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Miranda glanced nervously around the small room. “Where’s the bathroom?”
He suppressed a curse. “It’s outside. It’s called an outhouse.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling stupid. Naturally he wouldn’t have a bathroom. What was she thinking?
“I’ll turn my back,” he informed her. “It’s all the privacy you’re going to get.”
She shifted from one foot to the other. “I really do have to use the bathroom.”
He grunted. How many times had Sheila said those same words? Whenever they were at a party or some special function she’d always had to fix her hair or her makeup. He immediately stopped those memories. He hadn’t thought of her in years and he wouldn’t think of her now.
“It’s out the back door,” he said hurriedly. “Make a run for it and come right back. I’ll keep an eye on Spikes. He can’t see the outhouse from his position.”
Walking as fast as she could, Miranda followed the narrow path to the small building. Inside was a long wooden seat with two holes cut into it. She pulled down her jeans and sat on one of them. To her surprise there was toilet paper on a roll beside her. Oddly the primitive conditions didn’t bother her, but she kept her eye out for tiny furry animals. She quickly did her business and returned to the cabin.
Back inside, the hermit handed her the extra clothes and turned around. She hesitated for only for a moment before stripping out of her clothes, then pulling on the long johns and socks. Putting her jeans and top back on, she wondered why she trusted this man. She’d only known him an hour or so. Suddenly she realized he hadn’t even told her his name.
Slipping into the big coat, which came down to her knees, she said, “I’m finished.”
He turned to face her.
She smiled. “My name is Miranda. What do I call you?”
“Nothing” came the sharp retort. “The less you know about me the better.”
The words held an ominous ring, and despite the extra clothing, a chill ran up her spine. Who was this man? Nobody knew his name and he wasn’t willing to give any information about himself. Was he hiding from the law? A wanted criminal? She could feel goose bumps rising on her skin and prayed for enough strength to survive the next couple of days, whatever they held.
SPIKES REACHED into his saddlebags and pulled out a cell phone. “Damn hermit,” he muttered, and poked out a number.
“Whadja say?” Peavy asked, chewing on a wad of tobacco.
“Nothing,” he muttered again, eyes narrowing as he heard the phone start to ring.
Static filled his ear. The connection wasn’t clear. “Hello, hello?” a voice said.
“It’s Del. We got problems.”
“What?”
“She’s escaped.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “How the hell did that happen? I told you to lock her up good.”
“I did, but that damn hermit found her and turned her loose.”
Another long pause. “Where’s she now?”
“I’m not sure,” Spikes replied. “She’s either loose in these hills or she’s with him.”
“Well, you’d better find out, because everything rides on her not getting back to the ranch until we have our money.”
“Okay, but…” Static became so loud Spikes couldn’t hear, so he clicked off.
“Whata we ’pose to do?” Peavy asked.
“We have to find her,” Spikes said. “My guess is she’s with the hermit. So when it gets dark, we’re going in and take her. It’s gonna to be a pleasure putting a bullet in that bastard.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE HERMIT FILLED a canteen with water from a primitive pump attached to the sink, then went to the bed and pulled a box from beneath the cot. Inside were smaller boxes. Ammunition. Extra ammunition. He removed one and shoved it into the backpack. Miranda’s blood ran cold as she absorbed the full impact of her situation.
Life or death.
Her life or her death.
With the hermit she stood a chance. She had to do what he wanted. For the first time in her life, she’d find out what type of person she was: weak or strong, courageous or cowardly, pampered or self-reliant. It was a daunting prospect. She had to shake the spoiled rich-girl persona, because it was the way the hermit seemed to see her. But then, he hadn’t really seen her at all. So far he’d treated her like a pesky bug he wanted to swat.
As the shadows outside grew longer, the hermit lit a coal-oil lamp and set it in the middle of the table. He whistled for the dog, who quickly came through the dog flap in the door. Then he slipped on his coat and hat.
“That should burn for about thirty minutes,” he told her, pushing his arms through the straps of the backpack. “Button your coat and put on the cap,” he said, and grabbed his rifle.
Miranda immediately did as she was told. There were slots for her eyes, nose and mouth. She wiggled her nose in distaste at the musty woolly smell.
He noticed the gesture. “Remember, no questions, tears or complaints,” was all he said as he opened the back door and they stepped out into the night.
A blast of cold wind hit her, reminding her of the low nightly temperatures. The extra clothing prevented her from being miserable with cold yet, but she knew it would get much worse.
The moon beamed just brightly enough for her to see shapes in the darkness. Sounds she’d never heard before filled the night, soft, cooing, rustling sounds. Fear, her new companion, became distinct and vivid and tightened her nerves into knots.
“Stay close behind me,” he said over his shoulder.
She didn’t intend on staying anywhere else. As long as she could see him, she felt safe.
They walked and walked, trudging up hills through thickets and bushes, then down into valleys of tall dried weeds. Miranda tried hard to keep up. She had to.
It amazed her that he knew exactly where he was going. Each tree, bush and trail seemed familiar to him. Several times he held a branch so she could walk through without being slapped in the face. At least he was considerate, she decided.
Leaves crunched beneath her feet, bushes tugged at her clothes, and several times she tripped on something but always managed to steady herself. Her strength was waning, though. An aching weariness gripped every muscle, and her legs began to cramp. Ask him to stop, her brain told her, but his words reverberated in her head. No questions, tears or complaints. She had to go on. She had to show him she wasn’t a whimpering whiny female.
The wind chilled her to the bone, and the night sounds surrounded her with magnified intensity. Her legs grew tighter and tighter, and she could barely move them. The hermit’s back became a dim shape. She was falling behind.
As that realization crossed her mind, her legs locked in pain, and she fell flat on her face. “Oh, Lord, just let me die,” she whispered, praying for the pain in her legs to ease.
“Get up,” a booming voice ordered from above.
For a moment she thought it was God talking to her, but God wouldn’t have that note of impatience in His voice.
It was the hermit.
So much for considerate.
“Get up,” he said again.
She struggled to her knees. Words like “I can’t” or “Please help me” hovered on her lips, but she ignored them. She couldn’t fall apart this soon. They’d just started their journey. She was stronger than this, surely.
The dog licked her nose and she wrapped her arms around him in gratitude. He liked her. That incentive, that warm touch, was all she needed to propel herself to her feet. Pain shot up her back, and she winced in agony, but she wouldn’t complain. She had given him her word.
The hermit turned and headed off again. Miranda slowly followed, ordering herself to pick up her feet, each step excruciating. After a few minutes he stopped.
“Time to rest for a while,” he said. He removed the pack and sank to the ground, leaning against a tree, the rifle beside him.
Miranda collapsed on a bed of dried leaves at his feet and took several gulps of cold air to still her racing heart. Thank God, thank God, she said over and over in her mind. Now her legs could rest.
As he watched her prone body, he knew she was exhausted and in pain. He’d expected her to ask him to stop, but she hadn’t. It was probably because she recognized the futility of going up against that stubborn nature of his—the one he’d been told about so many times. Especially by Sheila. He shook his head to clear the memory.
Women. He would never figure them out. Not that he had to anymore, but he’d say one thing for Miranda Maddox. She had guts. The unfamiliar woods, especially at night, were frightening to her, yet she kept walking, determined to go on. He had pushed her hard, but he had to. It was crucial that she be able to withstand the strain of the ordeal ahead of them. Amazingly she’d passed his test.
Yeah, the lady had guts.
Miranda lay on her stomach, her head on her arm. As she relaxed, the cramps in her legs began to diminish. Her body became aware of another problem—the bitter cold. An icy chill stung her nose and lips, her fingers. She rolled over, her hands finding the pockets of her coat. As she stared up at the sky, she caught her breath. Through the cobweb branches of the trees, glistening stars sparkled like diamonds, beckoning, beguiling everyone to gaze at their special wonder.
The same stars sparkled over the ranch, over her father and mother. They had to be worried about her. Her parents were divorced and her mother lived in California, but she was probably here by now. She could never cope with a crisis. She panicked if she broke a fingernail. So Miranda felt sure her mother was sedated and aware of very little. But her father was strong; he would be handling the whole situation, figuring out how to bring his daughter back, regardless of cost.
Why was Spikes doing this? Her father trusted him completely. Why—
Something rustled in the leaves beside her, and she instantly pushed herself into a sitting position, scooting nearer to the hermit. She remembered what he’d said about coyotes, and she tensed again. But she wouldn’t panic. She wouldn’t lose control.
As that resolve entered her mind, a hideous-looking creature ran across her legs through the leaves into the darkness. Fear gripped her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.
“It’s only an armadillo searching for food. He’s harmless,” the hermit said.
“Oh.” She swallowed hard, not knowing anything about armadillos except that they had armored bodies, long tails and pointy noses. She’d never thought she would be up close and personal with one. But the hermit said they were harmless and she believed him. She leaned against a tree, trying to quiet her racing heart.
The silence stretched between them. She sat on the ground not two feet from him. Neither spoke. For a moment she wondered if he was asleep, but realized he wasn’t. He was too cunning for that.
Glancing toward the stars, she let their beauty calm her. Something suddenly occurred to her, a question she had to ask. She gathered her courage. “Could you tell me what day it is, please?”
“Wednesday night” was the quiet response.
“Wednesday night? They kidnapped me on Monday morning,” she said slowly. “I remember sitting on the patio, drinking coffee, and trying to decide what I was going to do with my life. Someone clamped a rag over my nose and mouth, and everything went black. I woke up in that awful room. I thought I was in some horrible dream because I’d wake up, then fall back asleep. They must have drugged me. It was probably good they did, or I would have lost my mind.”
She waited for a response, but none was forthcoming.
The dog whined.
The hermit muttered a few words in a low voice; she didn’t catch them.
“Did you say something?” she murmured.
“No,” he said in a clipped tone, but he had. He was talking to the dog.
The dog came over and rested his head in her lap. She stroked the soft head with her hand. “What’s his name?”
“Bandit,” he replied. Bandit the traitor, he thought to himself. That stupid dog really liked her.
“Oh, because of the black circle around his left eye?” She couldn’t see the circle in the darkness, but she had earlier.
“Yeah.”
“He’s a sweet dog,” she added, and continued to rub his head.
He didn’t answer, but saw her glance up at the sky again, her hand resting on Bandit. “Here in the vast outdoors my problems seem insignificant.”
“They’re not,” he said shortly.
He had his mind on Spikes, but she obviously didn’t. “I’m not talking about Spikes,” she told him. “I’m talking about my problems before I was kidnapped. I’d just broken up with my fiancé, after getting engaged at Christmas. It was what I wanted and…”
Her voice rattled on inside his head. She was telling him her problems, the last thing he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to know a single thing about her or her life. He just wanted to get her back to Clyde Maddox.
“Why are men so obsessed with sex?” she asked.
The question caught his attention and his head swiveled her way. “Excuse me?”
“Sex,” she repeated. “Kevin acted as if love and sex were the same thing. If I loved him, I’d sleep with him. If I cared about him, I’d sleep with him, and on and on it went. Why can’t a man realize that love and sex are not the same thing?”
“Because to some men they are.”
God, he couldn’t believe he’d said that. He didn’t want to talk to her or become involved in her problems, whatever they were.
“I thought that, too. So I bought this black teddy and a bottle of champagne. I decided what the hell, we’re getting married in the spring, anyway.” She tried to see his face in the darkness. “I’m not a prude, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just wanted everything to be perfect with the man I loved.”
“I’m not thinking anything, and I really don’t want to hear this.”
Instinct told her to shut up. She didn’t even know this man and she was pouring her heart out to him. But she had to tell someone. “You don’t like to talk, do you?” she finally said.
“No,” he snapped. “And I don’t like to listen to people’s problems, either.”
“You didn’t say I couldn’t talk.”
He sighed with deep annoyance. Why did women love to prattle on and on? He’d forgotten that irritating habit. And leave it to a woman to notice the one thing he’d forgotten to tell her. He’d bet Miranda Maddox could make a man dance circles around her—and make him enjoy doing it. Just like Sheila. What was he thinking? Sheila and this woman were nothing alike. Or were they?
“I went over to Kevin’s apartment,” she was saying, and against his will the hermit found himself listening. “I had a key, so I let myself in. The apartment was dark, and I assumed he wasn’t at home. Then I saw the candles burning on the coffee table, and I heard voices in the bedroom. Like a fool I walked right in…and saw my fiancé in bed with another woman. He was telling her how much he loved her. I dropped the bottle of champagne, which unfortunately didn’t break, and Kevin saw me. I ran from the apartment, and I can still hear him calling my name, saying it wasn’t how it had looked. Sure.” She gave a fake laugh. “He must have thought I was really stupid. I drove around until about three in the morning, then I went home. I couldn’t sleep, so I showered and dressed. No one was up. I sat on the patio, trying to sort out my life, and then suddenly the world went black and my nightmare began. I keep thinking if Kevin hadn’t betrayed me, none of this would have happened. I’d still be in his apartment thinking he was wonderful.”
No, she wouldn’t, the hermit thought. People like Kevin didn’t change. They sucked the life out of their partners with lies and deceit until there was nothing left. She was better off learning the truth about her fiancé before that happened.
He heard her take a deep breath, and the silence lasted for a few moments. Then she asked, “Do you think Spikes has discovered we’ve left the cabin yet?”
“Oh, yeah.” His voice rose with satisfaction. “We’ve been walking for more than five hours, so I’m sure he knows we’ve vanished into the night…and he’s madder than hell.”
