Just A Little Bit Dangerous

“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.”