

Buzz continued. “The State of Colorado Department of Corrections has asked for our help in locating an escapee from prison. Robert Singletary and Jim Neels are with D.O.C., which is our designated agency-in-charge. Jim is going to brief you on our mission objectives.” Buzz gave the floor to the man standing beside him.

Jim Neels was a middle-aged man with hound-dog features and the build of a retired linebacker. His hopelessly wrinkled suit coupled with the half moons beneath his eyes revealed he’d already had a long night. His dour expression suggested he knew the day ahead would be even longer.

“Sometime between ten last night and three-thirty this morning, an inmate escaped from the Buena Vista Corrections Center for Women,” he began. “Abigail Nichols, twenty-seven years old, is a convicted murderer serving a life sentence at our facility. We’re in the process of setting up a perimeter, but there’s a lot of country to cover and we need your help.” Neels scanned the men. “This is a search-only operation, gentlemen. If you come in contact with Nichols, you are advised to use extreme caution.” His gaze fell to Jake. “Mr. Madigan, you’re the only law enforcement officer on the team?”

“I’m a deputy sheriff with Chaffee County.”

Nodding, Neels continued. “Aside from Deputy Madigan, if you come in contact with the subject, do not attempt to detain her or to take her into custody. Call D.O.C. for backup. RMSAR dispatch has been informed to patch you straight through. Is that understood?”

Tony Colorosa yawned. John Maitland drained the last of his coffee from his cup. Even Pete Scully looked bored. Trying not to smile, Jake leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs at his ankles and studied his boots. The men of RMSAR didn’t like some suit from D.O.C. coming in and telling them how to do their jobs. They were the best of the best and had yet to encounter a search-and-rescue mission they couldn’t pull off.

“This woman has a history of mental illness,” Neels added. “She may have an accomplice, but we don’t know who that person is at this time. Be advised that she may be armed and should be considered dangerous.”

“Do you have a location?” Jake asked. “Any sightings?”

Buzz walked to an easel where a topography map illustrated the five-county area surrounding the prison. Suit Number Two came to life and pointed out the corrections facility. “This is our facility at Buena Vista. We’ve got a five-hour window. The average person travels at about 3.2 miles per hour on foot. We think she went west.” He indicated a highlighted area. “That should put her somewhere in this yellow area here.”

“Does she have a vehicle?” Jake asked.

“Not that we know of, but it’s possible her accomplice left one at a predesignated point.”

Jake snorted. “If she’s on foot and went west, she’s not going to make very good time. It’s rugged country up there.”

Suit Number Two grimaced. “Nichols is very…determined.”

Jake wasn’t sure exactly what the other man meant, but he let it go. No matter how determined, a human being on foot could only cover so much ground. “What about gear?”

“State-issue jumpsuit—gray. Blue jacket. White sneakers. That’s all she’s got unless someone left clothing for her at a predesignated drop-off point.”

“Anyone bringing in dogs?” Buzz asked.

“Chaffee County is covering that. Forest service has notified all the area ranger stations.”

“What about a physical description?” John asked.

The suit flipped the easel page, and the room fell abruptly silent. The mug shot of a young woman with a mane of curly brown hair streaked generously with platinum blond arrested the attention of every man. Jake saw wide eyes the color of a mountain lake reflecting a violet sky. Thin, dark brows. A full mouth with just enough pout to keep a man on his toes. A graceful neck that called every man in the room to crane forward to see the rest of the package.

Jake broke a sweat beneath his flannel shirt and long johns. He stared, more than a little surprised and a hell of a lot more intrigued than he wanted to be. The lovely creature staring back at him didn’t look like an escaped con. Maybe a shampoo commercial model with all that wild, sun-bleached hair.

“She’s five feet five inches,” Suit Number Two said. “One hundred fifteen pounds. Violet eyes. Blond hair.”

The voice faded as Jake’s attention zeroed in on the mug shot. Her skin was flawless and pale as sweet cream. Her expression reflected defiance and an attitude that took a hard left just short of good. Her eyes spoke of a woman’s secrets and beckoned the unwary to trust her.

Jake definitely didn’t fall into the unwary category. Two years ago he’d played the fool for a woman with a pretty face and a tale of woe. Her betrayal still cut him on occasion, when he let himself think about it. He knew better than most that looks could be deceiving. And he knew firsthand what it was like to be on the receiving end of deceit. He felt the knife in his back to this day, and he’d sworn a hundred times he’d never be taken in again.

“Any questions?”

Jake cleared the cobwebs from his throat. “Any idea where she’s heading?”

“We found a map in her cell with a penciled-in route that indicated east. But we think it was a ploy to throw us off. We’re setting up patrols to the east, but as I already mentioned we suspect she’s heading west, into the higher elevations.” Checking his watch, the suit turned the floor over to Buzz.

Buzz looked at Tony Colorosa. “Flyboy, what’s the situation on the weather?”

Tony came to attention. He might be the resident Romeo, but he took his job as chopper pilot serious to the extreme. “Weather Service put out an advisory about an hour ago. There’s a low-pressure system to the northwest, building up steam and heading this way. It’s packing two feet of snow and high winds that’ll hit fifty knots by this afternoon. Gusts are at thirty-five right now. I’d say we have about two hours of fly time, four max before I’ll have to recall to base.”

Buzz didn’t look happy about sending his pilot out in iffy weather. “That gives us four hours with the chopper, gentlemen. The rest of the search will be conducted on the ground. Tell your mommies and girlfriends you’re not going to be home for breakfast, lunch or dinner.” Buzz made eye contact with Jake. “Where do you want to start?”

Jake looked at the map, took a few seconds to put himself in the subject’s head. “I’ll drop the trailer west of Buena Vista, see if I can pick up some tracks.”

Buzz’s attention shot back to his pilot. “Flyboy, you and Scully take the chopper northwest and do a sweep. Once we hit forty knots, I want you in. Got it?”

Tony gave him a mock salute.

Buzz’s gaze slid to John Maitland. “You and I will take the ATV southwest. We’ll be working in conjunction with the Chaffee County Sheriff’s Office and dog team.” He scanned the team. “Let me reiterate. This operation is a Code Yellow. Search only. Use extreme caution. Subject is to be considered armed and dangerous. Gear up, gentlemen, let’s rock and roll.”

Abby Nichols figured she’d outdone herself this time. It wasn’t enough that she was freezing cold, that her fingers were numb, her feet aching with every step. Or that she was hungry, exhausted and scared out of her wits. To top it all off, she was finally going to have to admit she was lost. As if she needed that on top of the reality that her life had become one big disaster in the past year.

Then, just when she figured things couldn’t get worse, she spotted the man on horseback. A quarter mile away, she didn’t need to see his face to know he was a cop. She’d been around enough law enforcement types in the last year to spot one blindfolded. They had that look about them. Rigid. Uncompromising. Cold-hearted. Downright mean for the most part. The realization that he was tracking her shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did, and she felt the sharp stab of fear all the way to her very numb toes.

He was a sheriff’s deputy, more than likely—or maybe a bounty hunter. The thought of the latter made her shiver. That would be just her luck for some trigger-happy macho jerk to make it his personal mission to bring in the infamous Abby Nichols, the most dangerous female criminal since Bonnie Parker. The only problem with that analogy, Abby realized, was that she was innocent, Bonnie Parker hadn’t been. The Buena Vista Corrections Center for Women didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

She’d been tromping over clumps of buffalo grass and rocks the size of basketballs for nearly six hours. The cold, thin air burned her lungs. Her muscles quivered with exhaustion. But she didn’t slow down. She’d spent the past four months getting in shape for this little excursion. Physical conditioning went a long way when you were running for your life over terrain not fit for a rock climber.

Of course, no matter how good her physical conditioning, if Abby wasn’t heading in the right direction, she could end up in Omaha instead of Chama, New Mexico, where Grams was waiting with a hug and a smile and a place for her to spend the night before she began the lofty task of clearing her name.

She should have come across a road by now. Closer to the truth, she should have come across a road four hours ago. A narrow dirt road where Grams had stashed a pickup truck under an old, wooden bridge. A truck with a change of clothes, a cache of cash beneath the seat, and the ignition key in a magnet box under the hood.

Abby just couldn’t understand how she’d missed that road. She’d spent hours studying the map Grams had smuggled into the prison. All she’d had to do was follow the sun west from Buena Vista. Of course, come daybreak the sky had materialized as a smooth gray bowl and Mr. Sun had refused to show his face. That had been hours ago, and things weren’t looking any better. In fact, if the clouds roiling on the horizon were any indication, Abby figured she’d be trudging through snow in another hour—or, at the least, be pounded by freezing rain. She wasn’t sure which would be worse, but knew she was in for a miserable dose of Colorado weather one way or another.

Stopping to catch her breath, she leaned against a jut of granite and gazed out across the valley ahead. Pike National Forest spread out below like a page out of one of those fancy coffee-table picture books Grams was so fond of. One million acres of sparsely populated mountain terrain, white water streams and pine forests that stretched as far as the eye could see. Under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed the breathtaking scenery and mountain air. But considering she was on the run for her life, lost, and would soon find herself face-to-face with an armed man whose goal was to ruin her one and only shot at freedom, she figured her energies would be best spent putting as much distance between them as possible.

Sighing, she squinted at the figure on horseback as it wended up a trail she’d taken less than half an hour earlier. There was no doubt about it; he was gaining on her. If she didn’t think of something utterly brilliant in the next ten minutes, he was going to be right on top of her.

Forcing back the rise of panic, acutely feeling the quickly shrinking distance between her and the horseman, Abby looked around. Grams had always told her desperate times called for desperate measures. Abby had never put much weight in that old cliché. But as the seconds ticked by and the window of opportunity shrank, she figured now was as good a time as any to put it to the test.

Jake loosened the reins and let his mount pick its way up the rocky terrain. He’d been tracking his subject for the past hour. As soon as he sighted her, he’d radio RMSAR headquarters so D.O.C. and Chaffee County could pull in the perimeter they’d set up to the east. If all went well—and he fully expected it to—he would have her in custody and be on his way down the mountain before dark. If he was lucky, he’d be home in time to watch the Avalanche trounce the Red Wings this evening. He’d bet ten bucks on that one, and didn’t intend to lose the bet or to miss the game.

Jake was at home in the high country. He loved the hostile beauty, respected the unpredictable personality of the mountains. In the twelve years he’d been with RMSAR, he’d searched this rugged landscape for everything from lost Boy Scouts to Alzheimer’s patients. He knew enough about this vast wilderness to admire the tenacity of a person who could travel for six hours and not tire or panic. For a woman without hiking gear or backcountry know-how, she’d covered some rough terrain and made damn good time doing so. He wondered if she had a destination in mind; wondered what she’d expected to accomplish out here in the middle of nowhere.

The ground leveled at the top of the rise, and he urged the mare into an extended trot. Brandywine was a seasoned trail horse and as surefooted as a mountain goat. She was raw-boned and well muscled, possessing more sense than most of his friends and a heart that rivaled the size of Pikes Peak. He’d ridden her under some brutal conditions, both terrain and weather-wise, and the mare had always kept her head and come through for him. He trusted her with his life—and a good bit more than most people.

The leather saddle beneath him creaked softly as he took the horse down yet another steep incline. Behind him his mule Rebel Yell followed, his steel shoes clanking against the rocky ground.

The wind had picked up and was now coming from the west at a brisk clip. Jake figured he had another hour before heavy weather set in. November in the Colorado Rockies was unpredictable at best, particularly in the higher elevations. He’d gone on many a call-out, looking for weekend warriors who’d left eighty-degree temperatures in Denver wearing T-shirts and sneakers, hiked into the backcountry, and got caught in a snow storm without winter gear. Damn tourists. A little common sense went a long way in the mountains.

He traveled another fifty yards before realizing he’d lost the trail. Puzzled, he pulled up on the reins and backtracked. It wasn’t like him to miss something like that. Jake had been tracking since he was old enough to ride a horse—which was shortly after he’d learned to walk. From a long generation of horse and cattle ranchers, he was as comfortable on horseback as most folks were in their cars.

Fifty yards back, he picked up the tracks again. A sneaker imprint in moist soil. A trampled tuft of buffalo grass. A broken twig where the subject had brushed against it. Then suddenly nothing.

What the hell?

Remembering the corrections official’s warning that the subject could be armed, Jake scanned the immediate area, listening. It was so quiet he could hear the wind whisper through the pines. Beneath him, Brandywine grew restless, her bridle jangling as she tossed her head. The hairs on his nape prickled. It was too quiet. Why weren’t the birds chattering?

“Whoa, girl.” Wondering if his subject had doubled back, he realized he’d just made a rookie’s mistake. Damn.

Tugging on the reins, he nudged the mare’s sides with his heels, sending her quickly backward. Simultaneously he slid the Heckler & Koch .45 from his holster and swung it upward. Adrenaline cut through his gut when he saw a pair of dirty sneakers dangling from the branch of a lodgepole pine ten feet up.

“I’m a police officer.” He backed Brandywine to a safer distance. “Show me your hands.”

Two hands emerged, dirt-streaked but empty nonetheless.

“Come on down out of that tree, ma’am.”

Barely visible from the ground, she was perched precariously on a branch. Jake craned his neck to get a better look at her, hoping to gauge her frame of mind. The instant he made eye contact, the blood stalled in his veins. He’d never seen eyes that color. An intriguing mix of violet and midnight spun into velvet as soft as the mountain sky. Her hair was a jumble of brown streaked with blond. It fell in disarray over her shoulders, each strand curling as tight as a spring, too wild and unusual to be anything but natural.

Jake upheld his earlier opinion that she didn’t look like an escaped convict. The photograph the D.O.C. official had shown them that morning didn’t begin to do this lovely creature justice. From all appearances, neither did the psychological profile. She looked more rational than some people he’d run into in these parts. She even seemed a tad embarrassed at having been caught up in that tree. But, of course, she was the only blonde in prison grays around. Sitting ten feet above the ground on the branch of a lodgepole pine, she fit the bill.

“Ma’am, I’m a deputy sheriff with the Chaffee County Sheriff’s Department. I’d like for you to climb down before you get hurt,” he said. “Right now.”

“How do I know you’re really a cop?”

Her voice drifted down to him like smoke. Her accent held a hint of Appalachia. Jake wondered how in the world this lovely young woman had gotten herself into such terrible trouble with the law.

Unclipping his badge from his belt, he held it up for her to see. “Jake Madigan, Chaffee County Sheriff’s Office. Come on down. Now.”

He heard her sigh, then watched as she slid her feet along the branch, and moved toward the main trunk. “Okay. I’m coming. Just…wait a second. And put that gun away, will you? They make me nervous, especially when they’re pointed at me.”

Jake held the gun steady. “Be careful,” he said.

“Like you care.”

He arched a brow. “Well, I’d hate to have to haul you all the way back to Buena Vista with you screaming your head off because you broke your ankle jumping out of a gosh-darned tree.”

“Believe me, mister, at this point in my life a broken ankle would be the least of my problems.”

He wasn’t going to argue with that; she was definitely in serious trouble. Jake dismounted and ground-tied Brandywine. He looked up to see the woman set both feet on a lower branch. The branch would have been strong enough to support her weight—if it hadn’t been pecked full of holes by a persistent woodpecker. “Ma’am, you don’t want to put your weight on that branch.”

“Don’t tell me how to climb, cowboy. I’ve been climbing trees since I was three years old.”

“That may be true, ma’am, but—”

“I know what I’m do—”

The branch snapped with an audible crack! The woman yelped once, then crashed through a dozen smaller branches on her way down. Jake barely had time to holster his sidearm when a blur of blond hair and prison grays tumbled down and hit the ground with a thud hard enough to make his own spine ache.

“Easy,” he said, approaching her. “Just be still a moment.”

Lying sprawled on her side, she made an inaudible sound that sounded suspiciously like a curse, but she didn’t move.

Oh, hell. Just what he needed—an injured, obstinate and pretty-as-sin prisoner to haul down the mountain. What the hell was he doing volunteering for this stuff when he could be at home shoveling horse manure?

Jake knelt, set his hands firmly against her shoulder, trying not to notice when a mass of curly blond hair swept over his hand. “You all right?”

A grunt emanated from beneath that mass of hair. “Just let me…catch my…breath.”

“Can you move your toes for me?”

He looked down a stretch of leg that seemed to go on forever, saw her toes move beneath the canvas of her sneaker. “Yeah,” she said.

“What about your fingers?”

She wiggled her fingers. “Wow, that really hurt.”

Jake didn’t think she was seriously hurt. But his EMT training—and the ever-present threat of lawsuits against police departments by disgruntled suspects—told him it was always wise to rule out the serious stuff first. “Roll over for me, okay?”

Grunting with the effort, she rolled slowly onto her back. “Ow. Oh, Jeez.”

Jake’s heart rate spiked when he found himself looking down into violet eyes framed by thick, black lashes and a whole lot of attitude he had absolutely no desire to deal with. He’d had his fill of women with attitude and didn’t much like the idea of another helping—especially the con and liar variety.

“Anything hurt?” he asked.

“My hip hurts. And my elbow. Jeez, it feels like I landed on a rock.”

“You just got the wind knocked out of you,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about you, but I just happen to be partial to keeping oxygen in my lungs. Makes breathing a hell of a lot easier.”

“You should have thought of that before you climbed that tree. That was a damn fool stunt.”

“For the record, I’m an expert on the damn fool bit, so you may as well get used to it.” Pulling a stick from her hair, she tossed it at him, then sat up.

The prison-issue jumpsuit didn’t do much for her figure, but Jake couldn’t help but notice the body beneath it. She was long and athletic and the material fell over curves he was a fool for noticing at a moment like this.

“What the hell were you doing up in that tree, anyway?” he asked.

She gave him a that’s-a-really-stupid-question glare that was hot enough to melt snow. “Well, I wasn’t building a tree house.”

“Running from the law isn’t very smart. You always get caught sooner or later.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking when you rode by the first time.”

Jake shoved down a rise of annoyance. He could do without the smart mouth. He could damn well do without the way he was responding to those eyes of hers. Eight years in the Marine Corps had taught him discipline, and he’d lived by that code ever since. Twelve years of law enforcement had taught him control, and he’d adopted that code into his personal life, as well. The ethics came from inside the man. Jake prided himself on all those things, characteristics that defined who he was. He wasn’t about to let a siren such as this lure him into the shallows so he could crash on the rocks and die a watery death.

“Are you alone?” Jake stood and stepped back.

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t think there’s anyone else stupid enough to go tromping through this godforsaken countryside for six hours with me, do you?”

“Stand up,” he said.

Grumbling, she struggled to her feet and began brushing the dust and dry grass from her jumpsuit.

Unable to help himself, Jake’s gaze swept the length of her. The instinctive need to do so surprised him—and disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t a gawker when it came to women, no matter how good they were to look at. He’d never had a problem with keeping his male tendencies in check. He wasn’t even sure why he was reacting to this woman now—but he was—and it was starting to tick him off.

“Lace your hands behind your head and turn around,” he said.

Sighing in annoyance, she reluctantly obeyed.

Only when her back was to him did Jake notice the tear in her jumpsuit. It started at her backside and stretched halfway down her thigh. The sight of velvety flesh and the white cotton panties beneath shouldn’t have made his mouth go dry, but it did, and for several long seconds he couldn’t take his eyes off that small, dangerous stretch of flesh.

She must have felt the draft because an instant later she craned her head around and spotted it. “Oh, great.” She lowered her hands. “My pants are ripped.”

“Put your hands up,” Jake said.

“Damn cheap—”

“Put ’em up, ma’am. Now.”

“But my pants are ripped and my—”

Jake cursed.

Compromising, she put one hand on her head, clutched the torn fabric together with her other.

He sighed. Well, wasn’t this a hell of a mess?

Easing his eyes away from the flesh in question, he looked her in the eye. If he’d thought her gaze would be any less mesmerizing than her thigh, he was mistaken. He felt its impact with the force of a hammer striking the head of a spike and driving it deep.

“Probably caught your pants on a branch on the way down,” he offered.

“No thanks to you.” Awkwardly she kept one hand behind her head, the other clutching the tear. “I need a safety pin.”

“Ma’am, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Yeah, you don’t look much like a safety pin kind of guy. I’m sure it would be totally stupid of me to ask if you have a needle and thread in that saddlebag of yours, wouldn’t it?”

Jake watched the color rise into her cheeks, felt his own discomfort grow. He wasn’t sure why her request bothered him, but it did. Probably because he couldn’t fault her for being modest, even if she was a criminal. “I’ve got some sutures we might could use. I’ll have a look in my pack as soon as I get you settled. Maybe we can rig something to get you by.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by ‘settled’?”

Jake didn’t like the way the situation was shaping up. Procedure dictated he search her next. By no means did he want to get his hands anywhere near that body. Male officers normally didn’t search female prisoners, but during the briefing the team had been warned that this woman should be considered armed and dangerous. If he’d been in town, he could have radioed for a female officer to assist to do a quick preliminary search for weapons or drugs. But he wasn’t anywhere near a town, and there wasn’t a female officer within fifty miles, so he was going to have to do the deed himself.

Oh, boy.

The thought shouldn’t have rattled him; he’d searched plenty of prisoners before transporting them. Quick. Impersonal. Half the time he found something illegal. But for the first time in the course of his career, Jake felt as if he were out of his element. Man, he needed this like he needed a kick in the head by his mule.

“I’d like for you to step over to the tree and put your hands on the trunk for me,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re going to—”

“Ma’am, just do as I say.”

“I know the drill.” Clutching the material of her torn jumpsuit, she stalked over to the tree—and put her one free hand against it. Jake swore softly, but didn’t ask her to let go of the tear. He figured he’d be better off if he just didn’t think about that tear at all. He might be a cop, but he’d been cursed with the scourge of being a gentleman, as well. To this day he wasn’t sure if that was his saving grace or his fatal flaw.

“Do you have any weapons or drugs or anything I should know about before I search you?” he asked.

“I don’t have anything on me, except a truckload of really bad luck.” She slapped her other hand against the tree.

Jake tried not to notice when the material parted, exposing a glimpse of her rear end and those white panties. Walking up behind her, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Spread your legs apart for me.”

She did, but it wasn’t far enough, and he nudged the insides of her sneakers with his booted foot. Making a small sound of annoyance, she spread her feet wider. He would search her just enough to make sure she didn’t have a gun or knife. Anything smaller than that, he would just have to deal with when and if the situation arose.

Starting at the top of her head, he ran his hands over her hair. It was so thick and curly, he had to squeeze it between his fingers to make sure she didn’t have anything hidden within that wild mass of curls. As impersonally as possible, Jake swept his hands down the front of her, beneath her arms, careful to check her pockets and out-of-the-way places for weapons sewn into the lining of the jumpsuit. He checked her waistband, hips, the outsides of her thighs, down her legs, even her ankles.

He tried not to notice the way she was shaking as his hands moved swiftly over her. Up until now she’d been holding her own. But there was always something demoralizing about the search that undid people. By the time he was finished, he’d broken a sweat and his own hands weren’t quite steady. He could tell they were both relieved when he stepped back.

“Okay,” he said. “You can turn around.”

She faced him then, but Jake didn’t miss that, for the first time since he’d discovered her hiding in the tree, she didn’t meet his gaze.

He pulled the cuffs from his belt. “Give me your hands.”

Surprising him, she offered her wrists. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m cold and starving and I just want to get warm.”

Jake wasn’t buying the sudden cooperation. Not from this woman who’d risked her life to escape, then covered an amazing amount of terrain that would have exhausted most men.

He looked down at her hands. They were small and soft-looking. A woman’s hands, he thought, only these hands were scratched and bruised. Her fingertips were red from the cold. He reminded himself that she was the one who’d gotten herself into this mess, not him. Still, he’d never been able to let someone suffer if it was within his power to stop it.

Cursing silently, he shoved the cuffs into his belt. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got an extra duster you can wear to keep the wind off you.”

“T-thanks.” Her teeth were chattering. “It’s getting colder.”

Pulling the radio from his belt to call for a chopper, Jake started toward Brandywine to get the duster. “RMSAR Homer Two, this is Coyote One. Do you read me? Over.”

Jake wasn’t so sure about the chopper. The winds had kicked up considerably in the past half hour. Once sustained winds reached forty knots, the Bell 412 would be grounded.

“This is Coyote One. RMSAR Homer Two, do you read me?”

“RMSAR Homer Two here, Coyote. You getting snowed on yet?”

“I’m about to. Homer, I’ve got a Ten-Twenty-Six. Expedite. Over.”

“Roger that. Eagle went back to her nest. What’s your Twenty?”

On reaching the horse, Jake glanced over his shoulder to check on his prisoner, but she was gone.

Chapter 2

Abby covered the ground at a reckless speed. She stumbled over rocks and brush, zigzagging around gully washers deep enough for a person to fall into and never climb out of. She had to hand it to Cowboy Cop. He’d been decent to her—which was a lot more than she could say for some of the law enforcement types she’d encountered in the past year—but she didn’t have any regrets about taking off. No matter how decent he’d been to her, she knew what the end result would be. There was no way in hell she going to spend the rest of her life in prison for a crime she hadn’t committed.

She’d only put twenty yards between them when she heard a shout behind her. Some cop cliché about stopping or he was going to shoot her. Abby didn’t stop. The curse that followed wasn’t cliché, but the temper behind it made her run even harder. She may have been duped a few times in her life, but she’d garnered some instincts over the years. She was savvy enough about human nature to know the man with the gunmetal eyes and slow drawl wasn’t going to shoot an unarmed woman in the back.

She was willing to bet her life on that.

Fifty yards out and the terrain leveled off. She found her rhythm and picked up speed, just as she had at the track back at the prison where lifer Mary Beth Jenkins had timed her two-mile run six days a week for the past four months. Between weightlifting and running, Abby was in top physical form. Now, as her feet pounded the earth and she pushed her body to the limit, she prayed all that hard work was going to pay off.

She could hear the horse breaking through brush behind her. Cowboy Cop yelled again, but she couldn’t make out the words and she didn’t slow down. Burning lungs and sore muscles were nothing compared to the agony she faced if he caught her. Abby was running for her life. She’d decided the first time she’d heard her cell door close that she’d rather die than spend the rest of her life behind bars.

Of course, Fate had different ideas. One minute she was running like an Olympian, the next she was perched on the edge of a gulch, fighting to keep herself from falling into a stream where the water ran white and swift ten feet below.

Cutting to the left, Abby resumed her sprint. She knew better than to waste precious seconds looking over her shoulder, but the urge was too strong to resist. The sight of Cowboy Cop astride that big, spotted horse and gaining on her at an astounding rate made her heart jump high in her throat. Good Lord, he was going to catch her!

Spurred by panic, she ran at a dangerous speed, hurtling over fallen trees, ducking the occasional branch. Her breaths came hard and fast, the thin, cold air setting her lungs on fire.

The cop was so close she could hear the squeak of leather, the horse’s hooves pounding the hard-packed earth. Sensing he was about to leap—knowing how a gazelle must feel when a lion’s claws closed around its throat—she pushed harder.

An instant later he came down on top of her like a ton of bricks. Strong arms closed around her shoulders, his sheer weight dragging her down. She stumbled. Her legs tangled. Then the ground rushed up and smacked the air from her lungs.

Abby landed hard on her stomach. She tried to crawl away, but his hand snaked out and clamped over her ankle. Yelping, she lashed out with her foot. Her heel connected with something solid. His curse burned through the air.

“Stop fighting me and calm down,” he growled.

Only then did Abby see her chance. Somehow she’d managed to land a kick just below his right eye. While she hadn’t intended to hurt him, his instant of pain gave her the opportunity she needed to save her life. Leaning close to him, she jerked the radio from his belt and heaved it as hard as she could toward the stream.

Above her, Cowboy Cop went perfectly still.

Abby held her breath.

An instant later the sound of a splash rose over the din of rushing water. And for the first time in a year the thrill of victory gushed through her veins.

But her sense of victory was short-lived. The next thing she knew she was rolled onto her stomach, her hands jerked behind her back and a pair of handcuffs snapped firmly around her wrists. Evidently, Cowboy Cop didn’t appreciate her tossing his radio.

Abby lay still for a moment, catching her breath, gathering her senses, trying to decide on her next course of action.

“Son of a gun.” Rising, he stalked to the steep bank.

She watched as he chucked his boots, yanked off his full-length duster and hurled it onto the grass behind him. Not bothering to roll up his Wrangler jeans, he skidded down the bank and entered the icy water and began the hopeless task of searching for the radio. She could tell by his posture he was angry. She had to hand it to him, the man had exercised restraint so far. Guilt nudged her that she’d put that bruise under his eye. Truly, she wasn’t a violent person. She downright detested violence under most circumstances. But this afternoon definitely qualified as one of Grams’s “desperate” times.

She watched him wade into water that nearly reached his hips. Just the thought of venturing into that icy water made her shiver. “Lady, you are a menace not only to me but to yourself,” he snarled.

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

He shot her a withering look and continued his search.

His eyes were the color of flint, all rigid control and that cool distance cops seemed to specialize in. The man might know how to fill out a pair of jeans, he might even have pretty eyes, but Abby knew better than to let herself be charmed by a cop. She hated the way they looked at her. With suspicion and disdain and that nasty little hint of superiority that set her teeth on edge. Despite his finer attributes, he was a cop where it counted. And she’d be wise to remember that in the coming hours.

“Well, Einstein, it looks like you and I are going to have to ride back tonight without the benefit of the chopper.” He waded through knee-deep water and stepped up onto the muddy bank.

She shouldn’t have noticed the way that wet denim hugged his lean hips and muscular thighs, not to mention another part of his male anatomy she did not want to think about. She shouldn’t be noticing a lot of things about this man, including the fact that he was undoubtedly the most handsome cop she’d ever laid eyes on.

He’d lost his hat at some point, revealing dark hair that was cropped short. His features were angular and lean with cheekbones befitting a Comanche chief. His hollowed cheeks and straight nose lent him a hardened appearance. But his mouth was oddly soft—and sensual enough to tempt a saint.

Abby winced when he reached up and fingered the bruise under his right eye.

“I’m sorry about the bruise,” she said quietly.

“The bruise?” A humorless laugh broke from his throat as he reached for his boots and stepped into them. “You just chucked our only means of communication and you’re worried about a freaking bruise?”

“You should put something cold—”

“If we run into heavy weather or one of us gets hurt—”

“I’m sorry you’re so upset about the radio.”

“You’re damn straight I’m upset! I can’t believe someone would do something so incredibly stupid. Even a convict!”

“I hate to point this out, but I think you’re angry because I got the jump on you.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “What?”

“I nearly got away. That chaps your ego. That’s why you’re so angry.”

“I appreciate you pointing that out to me, but I’m particularly angry because we’ve got over five hours of riding ahead of us and heavy weather moving in.”

“Look, I’m sorry I put you in a tough spot. But I’m sure you’ll get out of this just fine. This isn’t personal. It’s just that…I can’t go back.”

He choked out another humorless laugh. “I hate to be the one to break this earth-shattering news to you, Blondie, but you don’t have a choice.”

“I can’t go back. I won’t.”

He glared at her. “If you’ve got any other quick-escape schemes up your sleeve, I strongly suggest you put them out of your mind because it’s not going to happen. Got it?”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You escaped from prison. It’s my job to take you back. End of story.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Look, we can do this the easy way, or I can use force. It’s up to you. But I can tell you, if you choose option number two, it’s only going to make it harder for you.”

“Cowboy—”

“Don’t argue. Let’s go.”

“Please, don’t do this.” Despite her best efforts, her voice quivered with the last word. “I can’t go back.”

He regarded her with those cool, gray eyes. “You should have thought of the consequences before you murdered someone.”

Even after nearly a year of being called a murderer, the word still made her shake inside. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Lady, do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that?”

“I don’t care how many times you’ve heard it. I’m innocent.”

“A jury says you did it. The warden wants you back. That’s all I need to know.”

Abby knew her claim of innocence fell on deaf ears. She knew what it sounded like—a murderer’s desperate ploy to buy time. She would never convince this man that she was innocent. The only person who could do that was Dr. Jonathan Reed at Mercy General Hospital in Denver. A man who’d held her heart in his palm—and crushed it right before her eyes.

“I’d rather die than go back to prison,” she said after a moment.

He frowned at her. “You keep pulling stupid stunts like the one with the radio and that can be arranged.” His boots sloshed with water as he stalked over to her. “Get up. We’ve got some ground to cover.”

By the time they reached the mule a few minutes later, it was snowing. Abby had always loved snow. It made the world look fresh and new and untainted by life’s problems. It reminded her of home and those endlessly long winters she and Grams had spent on the farm back in Calloway County, Kentucky, before Paps passed away.

She wondered if life would ever be that simple again.

A few feet away, looking miserable and cold in those wet jeans, Cowboy Cop shrugged into his duster. Scooping his hat off the ground, he brushed at the dried grass and set it on his head. “Come here.”

Warily, she stepped over to him and stuck out her chin. “If you’re thinking of brutalizing me because I tossed your stupid radio, I should warn you I have a really good lawyer. Jackson Scott Sargent specializes in police brutality and he’s won every case—”

“Shut up and turn around.” Frowning, he extracted the handcuff key from a small compartment in his belt.

Realizing with some surprise that he was going to remove the cuffs, she turned her back to him and offered her wrists. “Oh, well…thank you.”

He removed the cuff from one wrist. “Don’t thank me because I’m just letting you wear them in front because you’re going to get up on that mule—”

“Wait just a—”

“And you’re going to need to hold on to the horn with both hands because she’s got a gait like a truck with four flat tires.”

“I don’t know how to ride.”

“I don’t care.”

“If I fall off—”

“I’ll leave you where you fall.”

“If I get injured in any way, my lawyer, Jackson Scott Sar—”

“Shut up about the lawyer, lady, will you?”

“I’m merely forewarning you what could happen if I don’t get back to Buena Vista in the same healthy condition in which I left.”

“I’ll remember that next time you do something stupid like fall out of a tree or trash our only means of communication.”

She started to back away, but he tugged on the cuff. “Give me your other hand.”

“Please—”

“Not after the stunt you pulled. Give me your hand. Now.”

Resigning herself to being cuffed and forced to ride that obstinate-looking mule, she stuck out her hand. Far too efficiently, he snapped the cuffs into place. “Feel better?” she asked nastily.

“Sure do.” He walked over to the mule. When she didn’t follow, he raised his hand and beckoned her with his index finger. “We’ve got snow moving in, Blondie. Let’s move.”

Abby wasn’t sure how she was going to get out of this. Evidently, Cowboy Cop was a by-the-book guy and took his job way too seriously. Well, she’d just have to keep her eyes open and hope for an opportunity. If one didn’t arise, she’d just have to make her own. She didn’t relish the idea of spending a cold, wet night out in the snow, but knew the weather might turn out to be an advantage.

She followed him over to the mule.

“On the count of three, I want you to put your left foot in the stirrup, your hands on the horn and hoist yourself into the saddle.”

“I know how to get on.” She lifted her hands and set them on the leather-covered horn. She’d only ridden a couple of times in her life. Back on Grams’s farm, Mr. Smith had owned several Shetland ponies. Abby had liked them just fine with their long manes and pink noses, but she’d never gotten the hang of how to stay on their backs. She’d spent a lot of time that summer dusting off her behind.

“One-two-three.”

Abby hoisted herself up, lifting her right leg over the mule’s back.

“You’re a natural,” Cowboy Cop said.

“Careful, my head’s going to swell.” She stuck her tongue out at him when he turned his back.

Taking the lead attached to the mule’s halter, he lashed it to his saddle. “You’d be wise to stay alert and pay attention to me and your mount.”

“Like that’s going to make any difference to me as you lead me to my death.”

He shot her a frown over his shoulder.

“And we’re going to get wet,” she said.

“Welcome to Colorado in November.” Gathering the reins, he vaulted onto the big, spotted horse with the ease of a man who rode often and well. “We would have been on board a nice warm chopper by now if you hadn’t chucked the radio.”

“I’ll take my chances with the weather.”

His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Not by choice.”

“You’ve got a twang.”

“I do not have a twang.”

“You’ve definitely got a twang. I’d say you’re from Tennessee.”

“It’s not a twang, and I’m not from Tennessee.” When he only continued to stare at her, she added, “I’m from Kentucky.”

Twisting in his saddle, Cowboy Cop reached into a large leather bag slung across the back of the saddle and retrieved a rolled-up bundle. He removed the tie and shook it. Abby was surprised to see a long, all-weather duster materialize. She wasn’t sure why, but the fact that he was thoughtful enough to think of her physical comfort—especially when she’d given him the mother of all shiners and trashed his beloved radio—touched her.

Turning his horse, he pulled up beside her mule, so close their legs brushed. “It’ll keep you from getting wet, and keep the wind off you.” He reached around her and fastened the button at her throat.

It had been a long time since Abby had been close to a man—especially a man who looked as good as this one. Her heart did a weird little dip, then tapped against her ribs like a brass knocker. He smelled of leather, the out-of-doors, and healthy man. He was so close she could see the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, smell the tang of mint on his breath.

Her mule chose that moment to shift. Cowboy’s knee bumped against hers. The touch jolted her. She hadn’t intended to make eye contact with him. But one moment she was trying to avoid looking at him, the next she was staring into steel-gray eyes that were a tad too cool and a million times too discerning. His face was less than a foot away from hers and for a moment, they were eye-to-eye. His gaze never faltered as he secured the duster at her throat. She thought she saw a flash of heat in the cold depths of his gaze, but it happened too quickly for her to be sure.

And at that moment Abby clearly saw this man’s only vulnerability—and suddenly realized what she was going to have to do to escape him.

If Jake hadn’t experienced it firsthand, he never would have believed what had just happened had really happened. Not to by-the-book Jake Madigan. The level-headed lawman who always looked twice and never took anything at face value. Jake simply didn’t go goo-goo eyed over women no matter how good they were to look at. And he never, ever, trusted them.

So what the hell was he thinking letting those big violet eyes of hers get to him like that?

The woman was a menace. Not only to society, but to his own rock-solid discipline. She was serving a life sentence for murder, for God’s sake. If that little side note wasn’t enough to persuade his libido to take an extended vacation, the corrections official’s briefing that morning should have been, especially the part about Abigail Nichols’s history of mental instability. Jake had seen firsthand that she was self-destructive; he’d watched her toss his radio into the stream, putting them out of communication with RMSAR headquarters and the Chaffee County Sheriff’s Office dispatch. Such an act was not only foolhardy, but dangerous.

Now, on top of those man-killing eyes of hers and feminine charms he had no right to be thinking about, he also had the blasted weather to contend with.

Damn crazy woman.

The snow was coming down sideways now. Not only was Jake wet and freezing from the waist down, but he was starting to get worried. The weather had deteriorated at an alarming rate. Visibility had dwindled to less than a quarter mile. They wouldn’t be able to travel much longer. The snow was already a foot deep and getting deeper by the minute. The wind had kicked up to a brutal speed and howled through the trees like a keening ghost. The drifts forming now would be large enough to swallow a man in a few hours. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, they were going to have to find shelter and camp for the night.

Jake definitely wasn’t going to be home in time to watch the hockey game.

Cursing the weather—and his crafty prisoner—he huddled deeper into his duster and brooded.

“Hey, Cowboy, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet, but it’s snowing like the dickens.”

Turning in his saddle, he looked at her, felt a quiver of an emotion he refused to name kick through him at the sight of her. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. That wild mass of blond curls was damp and blowing in her face and glittered with a frosting of snow.

“Put your hood up,” he said.

Raising her cuffed hands, she tugged the hood over her head. “My hands are cold.”

“I was wondering when you were going to get around to complaining,” he rumbled, hoping to keep her mind off the cold. Even from four feet away he could see that she was shivering. Her hands were bright red. Serves her right, he thought. But deep down inside, he didn’t like seeing her shake with cold. Damn it, he didn’t like the way things were shaping up at all.

“I’m not complaining,” she said. “Just pointing out a fact.”

“You wouldn’t know a fact if you stepped on one and it stuck to the bottom of your shoe.” He stopped his horse. Rebel Yell took a couple more steps, then pulled up next to Brandywine. Jake frowned at the woman. “And if you hadn’t done away with the radio, we would be warm and dry by now.”

“Correction. You would be warm and dry. I’d be sitting in a cold jail cell, contemplating spending the rest of my life behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit. That’s not my idea of a good time.”

Jake wanted to believe it was that body of hers that had his hormones chomping at the bit for the chance to sell him out. But the truth of the matter was he’d seen something honest and true in the depths of her gaze. Something that belied her cavalier attitude and smart mouth and let him see the uneasy vulnerability beneath.

He knew better than to expect honesty from a woman like Abby Nichols; Jake hadn’t been born yesterday. This woman was about as innocent as Lucifer. He knew firsthand how easily lies and deceit came to some people. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to look into her eyes and wonder how she’d made such a mess of her life.

Taking off his gloves, he pulled his horse up next to her mule. “Give me your hands,” he said.

She looked at him warily, but held out her hands.

Without looking at her, Jake worked her hands into his gloves. “This will keep you from getting frostbite.”

“What about you?” Her gaze met his.

Jake stared back a moment too long before clucking to his horse and moving ahead of her.

“Where are we going anyway?” she asked after a moment.

“There’s a hunting cabin a couple of miles from here. If it’s still standing, we’ll stop for the night.”

“That sounds promising.”

“It’ll keep us dry, keep the wind off us. If we’re lucky the weather will clear by morning.”

“Yeah, I was looking forward to getting back to my nice, cozy cell. Tomorrow’s my lucky day, huh?”

He shot her a sour look over his shoulder.

“The warden and I are tight, you know.” She crossed her index and middle finger. “Like this.”

Jake didn’t want to get in to the dynamics of her plight. He wasn’t buying her claim of innocence. Not even close. He’d heard too many lies over the years not to recognize a con when he heard one. He’d heard so many lies—from inmates and criminals and suspects—he could spot one in a dark room with his eyes closed. He’d heard lies from people he’d thought were decent. People he’d trusted. Worse, he’d been lied to by a woman he’d trusted with his heart.

That had cost him something he hadn’t been able to get back. Something that made him a little less human. Elaine’s lies had sucked the trust from his soul. The worst part about it was that Jake wasn’t even sure he wanted it back.

Chapter 3

Jake couldn’t help but worry that he’d overlooked the cabin. That he’d passed right by it and hadn’t seen it because of the poor visibility. Or because he was cold to his bones and shivering uncontrollably. He couldn’t help but think he was leading this woman directly to nowhere—or to a slow and excruciating death.

He couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head as they rode into the driving snow. They’d been traveling at an agonizingly slow speed for two hours. He was wet and tired and growing increasingly uneasy about the situation. He could only imagine how his prisoner must be feeling. She wasn’t dressed for heavy weather. She hadn’t eaten or rested. Her hands were cuffed, to boot. Yet she hadn’t complained. Either she was one tough cookie—or more stubborn than anyone he’d ever met.

If his memory served him, they should have passed the old hunting cabin an hour ago. His compass told him they were headed in the right direction. If so, then where the hell was it? Alarm quivered in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t one to panic—he’d been in worse predicaments in these mountains and survived. Only this time he wasn’t alone. His unwilling traveling companion might be an escaped convict, but her safety was his responsibility. Jake took that responsibility to heart. With weather conditions worsening by the minute—and nightfall closing in fast—he knew it had become imperative for them to find shelter very soon or else find themselves facing a life-or-death situation.

Wind stung his eyes as Brandywine took him through snow deep enough to scrape the underside of her belly, deeper where the wind had whipped it into drifts. His face was wet and ached with cold. His hands were beyond numb.

“You okay?” he shouted over the roar of wind.

“You mean aside from the fact that I’m wet and cold and hungry beyond belief and my life is wrecked? Hey, Cowboy, I’m just peachy over here. Don’t worry about me. I mean, who needs their fingers and toes when they’re going to be spending the rest of their life in prison?”

Even though she was less than three feet away, he could barely make out her silhouette through the driving snow. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Hang tight, okay?”

“I’ve been hanging on for a year, now. A few more minutes aren’t going to make much difference.”

An instant later Brandywine stumbled. Jake looked down, squinting through the snow, realized she’d stumbled over the lowest rail of a broken-down fence. Pulling up on the reins, he looked ahead. Relief trickled through him when the weathered exterior of the cabin loomed into view.

Sliding off the horse, he led her to the east side of the cabin where a shallow lean-to blocked the wind and snow. Jake walked over to Rebel Yell and looked up at his charge. She gazed back at him, shivering, her cheeks bright pink within the pale oval of her face. Wisps of wet hair curled wildly around the hood of the duster.

“Nice p-place,” she said. “C-come here often?”

He would have bought the tough-guy act if her teeth hadn’t been chattering. An Emergency Medical Technician, Jake knew it wouldn’t take long for hypothermia to set in under these kinds of conditions. He probably wasn’t too far from that point himself. “Sit tight,” he said. Taking Rebel Yell’s lead, he tied the mule to the manger, then turned to the woman. “Lift your right leg over her neck and slide down,” he said.

Holding her cuffed hands in front of her, she did as she was told. It would have worked if her legs hadn’t given out the instant they touched the ground. If Jake hadn’t been there to catch her, she would have fallen. But he was there, holding her close—way too close—and far too aware of how good she felt in his arms.

Startled violet eyes met his, a kaleidoscope of emotions scrolling in their depths. Jake saw awareness and caution coupled with something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He breathed in, got a lungful of her scent, felt it knock him upside the head like a fence post. She smelled earthy and elemental, a heady mix of sweet mountain rain and woman that stirred him despite the cold. He felt the hard thump of a pulse, but he wasn’t sure if it was his or hers. Just that it was racing like the wind, and he was far too wise to ask himself why.

“Careful, I’ve got you,” he said.

“I’m c-cold.” She winced. “M-my feet are numb.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I figured it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it’s seriously cold out here.” Grimacing, she shoved a handful of hair from her eyes. “Like you care, anyway.”

“It’s my responsibility to get you back to Buena Vista safe and sound.”

Her humorless laugh shouldn’t have irked him, but it did. “More like dead or alive.”

“Don’t overdramatize. It’s annoying.”

“I’m not overdramatizing. I’m simply being realistic.”

Jake knew he should step away. He should have stepped away the instant he’d felt the brush of her body against his. But she was curvy and soft against him, and her scent was doing a number on his judgment. Not to mention another part of his anatomy that seemed determined to betray him.

“Don’t sweat it, Cowboy Cop. I know you’re just doing your job. I’m not taking any of this personally.”

When he looked into her eyes, he could tell she really meant what she was saying. “I don’t want to see you hurt,” he said.

“Yeah, you just want to get me back to Buena Vista in one piece so I can spend the rest of my life in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. That’s real compassionate. But I guess a girl in my position has got to appreciate compassion when she can, you know?”

Jake sighed. “I’m not going to get into this with you now.” Releasing her, he stepped back. “I’ve got to get these animals fed and bedded down for the night.”

He turned toward Brandywine, opened the saddlebag and pulled out a halter, lead and a bag of grain. Slipping the bridle off the horse’s head, he replaced it with the halter and tied her to the manger. Scooping snow from the manger, he divided the bag of grain between the two animals. As they fed, he turned to his charge. “Give me your hands.”

“Don’t tell me you trust me enough to take off these cuffs.”

“Trust doesn’t enter into the picture here, Blondie. This is a dangerous storm, and I could use your help.”

“Imagine that. A lawman needing my help.”

Frowning, Jake fished the key from his belt, unlocked the cuffs, then stuffed them into the compartment. Without speaking, he turned back to the animals, unfastened the two bedrolls from the saddles and offered them to his prisoner. “Would you hold these for a minute while I untack?”

She nodded. “Maybe you should deputize me or something.”

“I don’t think so.” He set the bedrolls in her arms, then went about untacking the animals. A few minutes later, a saddle horn in each hand, he turned toward the cabin. “Let’s see if this place has a roof,” he said.

“Cowboy, I’m going to be really disappointed if it doesn’t.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“I guess it would be unreasonable for me to hope for hot water.”

“Best case scenario is a fire—if there’s dry wood.”

“Room service?”

“I’ve got some instant meals, jerky and a few cookies.”

“Chocolate chip?”

“Peanut butter.”

“Jeez, you really know how to crush a girl’s dreams.”

Jake moved past her and reached for the knob. The door squeaked when he pushed it open. The pungent odors of old wood and dust greeted him. “No snow on the floor,” he said. “That’s a good sign.”

He stepped into the dimly lit interior, his boots thudding dully against the plank floor. It had been a year since he’d been inside the one-room cabin, and it was every bit as dilapidated as he remembered. He’d gone camping with Tony Colorosa and Pete Scully, and they’d run into rain. Jake had remembered the cabin from a search and rescue operation years before, and they’d ended up spending the night.

“It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’ll do,” he said.

“We’ll have to call housekeeping. There’s a pane missing from the window and it’s snowing in the kitchen.”

Jake looked up to see his charge stroll into the kitchen area. She’d lowered the hood of the duster he’d given her and handfuls of brown-and-blond-streaked hair curled around her shoulders. He tried not to notice that her teeth were chattering, or the occasional shiver that racked her body. Most of all he tried not to notice that she looked more like somebody’s camping partner than she did a convict on the run.

Tearing his gaze from her—and thoughts that were anything but appropriate at a time like this—he looked toward the window where snow blasted in through a broken pane. Two inches of the stuff covered the rough-hewn countertop. “I’ll patch that.”

“Is there a bathroom?”

Jake stared at her, suspicion flaring hot in his gut. “There’s an outhouse just off the back porch.”

When she started toward the back door, he reached out and took her arm. “I’ll go with you.”

“What? You think I’m going to run out into a blizzard?”

“After the stunt with the radio, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I may be desperate, but I’m not stupid.”

“They’re one and the same up here, Blondie. You do something desperate in this weather and it might just kill you.”

“That would just set the world on its ear, wouldn’t it?”

Jake cut her a look. He didn’t like the sound of that. She didn’t appear unbalanced or unduly agitated, but he remembered clearly the D.O.C. officer mentioning that she had a history of mental illness. If she decided to get crazy on him and take off, they could both freeze to death and not be found until spring. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Suit yourself.” Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she stalked over to the rear door and yanked it open. A blast of frigid air sent her back a step.

The outhouse was a doorless, open-air facility that left her gaping for a full thirty seconds before Jake leaned down and told her he would turn his back while she took care of business. She wouldn’t even look at him as she stepped through the door and brushed the snow off the seat. Then at her nod, he turned away and tried not to think about how long this storm might last. While she used the facility, Jake spotted the remains of what had once been a woodpile. The wood underneath was dry, but there wasn’t much. Maybe enough for two days. Leaving his post, he walked over to the pile and gathered up an armload of wood.

When he straightened, he found her a few feet away, gathering kindling. Surprise and a grudging admiration rippled through him. Okay, so Miss Convict was a trooper. That shouldn’t have appealed to him, but it did. He knew what people were like when they were scared. He’d seen his share of panic, even more of tears. This woman could have been the poster girl for calm.

As much as he wanted to deny it, Jake realized he was going to have to be very, very careful in the coming hours. She was getting to him despite his resolve to keep her at a safe distance. And for the first time since Elaine had walked out on him more than two years earlier, he wasn’t sure he trusted his own good judgment to keep him on the straight and narrow.

Rather than shout over the wind, he made eye contact with her and pointed toward the door. She nodded, and he followed her. Once inside, he set the wood in front of the fireplace. “I’ll build a fire, then I’ve got to get out of these wet pants. Why don’t you see if you can find something suitable to cover that broken pane with?”

“I was just going to suggest that.” She started toward the kitchen area where a few pieces of weathered plywood leaned against the sink.

Jake watched her out of the corner of his eye as he stacked the wood and kindling in the hearth. She was still shivering, but he knew a blazing fire would take the damp chill out of the room. It wouldn’t be warm by any means, but at least they wouldn’t die of hypothermia. For tonight, he figured that was the best they could hope for.

She searched the counter, tossing aside a couple of scrap pieces of wood that were either too large or too small to fit over the broken pane. Next, she looked under the sink.

He jumped a foot in the air when she screamed and scrambled back.

“What the hell?” Certain she’d uncovered a nest of rattlesnakes, he sprinted over to her, grabbed her arm and tugged her away from the threat. Her laugh stopped him cold. He glanced past her in time to see a chipmunk scurry into a fist-size hole leading to the crawl space beneath the cabin.

Another laugh erupted. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Cowboy, but I’m not the camping type.”

“I’ve noticed.” His annoyance died a quick death the instant he realized how close she was. Awareness zinged between them like a stray bullet. In the span of a heartbeat, the situation went from bad to worse. A situation where he was no longer the cool-headed cop in control, but a man with a man’s needs—and a man’s weaknesses. She was no longer merely his charge, but a woman with violet eyes and soft flesh and secrets that beckoned a man to peel away the layers of her mystery one by one. He saw the realization in her eyes, heard it in the shuddering breath she let out, felt it in the leap of her pulse as it hammered beneath his fingers where he’d grasped her wrist.

He’d been around the block enough times to know this was a very bad idea. But he didn’t step away. “You okay?” he asked.

“It was only a chipmunk,” she said after a moment.

“I saw that.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It was only a mild heart attack. I’ll survive.”

She choked out a laugh. “You made a joke.”

“I guess I did.”

“It didn’t hurt too bad, did it?” Amusement sparked in her eyes, but he clearly saw that she was shaken. He wondered if it was from the scare that chipmunk had given her, or because he was close enough to see the melted snow clinging to her eyelashes. The only question that remained was just how far he was going to let this go before he put a stop to it.

Her face was only a few short inches from his. So close he could feel the heat coming off her. See the endless violet of her eyes, searching his, seeking something elusive, asking a question he had absolutely no desire to answer. Not when the blood was a dull roar in his head and the feel of her was making his heart pound. Not when the scent of her was so keen he could practically taste her flesh.

Jake knew he should pull away, knew he should heed the alarm blaring in the back of his mind, but he didn’t.

“Your pupils are dilated,” she whispered.

“So are yours.” His voice creaked like rusty barbed wire.

“You know what that means….”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“It means you’re aroused.”

“Really?” He didn’t need her to tell him that. Jake felt it loud and clear, like a bomb going off right on top of him. But he also heard the warning bell clanging and the voice of reason screaming for him to stop what he knew would happen next.

She inched closer. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you wanted to kiss me.”

“Yeah, but you know better, don’t you?”

“Do I?” She stood on her tiptoes, leaned toward him until her mouth was less than an inch from his. “I’ll bet you’re good at it.”

The control cost him, but Jake didn’t move. Sweat broke out on his back. He heard the echo of his pulse in his ears, the rush of blood through his veins. She closed her eyes, leaned closer.

An instant before contact, Jake stepped back. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with, himself for getting into the situation, or her for compromising herself. But the anger stopped the insanity with an audible snap.

Her eyes widened when he grasped her biceps, whirled her around and shoved her into a rickety chair. “Let’s get something straight right now, Blondie.”

She stared at him, her breaths coming short and fast. “I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” he snapped. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you have any self-respect? Don’t you have any pride?”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about self-respect.”

“You need it, sweetheart.”

The sudden rush of tears to her eyes took his anger down a notch, filled the space left in its wake with another emotion he didn’t want to deal with. Not when he could still smell her sweet essence, feel the pang of heat in his groin.

“You don’t know me,” she said. “You don’t know what I’ve been through in the last year—”

“I know what I see. I see a young woman about to give her body away because she thinks she might get something in return.”

She managed to look appalled. “I wasn’t going to—”

“The hell you weren’t. I was reading your signals loud and clear, sister.” Gritting his teeth against another jolt of anger—this time aimed at himself—Jake turned away and paced to the other side of the room. Damn, that had been close.

“I wouldn’t have done…that,” she said after a moment.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jake laughed humorlessly. “Look, if we’re going to be stuck together, I’ve got one rule.”

She leaned back in the chair, blinking back what he hoped to God weren’t tears. “I’m not very good at rules.”

“All I want is for you to be straight with me,” he said. “That means no games. No lying. No tricks. If you can’t tell the truth, then don’t say anything. Do you think you can abide by that?”

She pressed her lips together. “I wasn’t going to…you know, sleep with you.”

“If you weren’t going to sleep with me, just what the hell did you have in mind?”

“Well…I thought maybe…I thought maybe I could distract you.”

“Distract me?” Jake gritted his teeth. “Some other bozo in my position might have taken you up on your offer. Some unscrupulous cop might have wanted more than you were willing to give. Then where would you be?”

“I’d still be in the same predicament I’m in now.”

“Yeah? And what’s that? Paying your debt to society?”

“Going back to prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“You’re going to have to come up with something a little more original than that because I’ve been in this business a long time, and I’ve heard every lie in the book.”

“You want original?” She stood abruptly, trembling and pale, tears shimmering on ashen skin. “The night before I escaped, somebody tried to kill me. I had two choices. Leave or die. So I left. Is that original enough for you?”

Chapter 4

Abby told herself the shaking was from the cold, but she knew it wasn’t. She wanted to believe the tremors racking her body were because she was scared and desperate and furious that her plan to escape had been foiled. But she knew the knot in her gut and racing pulse had more to do with the way the tall cowboy with the unfriendly eyes and dangerously sensual mouth had looked at her when she’d had her body pressed against his.

Holy cow, she’d almost kissed him! A cop, for God’s sake. A man who was going to do his utmost to ruin any chances she had of saving her life. A man who was apparently hardened and cynical—and not nearly as vulnerable as she’d thought.

The most lethal kind of man there was—at least to a woman in her position.

Abby wasn’t above using her feminine charms to get what she wanted. She’d seen the way he looked at her; she’d seen the heat in his eyes, discerned the weakness that made men predictable. Of course, she wouldn’t have let things go too far; she had her limits. But she definitely would have gone far enough to get the job done. She wasn’t sure what that made her. Desperate perhaps. She could live with that. She’d learned to live with a lot of things in the past year.

Of course, she wouldn’t have to compromise herself now that Mr. By-the-Book had thwarted her plans. Damn him. Maybe she was in a lot more trouble than she’d ever imagined.

Abby realized then that she was going to have to be careful with this man. She’d nearly crossed a line. She’d nearly done something irrevocable. Something that would have made her hate herself. She’d nearly made a mistake that would have cost her another piece of her soul. Worse was the realization that for a crazy instant, she wondered if she might even enjoy it.

Oh, dear God, maybe she was crazy.

The cowboy stared at her, his thick brows riding low over eyes filled with a cop’s skepticism. “Good try, Blondie. You get a gold star for originality, but I’m still not buying it.”

She met his gaze levelly. “It’s true.”

“And I’m the Easter bunny.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

“Why are you trying so hard to convince me, then?”

“Because you’re my last hope.”

He took another step back, a predator who’d just been swiped by the nasty claws of a much smaller, but infinitely dangerous prey. “I meant what I said about playing games,” he said. “That includes making up stories. You got that?”

“That isn’t a story, and I sure as hell don’t consider my life a game.”

“Neither do I.”

“Maybe you just don’t give a damn.”

“I give a damn—about the law. I’ve got a job to do. A job that’s not always pleasant. You’re not making it any easier for either of us.”

A gust of wind rattled the door in its frame. Dragging her gaze away from him, Abby looked out the grimy window to the swirl of white beyond. Despair pressed down on her. She felt trapped, like a rabbit caught in a snare with a pack of dogs waiting to tear it to shreds.

“That storm’s not going to let up any time soon.” His voice caught her gaze. He was watching her, his expression as hard and steely as his eyes. “Let’s try to get through this without any more problems, all right?”

“I’m innocent,” she said. “I didn’t kill anyone. I was framed, and I’m going to prove it. I just need—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He raised a hand to silence her. “I’m taking you back and that’s the end of it.”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them back with fierce determination. She would not cry in front of this man. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone for a long, long time. She refused to start now. If Abby Nichols had anything at all left, it was pride. Crying never helped much anyway.

Still, she was thankful when he turned away. Some of the tension drained out of her when she didn’t have to meet that cold-steel gaze of his. She wasn’t going to waste her time trying to convince him of her innocence. Not this hard-headed lawman who saw the world in stark black and white. Her only hope was to gain his trust one inch at a time, then slip away when he wasn’t expecting it. If she didn’t get a chance—if he didn’t give her the chance—she would just have to make one.

“There are a some instant meals in my saddlebag,” he said after a moment. “Why don’t you pull out a couple, and we’ll eat?”

Abby’s stomach growled at the mention of food. She hadn’t eaten since the previous night, and after a physically grueling day she was starved. Without looking at him, she started toward the saddlebag he’d dropped near the door. Kneeling next to the bag, she opened the leather flap. Four individually packaged meals were stacked neatly, along with a collapsible container of water. She removed two of the meals.

“All you have to do is open the meal,” he said from across the room. “There’s a chemical inside that heats the food.”

She turned to ask him how that worked, but the sight of him standing with his back to her—his butt as bare as a baby’s—made her gasp in shock. She knew better than to stare, but before she could stop herself, her eyes did a slow, dangerous sweep, covering every well-muscled inch of a body that gave new meaning to the word perfect.

All the blood in her brain did a quick downward spiral. “W-what do you think you’re doing?” she cried.

He looked at her over his shoulder as he stepped into a pair of jeans and jerked them up quickly over his hips. “Getting into some dry clothes. Thanks to you, I’ve spent the past two hours in wet pants.”

“I know that, but why are you…why did you…”

“You didn’t think I was going to change my pants outside in the blizzard, did you?”

“I didn’t think you were going to strip right in front of me!”

“Your back was turned.” He faced her, and Abby’s mouth went dry. “I didn’t think you’d peek.”

“I…didn’t.”

“I guess that’s why you’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing.” The heat in her cheeks didn’t even come close to a blush; it was more like a forest fire.

“Whatever you say.”

His jeans were well-worn and hugged his lean hips like a pair of snakeskin gloves. His heavy flannel shirt hung open, revealing a muscled chest covered with a sprinkling of black hair that arrowed down to his waistband and disappeared. Abby swallowed hard and tried not to notice that he hadn’t bothered with the top button of those jeans.

Oh, my.

Scooping his wet jeans and long johns off the floor, he started toward her. “What’s your name, anyway?” he asked.

“M-my name?”

“Or do you prefer Blondie? That’s fine by me. A lot of convicts go by aliases.”

“Don’t call me a convict,” she snapped.

He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

“My name is Abby. Abby Nichols.”

“I’m Jake.”

Jake. The name fit him, she realized. Almost as well as those jeans.

“It looks like we might be stuck here together for a while, Abby. I figured we ought to be on a first-name basis.”

She stepped back and watched him hang the jeans and long johns he’d been wearing neatly above the stone hearth.

“How are those meals coming?” he asked.

She looked down at the two unopened containers in her hand. At some point in the last five minutes her appetite had vanished. Maybe about the time when she’d looked over and seen… Mercy, she didn’t want to think about what she’d seen. “I wasn’t sure how to…activate the heat.”

Coming up beside her, he took one of the meals and proceeded to tear off the foil label. “Like this. See?”

He moved with the self-assurance of a man who was comfortable with himself and didn’t necessarily give a damn what the rest of the world thought. Abby watched, fascinated by his hands as the steaming food came into view.

“I hope you like chicken and broccoli.” He handed one of the containers to her. “I’m partial to beef myself.”

“I’d eat nails if they were cooked and warm.” Abby took her food to the hearth.

He walked over to the saddlebag, removed two plastic forks and two containers of water, then met her at the hearth. “The floor’s cold. You can sit on the bedroll if you want.” He handed her water in a collapsible cup.

Abby accepted it and drank deeply. Slipping off the duster, she unrolled the bedroll—an insulated sleeping bag—then settled onto it with her legs crossed. Jake did the same and soon they were forking chicken chunks and broccoli from their instant meals.

They ate in silence, the only sound coming from the raging wind outside, the patter of driving snow against the windows and the occasional crackling of wood as the fire consumed it.

The chicken was surprisingly good, and Abby savored every bite with the fervor of a woman who didn’t know when or where she’d get her next meal. She was going to need her strength in the coming days. As long as she stayed calm and kept her head, she could still get out of this. Jake Madigan might be an armed lawman, but he wasn’t the kind of man who could shoot a woman in the back if she took off on him. All she needed was the opportunity and a little luck.

The warmth from the fire was relaxing her. Abby snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag and drifted. Her tummy was full. She could feel her cold-stiffened muscles beginning to unwind. Her hands no longer ached. She could feel her feet again. Sleepiness was starting to descend like a lavender mist clouding her brain one micro-droplet at a time.

She was aware of Jake moving around the cabin. She heard the door open. Felt the draft of cold air against her face. The clanging of metal against metal.

She opened her eyes to find him kneeling at the hearth, setting a large, scarred kettle over the embers. He looked at her intently, then turned back to the kettle. “I’m melting snow so we can wash up,” he said.

Sitting up, she looked around. The windows were dark now, the interior of the cabin illuminated only by the fire. Outside, the wind howled like an angry banshee. Abby could still hear the snow blasting against the glass on the north side. Jake had taken their empty food containers into the kitchen. She must have fallen asleep.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“You got somewhere to go?”

“No, I’m just wondering.”

“A little after seven.”

Early evening. It felt like the middle of the night. With the storm waging all-out war on the cabin, it seemed as if they were the only two people on earth. The thought should have disturbed her, but it didn’t. In fact, as she sat on the bedroll and looked around the cabin, a strange and comforting warmth encompassed her. The storm might be an inconvenience, but it would buy her some time. Besides, she’d much rather be stuck in this cabin than in a prison cell. At least here there was the hope of escape.

The water in the kettle was steaming. Abby watched Jake use one of his leather gloves to take it from the fire and carry it to the kitchen where he dumped the hot water into a larger pail of snow. She swallowed hard when he turned his back to her and proceeded to strip off his shirt.

Broad shoulders rounded with muscle came into view as he draped the shirt neatly over the back of a chair. The faded jeans he wore rode low on his narrow hips. Jeans that left no doubt about Jake Madigan’s masculinity. Abby tried not to stare, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. The man was built like Adonis. The fire cast yellow light over the room, turning his skin to bronze, his muscled shoulders and back to a sculpted work of art. His biceps flexed as he leaned forward and splashed water onto his face. His wet skin glistened when he dipped a small rag into the water and brought it to his neck and chest, then lower.

Abby turned abruptly away and stared into the hearth, watching the flames leap over the dry wood. Her face felt hot. But she knew it had nothing to do with the fire, and everything to do with the man. She could hear the water splashing on the other side of the room, but for the effect he was having on her body, he may as well have been right next to her.

“I can warm you some water if you want it.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice. He’d come up behind her. Still sitting on the floor in front of the fire, Abby had to crane her neck straight up to look at him. She tried not to look at his chest or that thatch of dark hair covering it. Oh, Lord, she wished he’d put his shirt back on.

“Um, well…yes. I’d…like that.”

What was wrong with her voice?

Without speaking, he went back to the kitchen area and jerked on his shirt, then slipped into his duster. Taking both the kettle and the pail, he went out the door.

Abby’s heart rate quickened. While the thought of washing up with warm water sounded heavenly, she had no idea how she would manage it with Jake around. He might be comfortable strutting around half naked, but she wasn’t.

He came back through the door with a gust of wind and a swirl of snow. She watched as he set the kettle over the fire, then set the larger pail half full of snow back on the rickety table in the kitchen area.

“The water ought to be boiling in a few minutes,” he said. “I found a couple of clean towels you can use.”

“Thank you.” Rising, she looked frantically around the cabin. It was small and sparse and offered absolutely no privacy.

The water in the kettle began to steam. Abby stared at it, then risked a look at Jake. “I can’t bathe with you in here,” she said in her most reasonable voice.

He cut her a look that was half annoyed, half incredulous. “I’ll turn my back.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do. I just…can’t…with you in here.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.”

“Would you mind terribly waiting outside for a couple of minutes? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to take off in this weather.”

“Lady, it’s snowing like crazy with subzero wind chills. I don’t feel like getting hypothermic just so you take a damn bath.”

She looked longingly at the water. “Please, just give me five minutes of privacy.” Her gaze traveled to the fire. “We’re low on firewood. Maybe you could take a few minutes and find some more.”

Heaving a sigh of annoyance, Jake walked to the hearth and removed the kettle from the fire. In the kitchen area, he dumped it over the melting snow. Steam rose into the chill air. He looked at Abby through the cloud.

“I’m going to check on the stock,” he growled. “You’ve got five minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Make it quick,” he said, and walked out, slamming the door in his wake.

Abby stripped in two seconds flat, draping the jumpsuit over the table. She dipped the rag into the water and brought it to her face. The warmth felt wonderful against her skin after being out in the cold all day. She soaped up the rag and scrubbed her face and hands. She closed her eyes and the water sluiced over her, rejuvenating her, making her feel clean and warm and almost human again. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed—she didn’t have a watch—but after a short while, she used the threadbare towel Jake had given her and quickly dried herself. She hated to put the prison-issue jumpsuit back on, but knew she didn’t have a choice. She’d stepped into the jumpsuit and had it pulled up to her waist when the door swung open.

The sight of her bare back stopped Jake cold, like a ship that had run headlong into an iceberg. He felt the impact echo through his body, a paralyzing shock that went from his head all the way down to his very cold toes.

Only he definitely wasn’t cold anymore.

The woman had one hell of a nice back.

Water glistened on silky flesh that was golden in the flickering light of the fire. Her shoulders were slender and fragile. Her narrow rib cage tapered to a waist so small he could almost span it with his hands….

He felt as if he’d been hit right between the eyes with a two-by-four. For a full thirty seconds he stood perfectly still, knocked senseless, knowing he should be doing anything but admiring that pretty back. But for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away.

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