Secrets and Lies: He's A Bad Boy / He's Just A Cowboy

“Butt out! This is my fight!” Roy snarled.

Jackson backed up and Roy slashed wildly.

Rachelle screamed.

“I’ll kill you, man,” Roy vowed, swinging at Jackson savagely, the blade slashing through the air as Jackson wheeled and dodged. Roy raised the knife again, and Jackson grabbed his wrist with one hand and landed a hard punch to Roy’s midsection. The knife clattered onto the gazebo floor.

Jackson smashed his fist across Roy’s cheek. Roy tumbled backward in a heap. Shaking his head, he spit and coughed. “You’re a dead man, Moore! I’ll kill you, I swear it.”

“You’ll never get the chance.”

Jackson must’ve spied Rachelle from the corner of his eye. “Are you still here?” he demanded. “Get out of here before—”

“She stays!” Roy commanded, and Jackson lost no time.

“For crying out loud!” Grabbing Rachelle’s arm firmly and half carrying her with him, Jackson vaulted the latticework of the gazebo. Together they landed in the bushes and scrambled to their feet. Jackson nearly stumbled as his leg gave out, and Rachelle pulled him upright. He was breathing hard and sweating. “Unless you want more trouble than you bargained for, you’d better get out of here now!” he advised.

“Listen, you illegitimate SOB,” Roy bellowed, “she stays here!”

“No way!”

With Jackson still tugging on her arm, Rachelle started running with him, holding her tattered blouse and jacket together as they dashed through the shrubbery, Jackson spurring her on, though his gait was uneven and he was breathing heavily.

“Stop Moore—stop him!” Roy yelled but his voice was muffled now. Jackson led Rachelle through a garden and between trees to the driveway where his bike was parked. Three boys were standing guard and when they saw Jackson emerge from the woods, Erik Patton smiled wickedly.

“Well, look what you found—Roy’s little piece,” he taunted, but Jackson ignored them.

“Get on,” Jackson told Rachelle, and without thinking she climbed astride the huge machine.

Erik lit a cigarette with exaggerated calm. “You’re not gonna get far,” he predicted, then cupped one hand around his mouth. “Hey, Roy, they’re over here! Moore and the girl.”

Jackson tried to start the bike. Nothing happened. Rachelle shivered visibly. Roy was coming. She could hear him. Her heart slammed in fear. “Come on,” she whispered, and Jackson tried again. The engine wouldn’t even turn over.

He glared at Erik for a heart-stopping second, then swept his gaze back at Rachelle. She didn’t doubt if she weren’t there that he would have climbed off the bike and torn Erik limb from limb.

“This way,” he said, hopping off the motorcycle and dragging her along. They ducked into the woods again, and Rachelle wanted to cry. She was terrified of Roy, and knew instinctively that she was safer with Jackson, yet the night was too awful to believe. Roy had intended to rape her and Jackson, her savior, wasn’t exactly a knight in shining armor. She only hoped her instincts about him were right, because she guessed by the way he touched her, by the glint in his eye, that beneath his bad-boy exterior, there was a trace of good. She clung to that notion like a drowning man holding fast to a life preserver.

Twigs and thorns tore at her skin and hair, but she took Jackson’s advice and began running, as fast as her legs would carry her, toward the rocky beach surrounding the lake. She tripped twice on berry vines, but Jackson helped her struggle up and keep plunging forward. She didn’t know if they were being chased, didn’t want to take the time to look around and find out.

Her throat was hot and thick and tears streamed from her eyes. Rain poured down her neck. She couldn’t forget the skin-crawling feel of Roy’s body against hers, the terror that he wouldn’t stop until he’d stripped her of her clothes, robbed her of her dignity and…oh, Lord, she couldn’t think of that! She wouldn’t.

The trees gave way and she was on the beach, running north, against the wind and rain that swept over the hills. Jackson’s breathing was labored, and he ran with a limp. Now it was she who was pulling him, half dragging him up the beach. Help me, she prayed as the rain pelted them both and her legs began to ache. She held back sobs of fear and just kept running, clinging to Jackson’s hand as if he were, indeed, the knight who was destined to save her from the evils of Roy Fitzpatrick.

CHAPTER THREE

JACKSON WAS WEAK FROM the fight. By the time they turned from the beach and reentered the woods, he was limping badly and breathing hard. Even in the darkness, Rachelle could see the sweat standing on his face.

“We’ve got to get to the main road and hitchhike back to town,” Rachelle said as he pulled up and braced his back against the rough trunk of a pine tree. He drew in a ragged breath, then placed his hands on his knees and lowered his head. “Come on,” she urged.

“You want to take a chance on being picked up by Roy or one of his friends?” Jackson asked. He tilted his head to stare up at her in the darkness. His eyes were dark and unreadable—as black as the night that surrounded them. He swiped the back of his hand over his forehead. “Isn’t that what got you into this mess in the first place?”

“You can’t go much farther.”

His lips twisted ironically. “Don’t count me out yet. Come on, I’ve got an idea.” He took her hand and led her at a slower pace through the forest. Trees snapped underfoot, and rain dripped in a steady staccato on a carpet of needles.

The night was so dark, she could barely pick a path; she continually stepped in mud and puddles. Her hair was drenched and she shivered as the wind whistled through the trees. Clutching her ripped clothes with her free hand, she didn’t stop to think where they were going; she wanted only to keep moving and put as much distance between Roy Fitzpatrick and herself as she could.

She wondered about Jackson’s timing, how he’d found her with Roy in the gazebo. “Why were you at the party?” she asked.

“Fitzpatrick and I had some unfinished business.”

“Is it finished now?”

He snorted. “I don’t think it ever will be.”

“Why does he hate you so much?”

Jackson threw her a dark glance. “Maybe he doesn’t like me interrupting him when he thought he was going to score.”

Rachelle felt as if she’d been slapped. “What’re you talking about?”

“I didn’t see what started it. But somehow you ended up alone with Roy. The way I figure it, you flirted with him, he responded and when things got a little too hot to handle, you panicked.”

Rachelle’s mouth tightened in indignation. “I went out there to get my friend’s purse.”

“And somehow ended up making out with him.”

She stopped, breathing hard, her anger as bright as her tears. “You have no right to judge me. No right. I didn’t tease or lead Roy on, if that’s what you’re hinting at. And anyway it doesn’t matter. He attacked me. I said ‘no’ and he wouldn’t listen. Look, you don’t have to babysit me any longer. I can find my own way back to town.”

He glanced at her, muttered something under his breath and sighed. “I guess I made a mistake.”

“I guess you did.” They stood staring at each other, the rain drizzling around them, their gazes locked. The woods smelled steamy and wet, and far in the distance the sound of music hummed through the trees.

Jackson grimaced. “I got to the party, decided that I needed to cool off before I made an ass of myself with Roy, so I walked down toward the lake. I heard noises in the gazebo. When I got there, Roy was kissing you. I couldn’t tell you were fighting back until you screamed.”

He glanced away, his hands on his hips. “Look, I’m sorry. I just figured anyone who was with Roy and his crowd was asking for trouble.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Hadn’t she, too, decided the very same thing? “I’m not a part of Roy’s crowd.”

“Just who are you?”

“A friend of Laura’s, Rachelle Tremont.”

Eyeing her for a moment, he said, “We don’t have any time to lose. Come on, Rachelle.” He took her hand again and they began picking their way through the undergrowth.

“Where’re we going?” she whispered. She’d lost her sense of direction, but she felt as if they were circling back, heading toward Roy’s party.

“I know a shortcut,” he said. His grip tightened around hers and she felt as if the blood were all pooled in her hand. Jackson was wheezing a little, wincing each time he stepped on his right leg.