Runaway

Chapter Two (#ulink_8c8fcd5f-343f-5ca0-8c37-743dc9c13545)

She’d awakened twice during the night from the same nightmare, her heart pounding, her eyes searching the darkness. He’d been there both times, his hands firm as they pressed against her shoulders, his voice ragged but soothing as he murmured phrases of comfort.

Cassie’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked them from existence. Crying was a luxury she hadn’t allowed herself in a long time. She wasn’t about to allow the hands and voice of a stranger to reduce her to childish behavior.

For just a moment she remembered the warmth of those long fingers as they’d clasped her, their gentle strength penetrating the worn cotton of the shirt she wore. He’d shaken her, just enough to get her attention, to pull her mind from the enveloping horror of the dream. And she’d reached for him.

Her face hot with shame, she remembered groping in the dark, grasping the front of his shirt, burying her face against his masculine form. He’d held her there, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other across her shoulders. Just for a moment, until she’d realized where she was, that the bosom she rested against bore no resemblance to that of her mother.

She’d pulled away then, and he’d let her go. He’d delivered one final grunt of instruction as he rose to his feet, a growling admonition to go back to sleep, and then he’d stretched out on his blanket and turned his back.

Men were cunning creatures, she’d decided just months after her mother had married Remus Chandler. He’d been all sweetness and light until the first time her mother had not done his bidding to his exact standards. His hands had been weapons, used often, and Cassie had been safe from him only because of her mother.

Will seemed to be a different sort, gruff and not given to gentle behavior, though she couldn’t fault his actions in the middle of the night. That she’d been held in his arms was a wonder. That she’d tolerated his touch was almost a miracle, given her dread of most men.

They’d traveled for several hours yesterday, she perched on the broad back of his stallion, clinging to the leather of his saddle. He’d lifted her in place and hoisted himself into the saddle with care, with only a cursory glance at her stocking feet and a muttered curse as his horse danced in place, protesting the double load.

She’d been almost asleep, her head nodding against his broad back, when he’d stopped for the night. Grateful for the blanket he’d handed her, she’d slumped to the ground without a murmur.

She blinked, the call of a bird shrill in her ears. It was the piercing, territorial warning of a blue jay, and she scrunched her eyes against the brilliant hues of sunrise. Her gaze flew to the blanket on the other side of the clearing, the empty space where Will Tolliver had spent the night.

And then she heard him, heard the same gruff tones he’d used against her ear, speaking morning greetings to his animals. She sat up, the better to locate his direction, and found that he was behind her, not more than twenty feet distant. Twisting around, she met his gaze.

“Morning.” His nod accompanied the brief greeting, and she responded in kind.

Her body rebelled as she arose, her legs and feet aching a protest. The walking she’d done had been off the beaten path—her instincts had told her to stay clear of the trail—and her feet had borne the brunt of it. Unable to stand with any degree of comfort, she lowered herself to the ground once more, gingerly rolling her borrowed stockings down to uncover her toes, bending to inspect them. She frowned as her fingers traced the bruising from multiple scrapes she’d managed to inflict.

“Think if you washed them they’d look a little better?”

Her eyes narrowed as she heard the dry humor behind his suggestion. “Not a whole lot,” she allowed, rising with a muffled groan, stepping gingerly as she passed him by.

“There’s a pond just beyond those trees,” he told her, pointing the way. “It won’t hurt to dangle your feet in the water a bit. Might make them feel better.”

“Thanks.” She limped past, following his direction. Leaving her shoes behind had been a mistake of major proportions, one she’d regretted more than once during the hike she’d undertaken. And then there was another regret. Her conscience had been sorely pierced by the memory of her mother’s body, and her not seeing to a decent burial. Although the best she could have done was barely fit to mention.

Besides, Mama’s soul was surely in heaven, far removed from the man who’d made her life a torment.

Lastly, there was the small matter of Remus Chandler. Her landing in jail if she’d hung around was almost a certainty. Whether or not she was being pursued by the law was the thing she needed to consider.

Cassie sat on the bank of the shallow pond, gingerly breaking the surface of the water with her toes. Chilly, but not icy, she decided, scooting forward until her feet were covered by the water.

“Want some soap?”

He’d come up behind her, and she jerked in response to his query. “You could let a body know you’re prowling around,” she said sharply. His boots moved beside her and he squatted inches away, his hand holding the narrow piece of hard soap.

She took it, glancing up into dark eyes that pierced her with silent reproach. Their hands brushed, her fingers curling around his offering, and then she relented.

“Thanks for waking me up during the night. I don’t usually have bad dreams.” It was a gruff acknowledgment of his kindness, about the best she could come up with.

He rocked on the balls of his feet, balancing beside her. “We all take a turn with nightmares sometime in our lives, Cassie. I’ve had my share.” He dropped a dingy towel into her lap, rising to his feet. “I’ll take a look at your feet after you clean ‘em up a little. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

“Thank you.” She’d dreaded seeing him in the daylight, but he’d made it easy on her. Of course, she still hadn’t actually faced him, other than that one glance. She bent over, lifted one foot and set to work. Maybe the soap would help. Maybe there was more dirt than bruises.

“Damn, you sure beat up these poor feet of yours. You’re not used to goin’ barefoot, are you?” Will lifted her foot for his appraisal and shook his head at the sight She’d suffered numerous small cuts from stones, and what skin wasn’t scratched up by the rough ground was nicked by bushes she’d tramped through. Already healing, her feet had responded well to the soap and water.

Now he added the benefit of alcohol to the treatment he’d prescribed. His bottle of whiskey, wrapped in another shirt, had been at the bottom of his saddlebag and he’d poured out a small measure into his cup.

“That burns!” she cried, curling her fingers into fists, drawing her shoulders high, watching as he scrubbed at each scratch with a whiskey-soaked cloth.

“It’ll burn worse if these start to fester up.” He held one foot high, her heel resting in his palm. “I’m usin’ my good whiskey on you, girl. Don’t give me any grief.”

She bit her lip, holding back the remark she’d been about to make. As far as she was concerned, whiskey wasn’t good for much, other than washing out wounds and making hot toddies. It certainly hadn’t improved Remus Chandler’s disposition any. Rotgut was what her mother had called it, that vile stuff Remus had swigged down with great regularity. Cassie shuddered at the memory.

“Cold?” Will Tolliver asked. “You’d better toughen up. It’s still pretty chilly up north.”

Cassie lifted her foot from his grasp, placing it cautiously on the blanket where she sat. She eyed it carefully. Another day of healing and it would be fit to walk on, she figured. “I’m not cold, just took a chill.” She met his gaze. “Are you going home? That where you’re from?”

“Not lately. Not since I was just a kid, settin’ out to see the country.”

“Did you? See the country, I mean?” She leaned forward and took the stockings from him, then carefully covered her feet with them. One more thing she’d be owing him for.

“Saw Texas and parts west,” he told her, shifting to one knee. “‘Course, I don’t think anybody’s ever seen all of Texas. It just goes on beyond what most folks consider civilization, right down to the border.”

“Now you’re going home?” She tugged the stockings up, then covered them with the rolled-up cuffs of his trousers. His eyes had been on her movements, and she flushed as she recognized his interest in the pale flesh of her calves and ankles. His fingers had been gentle on her feet, their touch sending slivers of fire on a race through her that had little to do with the whiskey’s potency. It seemed she was not immune to his style of doctoring, nor the gruff tenderness he dispensed.

“Yeah, I’m headed home.”

“You don’t sound very happy about it,” she said quietly, squinting against the sun’s rays as she looked up at him.

His smile was a grimace. “I’ve been happier, like when I faced a whippin’ from my pa, or had to split a cord of firewood before breakfast” He rose quickly, offering her his hand. “Come on, we’re wastin’ time talkin’ and the day’s half-gone.”

“Half-gone?” She eyed the sun, barely visible through the trees. “It can’t be more than eight o’clock or so.”

“I’m saddlin’ up, Cassie. If you’re ridin’ along, you’d best be ready to go.”

She looked around the clearing, trees on three sides, beyond them the trail leading back to Loco Junction, now at least thirty miles away.

Crouched beside his belongings, Will delved deeply into the pack holding his personal things, muttering beneath his breath as he sorted through the miscellany of his scant supplies. A grunt signified success and he hoisted himself to his feet, a brown-paper-wrapped package in one hand.

“Here.” He tossed it in her direction as he glared at her, his lowered eyebrows adding a menace to his look. “Bought those for my sister, back down the trail. They oughta fit you. She won’t mind if you borrow them till we can find somethin’ better for you to wear.”

Cassie’s fingers trembled as she unwrapped the soft bundle. A gift was to be enjoyed, even if it was just on loan. A pair of moccasins tumbled into her lap and she touched the supple leather with one finger, then lifted them to her nose to inhale the distinctive scent. He’d picked out pretty ones, beaded and sewn with careful stitches, and for a moment she envied the sister who merited such tender regard.

“Well, go ahead. Try ‘em on.” His tone was impatient and she cast him a glance of apology as she slid her stockinged feet within the soft leather protection of the shoes,

“They fit just fine.” It was all she could manage, her throat filling with a strange tightness she could suppress only with a rapid blinking of her eyes. “Thank you.” Her teeth pressed against her bottom lip as she stuck one foot out before her, displaying the beauty of his purchase to his view.

“They’ll do.”