In Roared Flint

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He lifted one black eyebrow in a who-do-you-thinkyou’re-kidding expression.

“Oh, all right!” She stomped indignantly inside—or as indignant a stomp as she could manage in her stocking feet.

If she was going to remain Flint’s prisoner, bedamned if she was going to cook, and she told him so. While he fixed dinner, she tossed the trailing tail of her ragged dress over her arm and wandered around the cabin, looking for a way to escape. She checked every window and rattled every door. She surreptitiously scavenged through cupboards and drawers, trying to find something, anything, that might help her get away. Mostly she found fishing stuff: spools and spools of line, dozens of lures and other paraphernalia, and—voil?!—needle-nose pliers.

Glancing quickly over her shoulder to see if Flint had spotted her find, she stuffed the pliers down the front of her dress, adjusting them inside her bra so that they wouldn’t make a telltale bulge.

Divine smells coming from the stove set her stomach to rumbling again—not surprising since she’d been too nervous to eat lunch, and breakfast had been a banana. She ignored the temptations Flint was concocting and continued her scrutiny of the cabin. With only two rooms and the kitchen alcove, she soon ran out of places to look. There were only so many spots to examine in such small quarters. Before she was reduced to anxious pacing, she told herself to calm down and think. Make a plan.

Picking up a stray stack of cash, she sat down on the sofa and fanned through the banded bunch of hundred dollar bills. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the money that he’d dumped in her lap earlier. The dozens of packets still littered the recliner and the floor.

Where had so much cash come from? Had he become involved in something sinister? Her mind conjured up all sorts of terrible scenarios. Had Flint gotten mixed up in…in drugs? Panicked, she swallowed. Oh, dear heavenly days, for all she knew, he was a dope fiend or a bank robber. Or maybe—

“Julie!”

She yelped and jumped two feet off the couch. “Don’t creep up on me like that.”

“I didn’t creep. I called you twice. Dinner’s ready.”

“Oh. Uh, uh, I need to wash my hands in the bathroom.”

“Wash them at the kitchen sink.”

She patted her disheveled hair. “Well, I’d also like to straighten up a bit. Do you have a brush?”

“Sure, in the bedroom on the dresser. I’ll pour the wine.”

So much for her idea of working on those window nails in the bathroom. When Flint turned his back, she made a face, then snatched up a stack of bills and hurried to the bedroom. The cash might come in handy. She stuck the packet of money in her garter, the blue one that she should have been tossing to prospective grooms about now. Her family must be wild with distress. She only hoped that they didn’t alarm the children.

When she saw her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t even care that she was a mess. Her lipstick was gone, and her mascara was runny and smeared. The circlet of roses and the attached veil had been blown off in the wild ride. Only one limp rose dangled at her temple. She plucked it from her hair and tossed it aside. After removing the pins, she gave her tangled mop a good brushing, then ripped a strip from her dress and tied the scrap around the hair she gathered at the nape of her neck.

She tried to do something with her mascara, but her efforts only made matters worse. Lips pursed, she marched back into the kitchen area and announced, “Flint, I look like a raccoon. I need to wash my face in the bathroom where I can see what I’m doing.”

He grinned. “Okay. Come on. But hurry up. Our dinner will get cold.”

After he escorted her to the bathroom on the porch, Julie cleaned the mascara streaks in thirty seconds. Leaving the water running, she yanked the pliers from her bosom and went to work on the nails. She had one nail out and another loose when Flint knocked on the door.

“Come on, sugar. Our dinner’s getting cold.”

She muttered a curse. “Just a minute,” she called. She pulled out the second nail and quickly stuck the pliers beneath a plunger in the corner. She turned off the water, turned on a smile and opened the door. “I’m ready.”

Inside, the table was set, a candle was lit and soft music played on a radio. He held her chair as she sat down.

Worry about her predicament should have taken away her appetite. It didn’t. She was famished. And common sense told her that if she was going to escape, she needed to keep up her strength. Besides, the food was delicious. Beyond delicious.

Fish sautеed in mushrooms and herbs, pasta in a delicately seasoned cream sauce, cold asparagus marinated in olive oil and balsamic vinegar with sun-dried tomatoes. And the wine was fabulous.

“Enjoying your dinner?” he asked.

She looked up from shoveling in a mouthful of pasta. He toyed with the stem of his wineglass while he watched her. Amusement played around the corners of his mouth. Embarrassed to have been caught stuffing food in her mouth like a starving refugee, she put down her fork and delicately dabbed her lips with her napkin.

“It’s quite tasty. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“In California.”

“I see.”

“Want to know what I was doing in California?”

“Not particularly.” She chugalugged the rest of her wine. He filled her glass again.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She nodded toward his untouched fork and picked up her own. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’d rather watch you.”

“Well, don’t,” she said, lifting a bite of fish to her mouth. “It makes me nervous.”

“It makes me horny.”

Her fork clattered to her plate. “Damn you, Flint Durham, don’t say things like that to me.”

“Would you want me to lie?” His voice was barely a whisper.

His eyes, smoldering like a banked camp fire, bored into hers. A tendril of raw sensual awareness traveled between them and stroked her skin. Quivering sensation rippled over her. She tried to glance away, but she was helplessly mesmerized by the potent allure of his dark eyes. Black with longing, they seemed to draw her into their depths, mesmerize her with memories of a passionate past.

A low throb began building in her body, quickening her pulse and stealing her breath. Knowing that she was flirting with disaster didn’t stifle the feelings. The forbidden enticement seemed only to fan the flames. The attraction was still there, stronger than ever, as if it had been secretly intensifying beneath the surface for six long years. She struggled, waging an inner battle between desire and dignity.

Abruptly, Julie sprang to her feet. Her chair overturned and crashed to the floor. “Don’t do that!” she shouted.

“Don’t do what, darlin’?”

“Don’t look at me that way.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy smile. “What way is that?”

“As if…as if I were dessert.”

His smile broadened. “You want dessert?”

“No. I’ve had quite enough! I want to go home. Now.” She had to get away from him. She had to. Six years’ worth of barriers erected from bitterness and disillusionment were beginning to crack. She wouldn’t let that happen.

“Sorry, babe. Not yet. Not until we talk, really talk.”

“I have nothing more to say to you. I want to brush my teeth. Do you happen to have an extra toothbrush?”

“I think there’s one in the bathroom.”

Spine stiffened, she walked to the rear door and waited until Flint unlocked it.

As soon as she was in the bathroom, she turned on the water and grabbed the pliers. With strength born of desperation, she yanked out the three remaining nails in the window. Her heart hammering like crazy, she tugged it upward. It stuck briefly, then slid open. She blew out a relieved breath. Standing on the toilet, she hitched up her torn dress and threw one leg over the windowsill.

“Julie!”

She froze.

Flint rapped on the door. “Julie, are you okay in there?”

“Dammit, Flint! Would you at least allow me some privacy? I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sounding contrite.

She poked her head out the window and surveyed her surroundings. In the gathering dusk, the lake was still. The woods were hushed. The ground beneath the window was only a few feet down. Maneuvering herself through the opening, she held on to the sill, then dropped.

She landed ankle deep in muck.

Oh, gross. She stilled, listening for a second, then scrambled up the bank.

Sharp stones and stickers shredded her stockings and punished her tender feet. Shoes. She had to have shoes. Wincing with every step, she hurried to the spot where her silk pumps were still stuck heel deep in the ground. She grabbed them up and, dancing on first one foot, then the other, stuck them on her muddy feet.

Hoping against hope that Flint had left the key in the Harley, she ran to the motorcycle. No such luck. Panicked urgency growing, she hesitated, her darting eyes scanning the densely wooded area, trying to decide which way to go, what to do next. She couldn’t try for the boat; it was moored just beneath Flint’s feet. After spotting an outbuilding through the trees, she dashed toward it, praying that it held transportation.

She flung open the door and almost wept with joy. A pickup truck!

Her joy was short-lived. No key.

Panic increased, clawed at her insides until she thought that she would scream.

Wait!

In the corner.

A bicycle.

It wasn’t in the best shape—in fact, it was in pretty sorry shape—but it would do. She pushed it to the door and, after peering around the opening, pushed it outside. The frame was a little bent, and the back tire was almost flat, but it was transportation.

A streak of lightning flashed. She heard Flint bellow her name just before a boom of thunder rolled through the trees. The wind picked up, whipping branches and snatching at leaves, ballooning her skirt. Batting at the billowing silk, then gathering her tattered hem into a wad, Julie gritted her teeth and climbed on the bicycle.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t dare. She picked a likely direction and started pedaling the wobbly bike as fast as her legs would churn.

Four (#ulink_91e05a5a-496d-5488-8a62-e36d9bdf695d)

Pedaling in high heels was murder, and no matter how much she wrestled with it, the tail of Julie’s bedraggled wedding dress kept getting caught in the spokes. She hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile, and already she was exhausted from trying to make headway on the decrepit bike. Only stubborn determination kept her herding the rickety thing down the lane in the fastfading light. At best, she had only a half hour before dark. She had to get home to her babies, who were sure to be upset and frightened, and to her family, who was bound to be frantic by now. And to Rob, of course.

Another boom of thunder struck, reverberating through the dense woods. The wind plucked at the yards of material tucked around her. She slapped away flapping fabric as the air grew chill and the tops of tall trees swished and swayed. When the first big splats of rain hit, she groaned. Oh, no. Please, no.

The tempo of the pelting raindrops increased. The sky darkened until she could barely see where she was going, and the drops rapidly escalated until they became a hard downpour.

Behind her a motor roared to life.

Her heart caught.

She pedaled faster, but as the dirt road turned to mud, the going got tougher. She could hear the engine of the Harley coming closer and see the headlight cutting through the torrent.

The rain plastered her hair to her head, rivulets of water ran off her chin, and her dress had turned into a sodden anchor when Flint pulled aside.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled over the howl of the storm.

“I’m going home,” she yelled back, never taking her eyes off the road.

“You can’t get home on that thing and in this storm. You’re going to break your fool neck. Come get on with me, and let’s get out of the rain.”

“Stick it in your ear, Flint Durham! I’m going home.”

Julie pumped the pedals with everything she had, but she wasn’t gaining much ground. The bike grew more and more wobbly, and she had to fight to keep it straight. Her arms and legs quivered from the strain. She knew that she couldn’t go on much longer, but she’d rather eat liver than admit it to Flint.

Suddenly she hit a hole. The jolt snatched the handlebars from her grip. The bicycle went one way; she went another. With a teeth-jarring splat, she belly flopped into a puddle. She spat, sputtered and cursed, then rolled over onto her back. As she lay spread-eagle in the middle of the oozing mud, she squinted at the sky and conceded defeat to the evil rain god that pummeled her. Dejected, disgusted, she closed her eyes and let the weather do its worst. She couldn’t get any more soaked, and she was too damned exhausted to care.