Stolen Moments

She passed on the juice with a laborious shake of her head, feeling too far beyond forming the words “No, thank you.”

He didn’t seem to mind. Part of her watched him open an orange juice and take a drink.

His hands drew her attention. Large hands. She blinked, still staring at his long, sensuous fingers, as a jolt of fear shot through her. Odd, she thought, dragging her gaze back to his face. Where had that come from?

Nothing about the man looked dangerous. Certainly not his face. It was a pleasing sculpture of strong angles and planes, broken by the midnight black of his thick cowboy mustache that softened the hardness of bone and muscle to make him downright handsome. The mustache filled his upper lip and curled down past the corner of each side of his wide, well-defined mouth. His hair, the same shiny black, was thick and long enough to brush his collar.

Dressed as he was, he could have passed for one of the ranchers who frequented the Cattleman’s Club in San Antonio. He wore jeans, a blue-checked western shirt, a leather vest, a tooled leather belt with an elk-horn buckle and western boots. A Stetson sat atop a sheepskin coat on the empty seat to his left.

He rested one long, muscular leg on the knee of the other and appeared as complacent as a tomcat sunning himself.

She decided there was nothing about this cowboy that seemed cause for concern. And yet...she couldn’t remember what he was doing here any more than she could remember what she was doing here.

What was wrong with her anyway? She still felt a little...drunk. But she didn’t remember drinking even one full glass of wine at dinner. Strange. She didn’t remember much of anything since dinner, she thought as she glanced out the window.

It was dark outside. She frowned as she looked down at her watch. Seven-thirty. Thanksgiving Day. Startled, she realized her last clear memory was driving back from taking Natalie into San Antonio. That had been just a little after five o’clock. How could she have lost two and a half hours? And more importantly, what had happened between then and now?

In that time, she could have flown hundreds—even thousands—of miles from home. But why had she? Worse yet, she still hadn’t been able to place the man with her. Of course she had to know him. She’d never get into a plane with a total stranger. Maybe he was a friend of Natalie’s.

She looked over at him again, a sense of something at the edge of her memory, something... foreboding.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are or where we’re going,” she said politely, always a senator’s daughter. “I think I might have imbibed a bit too much.” That wouldn’t have been like her at all, but how else could she explain this?

“Don’t worry about that now,” he said, giving her a smile. “You should get changed before we land.” He handed her a large, bulging shopping bag. “I need to speak to the pilot. Since you’re still a little woozy, you might want to change right here.” With that, he got up and left.

She stared after him. Still a little woozy? But why was that? And why did she need to change?

Inside the bag, she found jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, a winter coat, boots, hat, wool socks and gloves. Wherever they were headed must be cold.

The moment she tried to get to her feet to change, she realized he was right: she was woozy. She sat down again and dressed as quickly as she could, considering her body still wasn’t reacting sensibly and she had no idea when the man would return. For some reason, the thought of adding more clothing made her somehow feel...safer. Safer from what?

She was trying to puzzle out these odd thoughts, when the plane began its descent. Out the window she could see no lights, no illuminated landmarks, just a nothingness as if she were being dropped into outer space. Waking in a private jet had come with a certain sense of security. Even the stranger hadn’t posed any threat. So how did she explain her growing anxiety? It was those dark, frightening images banked at the back of her brain. Were they memories? Or just bad dreams?

She wished he’d return so she could ask him some questions now that she felt a little better. Before they touched down, she’d like to know what she was doing here. And with him.

The wheels hit and bounced, then settled into the runway. She’d expected to see more than a narrow strip of runway lights. They had to be in the middle of nowhere.

She swallowed hard. What in the—She caught sight of a hangar as the plane taxied toward it. Behind the hangar, the lights of some town glowed. She let out the breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. She never thought the mere sight of lights would excite her.

Lights. A memory skidded past. Her heart took off again as she tried to corner a clear image. She almost had it, but then the plane stopped and the cowboy came out of the. cockpit.

She looked up at him, frustrated at his timing and, at the same time, glad to see him. She wanted desperately to extinguish the fear rising in her. This man had done nothing to make her fearful so why—

Her eyes locked with his. Eyes as black as the bottom of a well. She felt a start. There was something there. But something that justified her fears?

Outside the plane, someone pulled down the steps. She stood and started toward the door, not sure she could trust her mind, let alone her instincts. She’d wanted answers, but right now she just wanted off this plane and away from this cowboy and the images flickering in her head. Horrible images that if true—

He stepped in front of her, one large hand absently rubbing the palm of the other as he stared at her. His look sent a shudder through her.

She dropped her gaze, letting it fall to his large hands again and felt that flicker of a memory just beyond her grasp. He quit rubbing his palm and she saw something that stopped her heart dead. Teeth marks.

* * *

SETH HAD COME OUT of the cockpit already distracted because of the change in plans. He wouldn’t be dropping her at the airstrip after all, but taking her on by helicopter to the cabin. He swore under his breath; he hated changes. But mostly he just wanted this to be over.

Then he’d looked up and seen her.

Even if she hadn’t reminded him of Shanna, he’d have been thrown off guard by her. She looked damn good in jeans and a flannel shirt, round and full in all the right places, just as he’d known she would. She’d pulled her wild mane of hair back with a thin lavender ribbon from her dress and rolled up the sleeves on the shirt, exposing lightly freckled, sun-browned forearms.

But it was her face, with those incredible violet eyes, that made him unable to keep his gaze—and his thoughts—off her, no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance.

That’s why it took him a moment to realize that more than her clothes had changed.

Although trying hard not to show it, she’d remembered something. It showed in that incredible face, just like every emotion she’d felt so far.

He could only guess what she’d remembered. Not that it mattered now. But as he followed her gaze to the palm of his right hand, at least he knew what had triggered it.

Suddenly the door to the plane yawned open, a gaping dark hole beside him. A gust of cold air whooshed in, scented with pine and snow. God, it had been so long. The air brought with it a rush of remembrances, some so painful he felt as if he’d been blindsided.

Of course she took that opportunity to dart for the open doorway. He dropped a hand to her shoulder and gently pulled her back.

Her eyes widened as she lifted her face to him. “Who are you?” Her voice had an edge to it, as if warning him that he just might not know whom he was dealing with.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” he said. “It isn’t about me.”

“Then who is it about?” she asked. “My father?”

“I don’t know. Neither will you until we get to the cabin.”

“The cabin?” Her gaze refused to release him. It was as if she could see into his very soul. From the disgust on her face, she didn’t like what she saw there. “You’re not telling me anything.”

“It’s the best I can do.” Seth could see that wasn’t good enough. “It will all be clear when we get to the cabin.” Indecision played across her features. “I hope it won’t be necessary for me to drug you again,” he said softly.

The violet eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed in an emotion he recognized only too clearly. Fury.

“Good,” he said. “It appears we understand each other.”

* * *

OH, SHE UNDERSTOOD him all right. She’d been kidnapped! The frightening images in her head had been real! Memories scudded by like dark ominous clouds. The sound of him behind her, the overwhelming arms tightening around her, the hand covering her mouth. Screaming inside. Fighting. Fighting fruitlessly in helpless terror. Then the prick of a needle in her arm. Then nothing.

The bastard had drugged her! And now he’d threatened to do it again unless she cooperated. She glared at him. Tears stung her eyes but she would not cry. Tears would show weakness. She had to be strong, keep her head, use her head.

He pulled on his sheepskin coat, settled the Stetson on his head, his gaze steady, impassive and honed in on her like radar, but calm. Too calm. A shiver raced through her. A man who’d just kidnapped Texas Senator James Marshall McCord’s daughter should be worried as all get-out. Only a crazy man wouldn’t be. A crazy man. Or a man who had nothing to lose. She stared at him, afraid he just might be both.

“Let’s go,” he said as he picked up her clothes and stuffed them into a backpack from behind his seat. He nudged her forward, his hand firmly on her shoulder. “Watch your step.”

She didn’t miss the warning in his words. But she had no intention of doing anything that would give him an excuse to drug her again. Drugged, she didn’t stand a chance.