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Deep In The Heart Of Texas
Linda Warren
Everything's bigger in Texas…ranches, riches and romance!The Rich Girl and the FugitiveShe's the pampered and protected daughter of millionaire rancher and oilman Clyde Maddox. Miranda's life changes abruptly when she's kidnapped and hidden in the woods, deep in the Texas Hill Country.He's a fugitive, solitary and self-sufficient, living in the Hill Country for the past five years. In his former existence, Jacob Culver was a Houston detective–framed for the murder of his wife and young son. His life changes when he rescues Miranda.They're thrown together, Miranda Maddox and her fugitive. Her survival becomes bound up with his. And out of this crisis, new hope emerges–hope for justice and for love. For Miranda and for him. For now and forever.



Miranda gathered her courage. “Could I ask a favor?”
There was a long, strained silence after her question. Then he answered, “I’ve already granted you one favor. That’s about all you’re going to get.”
His voice didn’t deter her. She had to know. “It’s just a small favor.” Especially compared to the fact that he’d rescued her…
He said nothing, just sat as if turned to stone.
“You see,” she persisted, “if we’re going to face death together, I figure I should at least know your name.”
After a moment he asked, “Why is my name so important?”
“Because you were willing to die for me back there. A stranger. I need to know your name for my own peace of mind.”
His name. How long had it been since he’d heard his own name? Years. He didn’t want to tell her his name, but he could feel the word surging to his throat against his will. Before he could speak she said, “It starts with a J, doesn’t it?”
The gun, he thought. She saw the initials on the gun.
“John, Joshua, Jeremy,” she said, guessing. “Jeffrey, Joseph, Judd—no, none of those. Let’s see…”
“Jacob.”
Dear Reader,
The setting of my first book, The Truth About Jane Doe, was fictional, although drawn from my experiences of living in a small Texas town. But the setting for this story, Deep in the Heart of Texas, is real—as real as the Texas bluebonnets that appear along the highways in early spring.
When Jacob and Miranda’s story took shape in my mind, I knew the setting had to be someplace serene and tranquil. Someplace where Jacob could renew his spirit and Miranda could find strength and courage. I naturally thought of the Texas Hill Country, with its rolling hills, spring-fed streams and abundant wildlife.
Most people who’ve never been to Texas think that it’s dry, flat and hot, but Texas is as diverse as it is vast—with coastal waters, prairies, brush country, hills and more. Each region is unique and special, as the Hill Country is to Jacob and Miranda, who find each other and find love with each other under extraordinary circumstances.
Only the Hill Country is real; everything else is fictional, and any errors you find are strictly mine. I hope you enjoy this trip to a beautiful part of Texas with Jacob and Miranda!
Thanks for reading my books.
Linda Warren
P.S. I’d love to hear from readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, Texas 77805, or e-mail me at LW1508@aol.com.
Deep in the Heart of Texas
Linda Warren


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
As always, to the love of my life, my husband, Billy, my Sonny.
And
To my family for their love and encouragement, in particular four ladies who are always there for me: Robin, Melinda, Diannia and Betty Boop.
And
To my friends, old and new, who have surprised me with their heartfelt support, especially the Smetana community.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ucdb02207-6a90-50c3-b1a0-eec8e50539e7)
CHAPTER TWO (#u04d073ba-1b05-516d-98da-a4283865dc50)
CHAPTER THREE (#u948c98f9-0c35-54f6-b4f0-0b7b5fd45358)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uea87af37-7c2f-56f9-a893-13f5e979a2a3)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ue72d0aaf-cb2f-502b-9e6d-2aa93568a370)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
SHE WAS GOING TO DIE.
No!
Everything in Miranda Maddox fought that horrifying thought. But the bitter cold seeped into her bones and a blinding fear crept over her cramped body. As she struggled to move, the tight ropes around her ankles and wrists cut into her flesh. Nausea churned in her stomach and she took several deep breaths. She couldn’t throw up. She couldn’t. With the gag in her mouth, she’d choke on her own vomit.
Oh, God, who did this to her? Who’d tied her up and left her in this awful place to die? She didn’t know where she was, but she knew by the smell, the cold and the darkness that it was a place of death. She began to wonder if maybe she was already dead.
A warm feeling washed over her and her thoughts drifted. Her head fell to her chest. Sleep. Yes, she would sleep. And soon she’d awaken from this terrible nightmare. She tried to reassure herself but couldn’t still the ominous feeling.
She was going to die. And she knew it.
A FRIGID NORTH WIND blew through the Texas Hill Country. The tall, broad-shouldered man walking through the woods hardly noticed the cold. He endured it the way he did everything else. Life to him was a matter of survival. For more than five years he’d lived in these hills, away from society, his only companion his dog, Bandit. That was the way he wanted it. People called him eccentric or crazy, but that didn’t bother him. As long as he was left alone, the world outside meant nothing to him.
His mountain boots were almost silent on the cold hard ground. The only audible noises were the occasional rustle of dried leaves and the whistle of the wind.
He moved through the thick woods with an ease and grace uncommon for a big man. Well over six feet, he wore heavy jeans, a dark plaid flannel shirt and a black overcoat that whipped around his legs. His long dark hair, full beard dashed with gray and a hat pulled low over his eyes gave him a sinister appearance. A rifle rested on his shoulder, the butt in the palm of his hand.
People in these parts called him the hermit. The few unfortunate enough to encounter him always took a second look, but no one was brave enough to take a third. Everyone was afraid of him. Which was fine with him.
Bandit, a small black-and-white dog of unknown breed, ran ahead, sniffing the ground in search of supper. Suddenly Bandit stopped, smelled some bushes, then turned to bark at him.
He quickly readied his rifle. “Okay, boy, flush him out, and let’s see what we’ve got for supper.”
Bandit ignored his master, barking sharply, instead.
“What?” he asked, and he wondered if Bandit was losing his touch or just getting lazy. As he moved closer, he understood Bandit’s confusion. He picked up a branch and noticed the slanted cuts on the wood. The bushes weren’t growing naturally. They’d been cut by someone and piled high.
He studied the bushes for a moment, then shook his head. “This is none of our concern, boy. Let’s get moving.” He always minded his own business; he stuck to that rule religiously.
Walking on, he tried not to think about the peculiar bushes, but found he couldn’t. These hills were deserted. No one else lived here. He had crossed his fence line some time ago and was now on Clyde Maddox’s property, or at least a part of the man’s huge ranch, a part where Maddox didn’t even run cattle because it was so isolated. Then who’d cut these branches to make them look like bushes? And why?
It was none of his business, he told himself again. His only concern was finding supper. He stopped as he realized Bandit wasn’t following him. Bandit stood staring at the bushes, then began frantically digging at the ground.
“You stupid dog! Get over here.”
Bandit growled in an agitated manner and continued his digging.
He headed back to the bushes.
Bandit paused a moment to bark at him.
“There’s nothing here for us, boy. Let’s go.”
Bandit barked several more times.
He and Bandit had a unique relationship. At times they understood each other.
“It’s bushes, nothing else,” he replied, although he knew that couldn’t be true.
Bandit kept barking, pausing only long enough to growl deep in his throat.
The man drew a deep breath. “Okay, okay, I’ll show you.” He laid his rifle against a tree and began to pull the branches away. Bandit scurried beneath his feet trying to tunnel under the bushes.
“You stupid dog,” he said again as he removed the last branch. Few things in life surprised him anymore, but when he saw what was before him, his eyes opened a little wider.
A door with a big lock gave entrance to a small shack built into the side of the hill. He remembered the low-flying planes he heard occasionally in the night. Could someone be dropping drugs? Dogs had an uncanny sense of smell for drugs. Maybe this was where the drugs were stored until they could be moved. On that thought came another. How were they moved? The only way to get here was on foot or by horseback.
None of this mattered because it was none of his business. But the idea of someone bringing drugs into his backyard bothered him. A lot.
Bandit jumped at the door, trying to get in.
“Stop it, boy,” he ordered.
Bandit obeyed with obvious reluctance.
He shot Bandit a narrow-eyed glance, knowing what the dog wanted, but feeling in his gut that he should walk away and leave this place.
Bandit rubbed against his leg and whined, a deep pitiful sound. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “I’ll show you what’s behind the door.”
He drew a pistol from his shoulder holster. Aiming at the lock, he squeezed the trigger. The loud pop echoed through the trees with a startling sound. A deer jumped up and ran farther into the woods. A rabbit burrowed deeper into a hole.
Throwing down the broken lock, he opened the door. Bandit darted into the room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness; once they had, he could see there were no drugs. A sense of foreboding ran through him as he saw a person sitting in one corner, feet and hands tied, mouth gagged. What the hell was going on?
Bandit licked the person’s face, which was very odd because Bandit never made friends with anyone. When they made trips to the country store, the dog always growled at everyone.
Bending his head, he entered the small area. The room felt claustrophobic and stifling, despite the thirty-degree temperature outside. The darkness prevented him from seeing anything but the shape of a person.
Bandit barked anxiously.
“Okay,” he replied, and picked up the slumped figure. The body trembled, either from the cold or from fear, he didn’t know which. But judging by the softness in his arms he knew it was a woman. Sudden painful memories flashed across his mind. He thought he’d forgotten all those feelings, and he didn’t appreciate remembering them now.
Carrying the woman outside, he placed her on the ground. She was young, somewhere between twenty and thirty. The wind tousled her already disheveled blond hair. Her sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers were smeared with dirt. The sherry-brown eyes that stared back at him were glazed. He’d seen that look before—she’d been drugged. Slowly her eyes cleared, then swiftly filled with fear. The kind of fear he’d seen many times. She was afraid of him.
MIRANDA MADDOX blinked at the brightness of daylight, the glare hurting her eyes. She squirmed and tried to move, but her body was cold and cramped, and it was so much easier just to sleep. She’d been floating, drifting…yet something was different now. With extreme effort she forced her eyes to focus.
Oh, God. Terror filled her heart as she stared at the man peering down at her. She shrank away from his threatening presence. Long dark hair touched his shoulders. A full beard and mustache covered his face. A worn felt hat shaded his eyes. Who was he? Why had he done this to her? And what did he plan to do to her now?
Fear and exhaustion trembled through her weary bones, and a scream rose in her throat. The scream lodged against the gag in her mouth. A dizzy feeling assailed her, and she felt as if she was going to pass out again. What did this man want with her? She didn’t even know him.
He saw the fear in her eyes and knew what she was thinking. Holding up one hand, he said, “Listen, lady, I’m not the one who put you in that room. My dog found you, and I just opened the door.”
At the mention of Bandit, the dog eagerly licked her face. Her blond head tilted toward the animal, but her eyes never left the man’s face.
His voice was deep and strong and full of masculine nuances. A man’s man. A man’s voice. A voice to heed, to be wary of, and yet, she felt, a voice to trust. How did she know that? she asked herself. He was a complete stranger.
Then suddenly she realized who he was. Her father called him the hermit. He lived alone and roamed these hills. She’d never seen him before, but people were afraid of him, and now she understood why. Her father had called him crazy, a raving lunatic. In her frightened state, that was all her mind could recall.
But the hermit said he hadn’t kidnapped her. For some odd reason she believed him. Maybe it was the way he looked at her—not as if she was a woman but a trapped animal. Fast on those strange thoughts came another. If he hadn’t kidnapped her, then who had? Who’d done this to her?
The hermit drew a big hunting knife from its sheath around his waist. Miranda cringed away from him.
“I’m going to cut your ropes,” he told her in a soothing voice. One easy slash and the rope fell away from her ankles. Then he sliced through the rope on her wrists, behind her back. She wearily moved her aching shoulders and rubbed her sore wrists, her eyes still on the hermit.
He brought the knife to her face, and she jerked backward.
“I’m only cutting the bandanna tied around your mouth. Do you understand?”
Miranda nodded and he quickly slit the cloth. She swallowed several times and licked dry lips.
He got to his feet, sliding the knife back into its sheath. “I don’t know who you are or why someone put you in that room, but if I were you, I’d get out of here as fast as I could. Whoever went to all that trouble will be back.” He pointed over his shoulder. “The closest place is the Maddox ranch. Just keep walking due south and you’ll reach it in about a day and a half, maybe two days. Depends on how fast you walk.”
Two days! Due south! What was he talking about? She didn’t know south from north. Two days!
The hermit tipped his hat, picked up his rifle and walked off, the dog at his heels.
Paralyzed, Miranda stared at his broad back. He was leaving her here! She glanced around at the dense thicket, heard the wind whistle eerily through the trees and felt the cold as it stung her cheeks. She shook so badly her teeth rattled. Oh, God, he couldn’t leave her in this wilderness. She tried to stand and fell flat on her stomach, her legs too numb to support her.
He heard a faraway sound and stopped. Riders. Two. They were coming for the woman.
He looked back. She was trying to crawl on her hands and knees. “Please, help me,” she begged, one hand stretched toward him as her weak body failed.
The soft melodious voice touched something buried inside him. God, he hadn’t heard a voice like that in years, and he didn’t want to hear it now. He didn’t want anything to do with her or her problems.
The pounding of hooves against the earth grew stronger. At that moment, the woman heard the sound. “Oh, no, they’re coming back! Please help me. They’ll kill me.” She struggled to get to her feet.
He watched her futile efforts. Bandit whined in his throat. “Be quiet,” he told the dog to no avail. The whining increased, angering him. Dammit, he didn’t need this. But much as he wanted to walk away, even Bandit knew he wouldn’t leave her here to die.
He hurried toward her and knelt down. “I’ll hide you until they’re gone. That’s all. After that, you’re on your own. Understand?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, but I can’t get up. My legs are too weak.”
He laid his rifle down, scooped her into his arms, ran into the thicket and up a hill. He stood her on her feet beside a large oak. “Hold on to the tree. I’ll be right back.”
Running down to the shack, he used a branch to cover their tracks, then picked up his rifle. He gave the place a last once-over and made a dash for the woman.
“Don’t make a sound, not one word,” he told her, frowning at Bandit. “Quiet, boy.”
As he finished speaking, two riders came into view. Aware that something was wrong, they jumped off their horses and ran into the shack. They came out cursing and waving their arms in anger. The words were muted, but the curses carried on the wind.
His spine stiffened as he recognized the men. He glanced at the young woman and wondered at her connection to the men below.
“Do you recognize them?” he asked.
She squinted. “I can’t make out their faces from here,” she whispered.
That didn’t tell him a whole lot and didn’t make him feel any better.
“Damn.”
“What?” she asked, gripping the tree.
“They’re not giving up. They’re scouring the bushes, searching. I have a feeling they’re not leaving until they find you.”
“Please don’t let them find me.” Miranda stared into his dark eyes—eyes that held a fire and a warmth she felt all the way to her soul. This man would not hurt her. She only prayed he would help her.
He looked away from the pleading in her eyes. “I don’t get involved in other people’s lives. That’s why I live in these hills alone.”
She touched his arm in a silent appeal, and he flinched.
He hadn’t been touched in so long that it caught him off guard, but he almost immediately regained his composure. He knew he had a decision to make.
Bandit rubbed against his leg. He shoved him away. Between that stupid dog and her, he was becoming the crazy person everyone thought he was.
“Please help me,” she begged again. She didn’t make the mistake of touching him this time.
That desperate note in her voice weakened his resolve. Getting involved with her might jeopardize his freedom. But he couldn’t leave her here, at the mercy of the men below.
The two men continued their search. They obviously intended to find the woman. There was one place they wouldn’t look. His cabin. He had no choice. He had to hide her until they were gone. That was as far as he was willing to go.
He knelt in front of her. “Put your arms around my neck and climb onto my back.” She was too weak to walk and he could think of no other way.
Miranda didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until he’d spoken. “Thank you,” she whispered. She did as he instructed, locking her arms tightly around his neck. His dark beard brushed her hands with featherlike touches, and a fresh outdoor scent mixed with wool filled her nostrils.
This time he was prepared for the softness of her hands, and it didn’t bother him. Within minutes they were off through the woods.
Miranda clung to him as he darted through the thicket with a deftness and swiftness that surprised her. He seemed to be part of these woods—the trees, bushes and undergrowth. Her rescuer was different from anyone she’d ever known, and very strong. She could feel the muscles rippling in his back.
When they reached a rickety old fence, Miranda felt as if they’d walked for hours, but she knew it had been only minutes. She slid to the ground and stood on her own feet. Nonetheless, he picked her up and lifted her over the fence.
He pointed to some woods. “My cabin’s right through there. Can you walk?”
“Yes,” she replied, and took several tentative steps, then more as her legs grew stronger.
They emerged from the trees into a clearing where a small log cabin sat nestled among huge trees. Even in the dead of winter, the place had a homey appeal. Different shades of leaves covered the ground and smoke spiraled from the chimney. Bandit raced for the front porch; they followed more slowly.
As they climbed the wooden steps, he said, “Go. They’re not far behind us.”
He opened the door and without hesitation Miranda stepped inside. Her first feeling was warmth. It was divinely warm in here. She wrapped her arms around her cold body and let the heat soak into her bones. Then she took in the single sparse room, which was clean and neat. An old oak table and two chairs sat in the middle of the worn wooden floor. A cot was pushed against one wall, and a pile of newspapers and magazines were stacked beside it. A woodstove and a small cabinet occupied the other wall. The bare necessities were all he had. She thought of her father’s huge lavish house and her own beautifully decorated room. Did material things make one happy? She had a feeling the hermit had all he wanted right here.
The aroma of food caught her attention, and her stomach churned with hunger. When was the last time she’d eaten? She couldn’t remember.
He saw her eyeing the pot on the stove. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded. “Yes. Could I have something to eat, please?”
“Have a seat,” he said as he grabbed a bowl. “Leftover stew is all I have, but you’re welcome to it.”
“Thank you,” she replied, and sat in one of the chairs.
He placed the steaming hot bowl of stew in front of her with a piece of homemade bread and a glass of water. She snatched up the glass and drank thirstily.
“Slow down,” he warned her. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
She set the glass back on the table and picked up a spoon, slowly eating the stew. “What is this?” she asked. “It’s delicious.”
“Rabbit.”
She stopped eating. “What?”
“Rabbit,” he repeated.
She frowned. “You mean like…Easter-bunny rabbit.”
The corner of his bearded mouth twitched a fraction. “Yeah, like Easter-bunny rabbit.”
She looked down at the meaty concoction, and her stomach stirred with hunger. What the hell? she thought. She was too hungry to think about it.
As she gobbled up the last spoonful, Bandit barked.
“We’ve got company,” he said, reaching for his rifle.
“They found us?” she asked, and felt the nightmare coming back full force.
The hermit peered out the window. “Yep, they’re outside the fence debating whether or not to ride in. These two are relentless. You must be very important to them.”
Important to them? Who were they? What did they want with her?
As she made to get up, the hermit said, “Stay put. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Don’t even breathe unless you have to. If they know you’re here, we don’t stand a chance.”
Miranda swallowed hard, the urgency in his voice stilling her every movement.
“Damn,” he said. “They’re coming in.” He drew a small pistol from inside his boot and laid it on the table in front of her. “All you have to do is pull the trigger. It’s loaded.”
She shrank away from the gun. “What?”
“If they shoot me, you’ll need to defend yourself.”
“But I hate guns. I don’t know how to—”
“Those men are after you for a reason, and it’s not a good one.”
She stared at the gun, thinking this had to be a bad dream. It was too terrifying to be true—guns, men chasing her, this mysterious stranger. She pushed up the sleeve of her sweatshirt and held out her arm. “Pinch me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Pinch me,” she said again. “I know I’m dreaming, and when you pinch me, I’ll wake up and this will be over.”
He sighed in exasperation. “Where were you raised? In a fairy tale?”
His sarcasm didn’t faze her. She continued to hold out her arm.
Sighing loudly, he moved closer and pinched her. Hard. “Ouch! That hurt,” she said, rubbing the tender spot.
“Satisfied you’re not dreaming?” he asked with a touch of cynicism.
She shut her eyes tightly, trying to accept what was happening. Then opened them again as he caught her chin in his hand and lifted her head. “You’re not dreaming. This is real. Understand?”
They stared at each other, and facing the directness of that dark gaze, Miranda slowly nodded. She’d been kidnapped. Oh, God, she’d been kidnapped! Tears spilled down her cheeks.
He gazed into her watery eyes and moved away, shaking his head as if in disgust. Bandit barked suddenly, alerting them to the impending danger. “Pull yourself together,” he ordered. “Trouble is riding our way.”
At the door he glanced back. “Remember what I said. Don’t make a sound, and use the gun if you have to. It’s you or them.”
Dazed and confused, she looked at the gun. She couldn’t touch it. She couldn’t.
“Pick it up.” The words jarred her.
It’s you or them.
The words bounced in her head, forcing reality to the surface. Her eyes met the hermit’s. In those dark depths there was no relenting. This man did not suffer fools gladly. He expected her to defend herself. God, yesterday all she had to defend herself from were unwanted suitors. Now she had to fight for her life. This was so absurd, so unreal. She’d been drugged and hidden in that awful room. The horror of it filled her—the dark, the gag in her mouth, and the tight ropes on her ankles and wrists.
Her hand closed around the cold steel. Yes, she could do this. She had to.
Those men would not take her again.

CHAPTER TWO
THE HERMIT STOOD on the porch, watching, waiting. He held the rifle in one hand, the barrel toward the Texas sky, the butt resting on his hip, his finger on the trigger.
The two men rode up to a gap that led to a primitive road, the only way out, the route he used when he went for supplies. They talked for several minutes, obviously still debating whether to ride in and face him. Everyone in the county had heard the rumors about him. He’d heard them himself. He was reputed to be mean, vicious and trigger-happy.
He hoped the men remembered those wild tales. To his disappointment they opened the gap and rode through. The woman inside must be very important to them. They wouldn’t risk their lives by riding onto his property otherwise.
As they rode nearer, he focused on the first man. Del Spikes, Clyde Maddox’s ranch foreman. A thin man with a long face and a sour expression, Spikes was a man he had encountered many times over the years. Mainly Spikes harassed him or warned him to stay off Maddox land.
He didn’t recognize the other man, but felt sure he had to be one of Maddox’s employees. A portly man with a round face and dirty blond hair, he held back, letting Spikes take the lead.
About fifty yards from the cabin, the hermit slowly lowered the rifle and fired at the ground in front of the horses. The horses nervously jumped away, and the men had a hard time handling them.
“Get off my land,” he yelled.
Bandit stood by him, growling.
“Quiet, boy,” he whispered.
Spikes reined in his horse. “I want to talk to you, Hermit.”
“Got nothing to say to you, Spikes.”
“This is important. Five minutes is all I’m asking.”
He wanted them off his property as fast as possible, but to get rid of them he was going to have to give a little. Besides, what did Spikes and his pal have to do with the woman? That curiosity bothered him. He shouldn’t be curious.
“Five minutes, Spikes. That’s all you have.”
Spikes rode closer. “Clyde Maddox’s daughter has been kidnapped, and he’s offering a big reward for her safe return.”
Clyde Maddox’s daughter? Was that the woman inside his cabin? No, it couldn’t be. Not Clyde Maddox’s daughter. For a split second he wondered why that possibility disturbed him.
He had never met Clyde Maddox but disliked him intensely. Maddox had tried to get him off his two hundred acres by barring the road, tampering with his water supply and sending Spikes and his henchmen to threaten him, but nothing had worked. He’d fought back and outsmarted Maddox at every turn. Now he was sheltering Maddox’s daughter from men who worked for him. What was going on?
“What’s that got to do with me?” he asked, and kept his eyes on Spikes and on the other man’s hands.
“Just wanna know if you’ve seen anything.”
“Out here in the middle of nowhere?” Obviously Spikes wanted to find out if he’d discovered the room and set the woman free. There was no one else who could’ve done it, but Spikes wasn’t about to accuse him because Spikes didn’t want to incriminate himself.
“We’re looking everywhere,” Spikes said.
“Well, you’re looking in the wrong place,” the hermit told him. “I haven’t seen a woman in so long I couldn’t even draw you a picture.”
The other man laughed crudely.
Spikes spit chewing tobacco on the ground. “Yeah, what would you do with a woman, huh, Hermit?”
“Your five minutes are up,” he said, getting tired of the nonsense.
The grin left Spikes’s face and his hand went to the rifle resting across his saddle.
The fake pleasantries were over. Time to deal with the real reason they were here.
“I wouldn’t,” he called, his rifle leveled on Spikes. “Unless you feel this is your lucky day.”
Spikes’s eyes rolled with a warning. “I figure you know something and before I let you ruin this, I’ll see you in hell.”
“Thanks for the invitation, Spikes, but I’ve already been there, and I don’t intend to go back. Now get off my land.”
Spikes wheeled his horse around with an angry movement. “I should’ve killed you years ago, Hermit.”
He didn’t answer but waited until they rode into the woods again.
Bandit lay on the porch, his face on his paws. “Watch ’em, boy,” he said, and backed into the cabin.
HE STOPPED SHORT as he entered the room. The woman held the gun with both hands, pointing it directly at him. She trembled so severely the gun wavered in every direction.
“They’ve left,” he said, propping his rifle against the wall. “Put the gun down.”
“I…I can’t,” Her voice cracked.
He moved closer and pried the weapon out of her fingers. She buried her face in her hands and started to cry.
Ignoring her tears, he walked to the window to check that Spikes and his companion were indeed gone. They weren’t. He could see them through the trees. Dammit, they weren’t leaving.
“I…I heard him say my father was offering a reward for my safe return,” she said with a sniffle.
“Just bait to get me to admit you were inside the cabin,” he told her.
“They’re the men who kidnapped me, aren’t they?” she asked in a weak voice.
“That’d be my guess.”
“But why?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “They work for my father, but I hardly know them.”
In fact, Spikes had worked for her father for years. He ran the ranch with an iron hand, exactly as her father wanted. The only time she saw the man was when she went riding. He saddled her horse and was invariably pleasant, but she’d never liked the way he looked at her. She couldn’t explain it, but his eyes always seemed to settle on her breasts or her legs, never on her face.
“For money, and lots of it.”
Miranda jumped as the hermit’s words penetrated her troubled thoughts.
A tense pause followed. Then he looked at her. “You’re Clyde Maddox’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she answered warily, not missing the venom in his voice. “You don’t like my father,” she ventured.
“No,” he answered as he yanked off his hat and coat and hung them on a peg on the wall.
The shoulder holster caught Miranda’s eye. It was something like a policeman or a detective would wear. For the first time she wondered who this man was and where he’d come from. Things her father had said about the hermit drifted through her mind. Clyde called him a nuisance and a few other choice words that had burned her ears. He tripped the wolf and coyote traps set by the ranch hands, freed some of her father’s prize horses to roam free in the hills and, worst of all, hunted on Maddox land.
The hermit had a way of getting on her father’s bad side, but Miranda felt there was more between them than the little she knew.
“Why do you dislike my father?” she found herself asking.
He spared her a dark glance. “Because he’s powerful and ruthless, and he’s used every underhanded trick he knows to force me off my land.”
Miranda’s eyes grew wide. “I can’t believe that!”
“I don’t care what you believe,” he said angrily. “Right now my goal is to get you out of my cabin and out of my life.”
“But…but…” she sputtered, suddenly fearful that he intended to kick her out and let Spikes have her. She swallowed hard, not sure what she should say—or ask.
Before she could find the right words, the hermit spoke. “I’m just wondering if this is a ploy of your father’s to run me off this land for good. Getting me arrested for kidnapping could be the ace up his sleeve.”
Miranda folded her arms around her waist to still the trembling. “My father wouldn’t do that to me,” she said defiantly. “He wouldn’t have his men put me in that room. He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t, not to get back at you or anyone.”
He gazed out the window. Spikes was still there. Was he waiting for someone? Or was he waiting for the Maddox woman? The hermit had to weigh his odds and he had to decide if this was a real kidnapping or a trap for him. He remembered the way the woman had been when he’d found her—drugged, fatigued and frightened. Even Clyde Maddox wouldn’t do that to his own daughter.
“Are they still out there?” she asked in a hesitant voice.
“Yeah, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be leaving anytime soon.”
“What do you think they’ll do?”
He paused for a second, then answered, “They’ll wait until dark, then come in and try to kill me and take you.”
Miranda closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was having a terrible dream, but she couldn’t pretend anymore. She had to face the horror that had become her life. How could she manage that? Since her earliest childhood, there had been people to do things for her. Now there was no one but herself. And the hermit.
“Once it gets dark, you can slip out the back door and start your trek home,” he said.
Dark? Trek? Was he out of his mind? She could barely find her way to the back door, and he wanted her to tromp over miles of thick woods with Spikes on her heels. Somehow she had to persuade him to help her, because Spikes had a healthy respect for the hermit—a respect better known as fear. She’d heard it in his voice.
Biting her lip, she stared at the hermit. His dark hair had a slight natural curl as it rested on his shoulders, which were broad and strong. His cheekbones were high and defined. He wasn’t as old as she’d thought. When her father had cursed him, she’d assumed he was a man in his sixties, but studying him now, she could see he probably wasn’t even forty. Why was a man of that age living the life of a hermit?
Quickly pushing the question aside, she sought a way to reach him. “You said you’d hide me,” she reminded him in her sweetest voice, hoping for a positive reaction.
There wasn’t one.
A low grumble left his throat. “I have, and that’s all I intend to do. In a little while you’ll be on your own.”
She leapt to her feet. “If you send me out into those woods alone, you might as well take your gun and shoot me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he warned, his eyes like dark thunder-clouds.
Miranda shivered at the viciousness in his voice. She dropped back into the chair and began to weep, a defense mechanism she had learned as a child. It was guaranteed to work on the various men in her life, but it wasn’t having any effect on the hermit.
“Dry up those tears. I’ve had about enough of you, your father and his men.”
As he said the words, an idea formed in Miranda’s head. There might be a way to convince him. She wiped her eyes, then rubbed her hands on her jeans. “If you get me home, I promise you won’t be bothered by my father or his men anymore.”
He blinked, unable to believe his ears. Did she actually think he needed her help? He could take care of Maddox and Spikes without her interference.
“I can make it happen.” Her voice drummed on, full of confidence. “My father has never denied me anything, and if you bring me back safely, he’ll grant my request. You’ll have your solitude. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
He walked over to the table, laid his hands flat on the surface and stared into her liquid brown eyes. “Solitude is my fervent prayer. And I don’t need your help.”
At the harshness of his words, all her hopes vanished. The man was hard as nails, just as her father had said. Now what? She bit her lip and tried to think of something, anything.
As the hope in her eyes died, he felt a pang of conscience. He moved away from the table. Dammit! He wasn’t going to help her. It was too risky.
But could he really push her out the back door and let her fend for herself? She was a city girl, right down to those long manicured nails. Within minutes she’d be lost and victim to every wild animal out there, including Spikes. He wouldn’t treat any living creature that way. So he wouldn’t do it to Miranda Maddox, either.
He released a long breath, admitting that he had no choice. She now knew Spikes was her kidnapper. Which meant she’d become a liability to Spikes, so he couldn’t afford to let her live.
Damn the woman.
He couldn’t have another death on his conscience.
Damn the woman.
“All right,” he said without expression. “I’ll take you back to your father.”
“You will?” Her eyes grew bright with renewed hope.
“On several conditions,” he added.
She frowned. “Like what?”
“You will do exactly what I tell you to do. You will not whine or complain. And most of all, there will be no tears and no questions.”
She gritted her teeth at his arrogance, but answered, “Yes, fine. I can do that.”
He wasn’t through. “It’s going to be cold out there without much shelter. Wild animals, from coyotes to bobcats, will be a constant danger. Not to mention Spikes, who will be on our trail as soon as he realizes we’ve gone. I need to know if you can handle the rough terrain and the conditions and follow orders.”
She stared at him with wide troubled eyes. Her first instinct was to lie, anything to get back to her father, but she had a feeling the hermit would see through it.
“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly, trying to think of some evidence or argument. She could tell him about shopping nonstop for twelve hours in Paris. No, that sounded frivolous. Or she could tell him about skiing in Colorado, but then, most of her time was spent at the lodge. Or she could tell him about the time she and Jane hired a personal trainer to get in shape. No, that only lasted two days. God, her life sounded meaningless. She’d never thought so before, but now she was looking at herself differently, and she didn’t like what she was seeing. There had to be more to her than being a rich man’s daughter. There had to be.
Her eyes touched his. “I’m not used to the wild outdoors, but I’ll try,” was all she could promise.
“Try?” he boomed at her, his fist hitting the table with a loud thump. “You’ll do more than try. You’ll do it—because I’m not taking a whimpering whiny female out into those woods with Spikes and his high-powered rifle on my heels.”
She swallowed hard and tried to quell the anger growing inside her, but it didn’t work. “What do you want me to say?” she snapped. “That I’m Annie Oakley or something? Well, I’m not. I promise to try my very best. That’s all I can do.”
The minute the words were out, she regretted them. But no one had ever talked to her the way he had and she resented it. She might be at his mercy, but she didn’t have to endure his insults. Now she wondered if her reaction had ruined any chance of his helping her.
He straightened, a thoughtful expression on his face. The woman had fire in her. Good. He was beginning to wonder if Clyde Maddox’s daughter was a meek little daddy’s girl with no will of her own. She was going to need all that fire, plus guts and strength to handle the hours ahead. “Well, that’s all I ask,” he murmured. “Just be prepared for the worst.”
Miranda frowned, uncertain whether it was wise to put her life in his hands. But what choice did she have? It was either the hermit or Spikes.
“One more thing,” he said. “I will only take you to within a mile of the ranch. From there, you’ll go in alone. I will see no one and talk to no one. And I definitely do not want anything from your father. Understood?”
She nodded, but had to ask, “Why are you helping me?”
His dark eyes grew pensive. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Maybe it’s the easiest way to get rid of you, or maybe I just don’t want your death on my conscience.”
“I didn’t know you had a conscience.” The remark slipped out before she could stop it.
His eyes held hers for an agonizing second. “You’d better thank God I still do.”
She had no idea what he meant by those words, and she wasn’t going to ask. They were partners now, together against Spikes. Without understanding how she knew it, she sensed she could trust the hermit. He wouldn’t let her down.
THE NEXT FEW MINUTES were hectic. The hermit packed a backpack and dropped some clothes on the table. “Put these on,” he ordered. “They belonged to my great-uncle. I inherited this place from him.” His eyes swept the length of her body. “He was a small man, so they should just about fit you.”
There was no interest or curiosity in his eyes. Not that she wanted him to be attracted to her, but she’d never had a man look at her in such a detached manner. Why was she thinking such crazy thoughts? She had one goal—to get home safely. His disinterest in her as a woman was going to make the next two days much easier.
She picked up the clothes. Her nose wrinkled in revulsion as she examined the woolly long johns, socks, knit cap and big coat. They smelled of mothballs. She opened her mouth to protest when she caught his eye. He was waiting for her to complain. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Where can I change?” she asked with a secret grin.
“Look around you,” he replied sarcastically. “Where do you think you can change?”
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.”
SPIKES KICKED A LEG of the table inside the cabin and swore under his breath. “That goddamn hermit. I knew she was in here. I should’ve killed him. I should’ve killed the bastard.”
“Whata we do now?” Peavy wanted to know.
Spikes plopped down on the cot. “We get some sleep, and after that we track the lying bastard.”
“Then what?”
“What do you think? I’m sure she knows who we are, and so does the hermit. After I kill him, I’m gonna spend some time alone with the beautiful princess before I kill her, too. For years she’s looked down that pretty nose at me, but she won’t be so smug when I’ve finished with her.”
MADDOX HOUSE was thirty minutes from Austin, Texas. The huge mansion was an impressive structure, with wings, turrets and fountains. It was a facsimile of a castle in England and somewhat ostentatious for a ranch, but Helen Maddox, Clyde’s first wife, had designed the house after she fell in love with European castles during their honeymoon. Through five marriages and two children, the residence was still the family home.
Clyde Maddox’s study was a hub of activity. An FBI command post occupied one corner of the room. Two agents sat at a table, every technology available at their fingertips. The Maddox family sat in chairs and on sofas, waiting for the next ransom call. Alicia Adams, Miranda’s mother, heavily sedated, lay on one sofa, a wet cloth on her forehead.
Clyde, a man of medium height and build, paced the floor of the large book-lined room. At sixty-five, he was an imposing figure with his graying blond hair, direct brown eyes and erect stature. He had a booming voice and overpowering personality and a weakness for women. Two of his former wives had remarried, but the other two were still a part of his life, which his fifth wife did not appreciate. In business, as in his personal life, he was a formidable opponent. He was called “The Bulldozer.” He rolled over his adversaries with little thought or regard. He never let up or gave in, and the words I’m sorry weren’t in his vocabulary.
“Why in hell don’t they call?” Clyde’s loud voice reverberated around the room.
Clyde Thomas Maddox Jr., known as Tom, a replica of his father except for the gray hair, put an arm around his shoulder. “They’ll call, Dad. We just have to be patient.”
“They’d better not harm her. I swear I’ll kill them with my bare hands if they hurt her.”
A tall woman with brown hair and green eyes walked over to Clyde. The lines around her eyes and mouth showed her advancing years. “They’re after money, so they won’t harm her,” Helen Maddox assured him. Since she was the mother of Clyde’s only son, she still held a prominent place in the Maddox family.
A petite woman with dark eyes and hair spoke up. “You don’t know that. A kidnapper is not rational.” Doreen Maddox, Tom’s wife, always spoke her mind, much to her mother-in-law’s chagrin.
“Do you have to be so pessimistic?” Helen snapped.
Doreen glared at her mother-in-law. “I’m only being realistic.”
Before a quarrel could ensue, Brandi, Clyde’s fifth and present wife, got to her feet. A tall, green-eyed, voluptuous blonde, she towered over her husband by three inches. “If you ask me,” she said cattily, “it’s all just a ploy on Miranda’s part to get back at Kevin and, of course, to gain her father’s sympathy.”
“You bitch!” Alicia cried, sitting up clumsily. In her younger days, Ali had been a famous model and she still retained her shape and looks. She brushed blond hair away from her face as her blue eyes blazed with anger. “How dare you! I’ll pull that dyed hair out by the roots.” She made a lunge for Brandi, but Clyde caught her before she fell on her face.
“Calm down, Ali,” Clyde soothed, holding her in his arms and gently stroking her hair.
Brandi’s green eyes bore into him in a seething rage as she watched him console Ali. “You’re taking her side?” she asked in disbelief.
“Your remarks are out of line,” Clyde told her.
“You bastard. You can’t even see what’s going on under your nose.” With those scathing words, she whirled and headed for the stairs.
“She has a point, Clyde,” Helen interjected. “You’ve spoiled Miranda since the day she was born.”
Clyde shot her a withering look. Trying to keep Ali from crumpling to the floor, he called out, “Frances!”
The housekeeper, a small woman with short, brown hair, appeared from the kitchen. Jane, her daughter, followed.
“Take Ali upstairs. She needs to get some rest. And, Jane, would you help your mother?”
“Yes, sir,” Jane replied as Clyde handed over his burden.
“I don’t want to, Clyde. I want to see my baby,” Ali protested.
“You go and rest, Ali. I’ll wake you if anything happens,” he promised.
Wrapping an arm around Ali’s waist, Jane asked, “Has there been any news?” Worry clouded her brown eyes. She and Miranda had been friends since childhood.
“Not since the first ransom call,” Clyde answered. “We’re waiting to find out where to drop the money.”
As the trio trudged toward the stairs, Clyde added, “Jane, phone Kevin and tell him to stop calling here. I don’t want to talk to that son of a bitch. After what he’s done to my daughter, I never want to see his face again.”
“Yes, sir,” Jane answered.
“That’s a bit drastic, don’t you think, Clyde?” Helen asked. “They’ve had a lovers’ spat. It happens to all young couples. I’m sure Kevin is very worried about Miranda.”
Clyde turned on Helen, his brown eyes blazing. “She found him in bed with another woman barely three weeks after their engagement. The FBI got the whole sordid story out of him. He hurt her, and I won’t have him anywhere near her.”
Eyebrows raised, Helen said, “If memory serves me correctly, you weren’t averse to sleeping with other women while married, and you always expected forgiveness.”
Clyde’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Shut up, Helen. If you want to stay in this house, you’ll keep your nasty comments to yourself.”
“Mother, please.” Tom intervened before things got out of hand. He took her by the arm, whispered something to her, and led her to a chair.
Doreen watched this display with dark burning eyes and bit down on her lip, but managed to keep from saying anything.
An FBI agent spoke to Clyde. “Mr. Maddox, let’s go over the routine again. When the call comes through, keep talking as long as you can. We know they’re using a cell phone, so the more time we have, the better our chance of getting the number. Ask to speak with Miranda. You want to be certain she’s okay. If they refuse, keep insisting. Tell them you need some reassurance.”
“Okay,” Clyde replied. “But what’s taking so damn long?”
“They’re trying your patience, Mr. Maddox,” the agent answered. “They want to make sure you’ll do whatever they ask. How are you coming with the money?”
Clyde turned to Tom. “Is the money ready?”
“Yes,” Tom answered. “It was hard getting two million in cash at such short notice, but John at the bank said everything was set. We should have the money within the next thirty minutes.”
“Good.” The agent nodded. “Let’s hope we can find her before you have to give them any money.”
Clyde drove a fist into his other hand. “Why don’t they call? And where the hell is Spikes?”
“I haven’t seen him or Peavy since the FBI agent interviewed them,” Tom said.
“And we’ve come up with nothing on the green van Mr. Peavy said he saw in front of the house that morning,” the agent added.
Clyde sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. “What’s going on? How could they just come in here and take my daughter without anyone seeing them?”
Everyone in the room stood paralyzed. Clyde Maddox was a rock. He never wavered under pressure, but this man with the slumped shoulders was falling apart. No one was sure what to do.
Tom glanced at the agent, then at his mother, but before anyone could make a move, Clyde jumped up, his iron demeanor back in place. “Find Spikes. I want to see him now!”

CHAPTER FOUR
THE HERMIT PASSED the canteen to Miranda. “Drink some water, then we need to be on our way.”
Miranda didn’t realize she was thirsty until the water touched her lips. She took several gulps and handed the canteen back to him. He grabbed the backpack and stood. Miranda hoped she could do the same. With her hands on the cold hard ground, she pushed herself to her feet. She felt several fingernails break, but she couldn’t concern herself with such a minor problem. She was more worried about her legs. Miraculously they held her without pain. A grateful sigh escaped her, and they started off.
As they walked, Miranda began to identify the sounds around her: an owl, the rustle of leaves, the wind, a coyote howling in the distance. Except for the night sounds, the woods were very quiet. Just the two of them trudging steadily toward the ranch and safety.
The cramps in her legs resumed, and she gritted her teeth to bear the pain. Her attention was so focused on her cramped legs that she didn’t realize he’d stopped until she walked into his back.
“Oh,” she muttered in a startled voice as she struggled to keep from falling. She flung her hand out and caught a branch. It snapped in her hand.
The hermit whirled around and steadied her, then immediately pulled his hands free when she had her balance. Maybe he didn’t like women, she mused. Or maybe he just didn’t like her.
The questions triggered so many other questions in her head. She found she was becoming very curious about him. What was his name? What kind of life had he left behind? Was there a wife? A family?
“Damn,” he said, staring at the broken branch on the ground.
“What?” she asked, not understanding the implications.
“You broke a branch. It’ll be a dead giveaway that someone’s been through here,” he explained.
“Oh, no,” she cried, and felt as if she’d committed a crime. Maybe in a way she had. Her carelessness could alert Spikes to their whereabouts. She wanted to hide the branch, maybe leave a false trail, but his words stopped her.
“We don’t have time to worry about it.”
“But shouldn’t we do something?” she asked.
“No. They’ll probably assume it was broken by an animal—especially if we just leave it here. We have other problems.”
She held her breath and waited for his next words.
“We have to find shelter,” he said, glancing toward the sky.
She followed his gaze and found that all the stars had disappeared. The sky was black. Very black.
Still not grasping the full meaning of this, she asked, “Shelter? Why?”
“There’s a storm coming.”
“How can you tell?”
“I can smell it, and the sky has changed drastically in the past fifteen minutes.”
“I see,” she murmured, thinking that he and the elements were probably best friends. Her eyes searched the barren darkness. “But where can we find shelter in these woods?”
She felt him watching her, and she knew his expression without even seeing his face. It was dark and steely-eyed, telling her she’d used up her quota of questions for the day.
His instructions. She’d forgotten about them, but it was normal to be curious. She started to apologize because she’d never make it home without his help. But then she closed her mouth. A few questions wouldn’t kill him, she thought defiantly. He didn’t have to be so stiff and unrelenting.
She was glad when he turned his attention to the matter of finding shelter. “There’s a small cave not far from here. I think we can make it before the storm hits.”
She frowned beneath the masklike cap. Did he say cave? Weren’t there bats in caves? Should she ask? No, she answered herself. He wouldn’t appreciate her nervousness. But she wasn’t used to roughing it in the outdoors. She was accustomed to central air and heat and every possible luxury. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to tolerate what lay ahead.
The pain in her legs changed her opinion about entering this cave. She hoped it wasn’t far. At least it would be a place to rest her weary body. Yes, that was the how she’d think about the cave.
Suddenly dawn crept through the turbulent clouds, dimly lighting the woods in a yellow glow. The night faded behind them, and morning beckoned with a tempestuous hand. The hermit stopped by a thicket on the side of a hill. He laid down his rifle and reached with both hands to pull back some branches. “Go ahead,” he said. “Climb through, but be careful. Don’t break any of these branches.”
She looked at him, annoyed by that critical tone of his voice, but her emotions shifted as she glanced back at the hole he’d provided. This was too much like the room he’d rescued her from. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go through that misery again. Her first instinct was to turn and run, but she knew perfectly well that wasn’t wise. She’d be lost within minutes and the buzzards would have her body for dessert. If Spikes didn’t find her first.
Biting her lip, she tried to still her fears. Lightning snaked across the sky.
“Come on, we haven’t got all day,” he said impatiently.
Bandit darted through the hole. She took a deep breath, counted to ten and followed. The muscles in her legs tightened in protest and she fell to the dirt floor of the small cave. Dust and the smell of dog filled her nostrils. All reason left her as a large rat ran past her. She screamed, covering her eyes. Bandit caught the rat in a heartbeat and killed it. She waited for bats to swoop around her, but all she heard was the crunching of bones as Bandit started to eat the rat.
“Oh,” she moaned in disgust, feeling as though she was going to be sick.
The hermit loomed over her. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
The hermit glanced at Bandit eating the rat. “Have some manners, boy. Take your supper to the other end.”
Was that laughter in his voice? No, it couldn’t be. This man never laughed.
He squatted down at the entrance, right beside her prone body. “You have to move farther in,” he told her.
The knots in her legs were so tight and painful, she couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it. “I need a minute,” she said in a pained voice.
“Why?” he snapped. “We’re going to get soaking wet if we stay here. The rat’s gone. It can’t hurt you.”
“I…can’t move,” she finally admitted.
“Why not? If—”
“My legs are cramped up, okay?” she shouted. “Now leave me alone and let me deal with my own misery.”
He swore under his breath and stepped over her, bending because the cave was too low for him to stand upright. He reached under her armpits and pulled her farther inside.
He knelt at her feet and took off her sneakers. Shock rippled through Miranda as he touched her, but she was too weak and exhausted to say anything. His big hands began to gently massage the calf of one leg, then the other. She sighed with pure pleasure.
Heavens, his hands felt so good. Each touch, each stroke, eased away the pain. This man would never hurt anyone; she was positive of that. Why was everyone afraid of him? She wasn’t anymore, and somehow she felt she never would be again.
God, he’d forgotten how good it felt to touch a woman. Even through the jeans, her flesh was soft yet supple, and—
He had to stop. He couldn’t keep touching her. Removing his backpack, he leaned against the other wall just as it started to rain outside. “Better?” he asked, and his heart pounded against his chest with emotions he hadn’t experienced in years.
“Yes, much,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“You should have said something. I wouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”
“I think you enjoyed pushing me hard,” she remarked with a touch of humor as she removed the wool cap.
Blond hair tumbled around her shoulders. He found he couldn’t tear his eyes away, and that surprised him. For the first time he really saw her. She was very beautiful with creamy flawless skin, a straight dainty nose and a perfectly shaped mouth. Her silver-blond hair seemed natural but probably wasn’t. There was nothing natural about women like her. He knew her type—rich, spoiled and factitious down to her soul.
As he realized what he was thinking, he brought his troublesome ramblings to a halt. He was comparing her to Sheila again. He’d been doing that for a while now. It was unfair to this woman, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He forced his eyes in another direction, but he had to admit Miranda Maddox showed more strength than Sheila had ever possessed. She must have been in a lot of pain—the knots in her legs were like goose eggs—yet she’d never said a word. Never complained. Never shed a tear. Yeah, she had strength. He had no idea why that pleased him so much, because he knew damn well that the sooner he got her back to her father the better.
The steady tattoo of the rain enclosed them in a comfortable silence. Now that the pain had eased, Miranda let the soothing sound of it calm her nerves. She didn’t want to think about the dangers that lay in wait outside the cave.
Pulling his hat low over his eyes, he tried to relax, but with Miranda Maddox a few feet away, that wasn’t easy. Damn the woman, he thought. He didn’t care about her, or her story, or why she was in this mess. That was what he told himself, over and over, but despite that, he found he was becoming increasingly curious.
Damn the woman.
He was empty inside. He had nothing to give anyone. Yet she was stirring up those basic primal emotions a man feels toward a woman. Maybe it wasn’t possible to destroy all feeling. Maybe some things were natural, God-given, and he had to accept that. Even if he didn’t like it much.
The rhythmic beat of the rain became louder. Miranda glanced toward the entrance. It was sleeting. She could see tiny icicles forming on the bushes. That reminded her of Christmas—how long had it been since Christmas? Barely three weeks. It seemed a lifetime since the whole family had gathered at the ranch to celebrate. Kevin had surprised her with a beautiful engagement ring. She was happy. Or so she’d believed until—
“We’d better eat and then try to get some sleep.” The hermit’s words interrupted her thoughts. He opened the backpack and pulled out a towel. Inside was a big loaf of bread and something Miranda didn’t recognize.
“Deer jerky,” he said, almost as if he could read her mind.
Deer jerky? What in the world was that? She frowned at the dark strips of meat.
“It’s dried venison—deer meat,” he told her. “Quite tasty, especially if you’re hungry.”
Slipping the knife from the sheath around his waist, he sliced the bread into big chunks and handed her a piece.
She nibbled on the bread and watched as he chewed a piece of dried meat. Not wanting him to think she was one of those finicky females, she picked up a strip of meat and began to chew.
It wasn’t bad, especially if you were hungry, like he’d said, but the bread was exceptional. “This is delicious bread. Where do you get it?”
“I bake it,” he replied in a dry tone.
“Oh,” she murmured, licking her fingers and feeling chastised. None of her friends or acquaintances baked anything, so how was she to know? “I should have guessed you were a regular Renaissance man,” she said to take the scowl from his face.
The scowl only deepened as he took a drink from the canteen.
She didn’t want him to think she’d insulted him, so she hastened to add, “A Renaissance man is a person with lots of skills, who can do anything. It comes from—”
“I know that.” Slowly lowering the canteen, his dark eyes impaled her. “I’m not stupid.”
Feeling chastised again, she decided to give up. Clearly she was never going to say anything that pleased him.
As she finished the jerky, he passed her the canteen. Their fingers touched, but he didn’t instantly draw back as he had before. Their eyes met, and there was a tiny, a very tiny, glimmer in his eyes. It was there. She could see it before he looked away. He wasn’t as dead inside as he wanted her to believe.
“Drink up,” he said, and cleared his throat.
As she drank, he pulled a brown blanket from the backpack and tossed it on her lap.
“Try to get some sleep,” he said, taking the canteen from her.
She unfolded the wool blanket and wrapped it around her.
He sat with his legs out in front of him, his back against the wall, his head tilted back.
“Where’s your blanket?” she asked, thinking he must be cold.
“Don’t need one. I’m used to the weather,” he replied, and pulled his hat lower over his eyes.
Didn’t need one? He was lying. He’d given her his only blanket, and he couldn’t make her believe otherwise.
Bandit settled down beside him. The hermit’s hand went out and rested on the dog’s back. Two complete and total friends, she thought, dealing with life in their own unique way.
Curling her feet beneath her, she huddled under the blanket. It was so cold, but she managed to be comfortable. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she heard a rustling sound. She was immediately awake. Another rat? Oh, no! It was probably seeking shelter from the cold and rain.
Why wasn’t Bandit jumping up and catching it? But he just lay there, sleeping. Maybe he was full after eating the first one and saw no point in getting up. Okay. She inhaled deeply. She could handle this.
She heard the sound again—it was closer. So close she could almost feel the rat touching her skin. That was all it took. She scrambled to her feet, jumped across the narrow space and landed beside the hermit and Bandit. Bandit let out a yelp and the hermit growled, “What the hell?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “but I heard another rat, and I’m scared of them. Please, let me sit here.”
She was scared of rats. The woman had walked miles in excruciating pain, but the thought of a rat had her falling to pieces.
“If there was a rat in here, Bandit would catch it,” he told her.
“Maybe he’s not hungry anymore,” she countered logically.
“Bandit is always hungry.”
“I’d feel better sitting over here with you.”
“And I’d feel better if you went back to your own place.”
She ignored the irritated tone of his voice. “We can share the blanket and stay warmer. See,” she said, and quickly spread the blanket over both of them.
“Lady…”
Bandit whined.
“Shut up,” the hermit snapped.
Miranda jerked her head in surprise. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just go to sleep.”
Miranda curled into his side, her soft body against his. He took a shuddering breath. He didn’t need this. Oh, God, he didn’t need this.
Bandit scurried onto the blanket and crawled into her lap.
“Traitor,” he whispered to himself as he watched her hand stroking Bandit’s head.
Miranda sat by his side watching his jaw tighten with each passing second, but she wasn’t moving. She liked it here. She felt safe and warm.
His full beard caught her attention. He had a rugged outdoor persona and she’d bet he was very handsome without all the hair. What did it feel like to kiss someone with a beard? She never had, and suddenly the temptation was oh, so great. What would he do if she reached over and kissed him? Her fantasy came to an abrupt stop. What in the world was she thinking? Had fear warped her brain? Her eyes grew heavy, but she couldn’t prevent the tantalizing thought from dancing in her head.
He knew he wasn’t going to sleep, but it didn’t matter. Sleep was something that eluded him on most nights. He’d heard the rumors about himself; that he roamed these hills chasing his demons. That was probably true. His demons were persistent, never letting him sleep more than two hours at a time. Those demons were the reason he was here in the Hill Country alone, finding a measure of peace in the solitude.
Now she was creating doubts about the sentence he’d imposed on himself. All those emotions and feelings he’d left behind and thought dead were threatening to surface. But that was okay. He could handle them and he could handle her.
Sometime later he awoke with a start. He had fallen asleep. Damn. He listened closely. No sound of riders. Spikes wasn’t on their trail yet. The first thing he noticed was that it had stopped sleeting. It was a clear afternoon. The temperature had risen about ten degrees. Texas weather. Always a mystery.
The second thing he noticed was the woman asleep at his side. Her blond head rested on his shoulder, and her arm was linked through his. The blanket was still wrapped around them, and Bandit lay like a babe in her lap.
She moaned softly, an erotic sound he couldn’t help reacting to. A sound she probably made when she was—No! Don’t even think it. A woman with the same sexual appeal had destroyed him, broken his heart, crushed his soul. He had no desire to go down that path again, no matter how attractive the woman.
He shifted uncomfortably and she stirred. Her bright brown eyes glistened with beautiful dreams—and then they darkened with the reality of their situation.
“Oh, it’s not sleeting anymore,” she said. “And it doesn’t feel as cold.”
“It isn’t,” he replied, disengaging his arm from hers.
The movement didn’t escape her. The man had a thing about closeness. An impish idea lit her eyes. When he got her safely back to her father, she was going to give him the biggest kiss of his life. It would be her thank-you, her goal at the end of their journey.
“Shh,” he said, instantly alert, and grabbed his rifle, which was never far from him.
She bit her lip, not saying a word, her arms tight around Bandit.
“Riders,” he whispered. “Damn, Spikes caught up with us faster than I expected. The rain and sleet didn’t even slow him down. Damn fool’s determined not to let you make it back to the ranch.”
Miranda’s insides quivered uncontrollably. “Can he find us?”
“Not unless he’s a better tracker than I give him credit for. The rain washed away all our tracks. He’s just going on instinct. Get your shoes,” he ordered, and she quickly obeyed, remembering her sneakers lay where he’d removed them to massage her legs.
“How close is he?” she asked, lacing up her sneakers, then moving back to his side.
“Less than half a mile and riding hard,” he replied, and turned to face her. “Not a word, not a sound—not even if a rat runs up your leg. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her eyes like saucers.
“What about Bandit?” she had to ask, thinking he’d start barking if the riders were close enough.
“Bandit and I have hidden from Spikes before. He knows not to bark.” He rubbed Bandit’s head. “Don’t you, boy?”
Bandit whined low in his throat.
“Not a sound, boy.” The hermit held his finger to his lips.
They were conversing. Dog and man. They understood each other. She’d never seen a master and animal so in tune with each other.
Her concentration shifted as she heard the riders, the sound of hooves hitting the ground like distant thunder. Her muscles tightened in trepidation. What would happen if Spikes found them?
The hermit laid the rifle on his lap and pulled the .38-caliber pistol from his shoulder holster. He released the safety with a silent click and held the gun in his right hand. They waited. And waited.
The horses slowed, came closer. So close they could hear voices.
“Why you stopping?”
“This branch has been broken.” Spike’s voice was loud and clear.
Miranda clamped a hand over her mouth. Oh, no. They’d found it. Now they’d probably find them. She tried to breathe normally and to control her fear, but nothing worked until she looked into his dark determined eyes and knew he could take care of this situation. Knew she could trust him.
They listened carefully.
“So? Probably an animal,” the other man said.
“Or a person.” They heard the creaking of leather as Spikes obviously dismounted. “Let’s check it out.”
“The hermit’s not that dumb. He ain’t gonna leave broken branches.”
“He doesn’t have time to be careful. Now get off that horse and help me.”
The sound of creaking leather reached them again. “Whata we looking for?”
“We’re looking for them, you idiot. Check this thicket and those bushes. They could be hiding anywhere around here.”
They heard the two men moving and Miranda’s throat locked tight. The hermit remained completely still, his eyes on the cave entrance.
Any moment those man could find them. Any moment…
The voices grew faint as the men searched, then suddenly Spikes’s words came nearer, and nearer and Miranda thought her nerves were going to snap.
“Dammit to hell, Peavy, where the hell could they be?”
“Told ya the hermit ain’t gonna leave no broken branch.”
“Shut up, Peavy, I need to think.”
“’Bout what? That dang hermit’s takin’ her to Maddox.”
“But they’re not there yet. We gotta stop ’em or we’ll never see a dime of that money.”
“How? That hermit, he knows these hills fer better than us and he ain’t gonna make it easy.”
“You’re the most pessimistic bastard I’ve ever met. They’re walking south, so they have to be in this area. We’ll find ’em. We have to.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Putting a bullet in that hermit is gonna make all this worthwhile.”
“What about the little princess?”
The horses stomped and snorted as they mounted again.
“Ah, the little princess and me are gonna have some fun, and right before I slit her throat, I’ll give her the good news that someone in her family made all this happen. I’m sure she’ll be glad to know who’s paying us.”
There was complete silence as shock wave after shock wave washed over Miranda. Someone in her family had done this to her? Who? Who hated her that much?
“Where the hell could they be?” Spikes’s voice seeped into her nerve endings, making her want to scream—but she didn’t.
“They hidin’ real good.”
“Yeah,” Spikes agreed. “There’s only one thing left to do. You ride over to Beaver Creek and try to find Blackhawk. It’s not far from here and he’s the only one who’ll be able to track the hermit. I’ll keep searching south.”
“Blackhawk? He’s probably drunk. Why do you pay him, anyway? He never does a lick of work.”
“Who says I pay him?” Spikes laughed. “I give Blackhawk money for liquor and pocket the rest. Blackhawk doesn’t complain and Maddox doesn’t have a clue. He leaves all the ranching business to me. He’s busy trying to juggle five wives and an oil company.”
“You a smart son of a bitch.”
“I just know Maddox. The older he gets, the more interest he has in women—and the less interest in business.”
“What if Blackhawk talks?”
“No one’s gonna believe that drunk.”
The sounds receded into the distance, and the hermit slid the pistol into its holster. He turned to a paralyzed Miranda. She was trembling and shaking her head.
“No,” she whimpered. “Not someone in my family.”
His first reaction was to console her, but he couldn’t afford that luxury. Nor could she. She had to be strong to get through this, and he had to deal with Spikes.
“Snap out of it. We don’t have time for hysteria.”
His callousness pushed her over the edge. Before she knew what she was doing, she hit him with her fists, over and over, knocking his hat off. Her blows stunned him only for a second. In one swift movement, she was on her back, staring up into dark threatening eyes.
His right hand gripped her throat, holding her immobile. “I could cut off your windpipe in just a few seconds.” His dark hair fell forward, almost covering his face, giving him a wild look, but all she saw were his eyes, the warm dark eyes reaching the coldest part of her heart.
He hoped to put the fear of God into her. If she was afraid of him, then she’d forget Spikes and his words.
“But you won’t,” she said with more confidence than he liked.
He continued to hold her. Her skin was soft and the pulse in her neck burned like a steady fire against his hand. Warmth swept through his body from the contact, and he cursed himself for that weakness.
“Don’t count on it,” he replied gruffly, and waited to see fear in her eyes—the fear he’d seen the first time she’d looked at him. But there was only sadness.
“Go ahead, then,” she taunted him. “Finish me off. It’ll be better than what Spikes has in store for me. Did you hear what he said?” She closed her eyes in pain, then opened them quickly. “Promise you’ll shoot me before you let him take me.”
The thought of Spikes touching her body, raping her, was more than she could bear. She was trying to be strong, but she couldn’t handle that.
At the entreaty in her voice, he removed his hand and sagged against the wall. She scrambled to her knees to face him, pushing the hair out of her eyes.
“Please, don’t let Spikes hurt me.”
“I’ll do my best,” he answered quietly, trying to dispel the image of Spikes touching her.
“No, no,” she persisted. “If he has us cornered or something, promise that you’ll shoot me.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Please,” she begged. “I have to know he won’t be able to do those awful things to me.”
“As I said, I’ll do my best.”
“What is it?” she asked in desperation. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes held hers with a numbing force. “I’ve killed before, and it’s not something I want on my conscience again.”
“Oh,” she breathed, her own eyes enormous.
He watched the conflicting emotions skim over her pale face. Her expression wasn’t filled with fear, though, just shock and some other feeling he couldn’t identify. But it was similar enough to fear for his purposes. He leaned in and whispered, “You have reason to be wary, so if I were you, I wouldn’t be asking a man to kill you. A man you know nothing about.”
He didn’t get the reaction he wanted.
“Oh, but I do know you.” Her lips curved softly. “I don’t know your name or where you came from, but I know the man in here.” She laid her hand on his heart. “You’re strong yet gentle, stubborn but caring, and you’ll protect me, a perfect stranger, with your dying breath.”
He looked at the soft fingers pressed into his chest, and without thinking, he let his hand close over hers and hold it tight.
It was the second time he’d freely touched her and she was beginning to like it. They stared at each other, their eyes locked in a silent communication.
He wanted to deny her words, insist that he didn’t care anything about her, but in a matter of a few hours, he’d become fully involved with her. And she was right—he would die to protect her.
Miranda gazed into his eyes and experienced a moment of revelation. She’d been searching for something all her life. She didn’t know what, but her life wasn’t complete. Something had always been missing. Now, as their eyes met and she looked into the warmth of his, she felt as if she’d found whatever she had lacked.
He released her hand and broke eye contact. He raised one leg and pulled the small revolver from his boot. He gave it to her and said, “Put this in your pocket and keep it with you. In case you have to defend yourself.” As she started to protest, he added, “You can. You can do it. It’s a five-shot .22-caliber pistol. It’ll do the job. Just aim at his chest and you’ll be fine.”
She stared at the small gun in her hand. A moment ago her hand had tingled from the warmth of his; now it was frozen, trembling at the prospect of what she might have to do.
Suddenly she noticed the initials engraved on the handle. J.C. Were those his? “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
She lifted her eyes and tried to smile, but failed. He would be with her. That was all she needed to know. For now. Soon she’d ask him about those initials.
If they were going to die together, she had to know his name.

CHAPTER FIVE
SILENCE SURROUNDED THEM as they waited for darkness to fall. He knew she wanted to talk. He could feel it, but she was holding everything inside. Her tortured expression told its own story, and he wanted to help her. That shook him. Most of his life he’d helped people, put his life on the line more times than he could remember, but all that had died one fatal day five years ago. Or so he’d thought. Another inborn trait he probably wasn’t going to outrun. Or maybe it was just her. Something about her was getting to him.
Bandit lay between them. He made a mournful sound, more like a moan than a whine.
The hermit rubbed his head. “I know, boy,” he muttered.
“Go ahead,” he finally said.
She turned her head, a quizzical expression on her face. “What?”
“Talk. If you don’t, you’re going to explode.”
What a difference a day made, she thought. Yesterday he didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. Today he wanted to listen, and she wanted to tell him—everything. Every hurt, pain and bizarre event of her life.
She shrugged. “I’m in shock. I don’t know what to think. Someone in my family hired Spikes to do this to me. Who? I keep asking myself. And why?”
“Tell me about your family,” he invited, and he felt as if he was back at his old job, gathering information, clues, anything to find an answer.
She drew her knees up to her chin. “I have one brother, Tom. There’s fourteen years between us, so naturally we didn’t grow up very close, but we’ve always liked each other and gotten along well. I like his wife, Doreen, and I’m not aware of any hostility between us. I can’t say that about Doreen and Helen—that’s Tom’s mom and my dad’s first wife. Helen’s a very domineering mother, and she tries to control their lives. Doreen even went so far as to send their two children to boarding school to get them out of Helen’s clutches. But that has nothing to do with me.”
“How does Helen feel about you?” he asked.
She shrugged again. “She says Dad spoils me and lets me have my way, but then, everyone in my family says that. It doesn’t mean anything, does it?”
“I don’t know. Is she in need of money?”
“I don’t think so. My dad left her very well off, and she runs a profitable antique shop, but she’s always been extremely jealous of my dad’s wives. Five is the latest count. He went to Vegas last summer with some cronies of his and came back with number five, Brandi. She was a Las Vegas showgirl, blond, sexy—and just two years older than me. It was a shock to everyone, especially my mother, Alicia. She almost had a nervous breakdown and had to be hospitalized for two weeks to adjust to the news. You see, since my mom, there hadn’t been any new wives, and she’s had this on-and-off-again relationship with my dad since their divorce. So Brandi was a big shock.”
“Do you get along with Brandi?”
“Brandi only gets along with men, and no, we are not fond of each other. But that’s typical, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.”
“I wish I could talk to Jane. She’d know what’s going on.”
“Jane?”
“She’s the housekeeper’s daughter. She’s six months older than me and we grew up together. We’ve always been very good friends, even after my mom took me away.” Miranda rested her chin on her knees, her eyes distant. “My mom is Alicia Adams, former model. You’ve probably heard of her.”
She turned her head to look at him, wanting to see if he had the same reaction all men had when she mentioned her mother, sort of a leering smirk, but she saw only vague recognition.
Alicia Adams. He recalled the name and remembered seeing her on TV or somewhere. She was very beautiful, of that he was certain. He now knew where Miranda got her stunning looks.
When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “My dad met her when she was nineteen, married her when she was twenty, and I was born that same year. Two months after my birth, she went back to modeling. She and my dad fought about it all the time, but her career was important to her, and she wasn’t going to give it up. After five years Dad gave her an ultimatum—marriage or modeling. She chose modeling, leaving me at the ranch with a nanny. Dad wouldn’t have it any other way. So I grew up with an occasional mother, but I was happy. Then one weekend Ali came home and found Jane and me playing baseball and getting dirty. She had a fit, saying her daughter wasn’t going to be a tomboy. She whisked me off to boarding school. I hated it. I missed Jane, my dad and the ranch, but my mother wouldn’t listen. She said I’d get used to it, and then she had this idea that I could be a model, too. I did several ads and commercials, but the agent told my mother I didn’t have the drive or determination to be successful. It’s a cutthroat business.”
She paused for a moment, then added, “All my life I’ve felt like a piece of taffy, pulled between my parents, back and forth. I never knew which one to please. My mother wanted me to be a model. My dad wanted me to work at Maddox Oil, like Tom. Finally I came back to Texas, enrolled at the University of Texas, got a degree in business and went to work with my dad. At least he was happy.”
“What did you want to do?”
Her head swiveled toward him. “What?”
“You. What did you want to do with your life?”
She frowned. No one had ever asked her that question before, and she didn’t know how to answer it.
As the frown deepened, he said, “There must have been something you were good at, something you enjoyed.”
She shook her head. “I’ve always been Clyde Maddox’s little princess and Alicia Adams’s baby girl. Somewhere along the way, I guess I lost the person inside me.”
“No, you haven’t,” he assured her. “You just haven’t found her yet. Stop trying to please your parents and please yourself.”
Her mouth curved in that soft way he was beginning to recognize. “With Spikes out there, do you think I’ll ever get the chance?”
“We’re going to give it our best shot,” he said, and glanced toward the entrance as the light began to fade. He reached for his rifle. “Dusk has fallen. It’s time to go.”
She buttoned her coat and stuffed the cap into a pocket. Her hand touched the small pistol in the other pocket. She was ready.
It felt good to stretch her legs once they got outside. They’d spent all day in the cave. Of course, they’d slept much of that time, and they’d eaten again. She was as prepared as she could be, under the circumstances, for the trek ahead.
The hermit nodded to the left, and she followed his gaze. Her breath caught in her throat. Several deer were eating acorns beneath an oak tree. Sensing that they were being watched, they raised their heads, then ran into the thicket with sure graceful movements. They were such beautiful creatures, and she’d never been this close to one before.
She wanted to observe them, but there wasn’t time. The air no longer seemed as cold, but the ground was wet, which made walking even harder. They kept pushing on. Miranda felt stronger and managed to keep up. Her legs were tight, but no cramps.
Suddenly the hermit stopped, pointing to a flickering glow in the distance.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Campfire,” he whispered back. “We’ve caught up with Spikes.”
“Oh, no!” she cried, chills running up her spine.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “We’ll just go around them, but we have to be quiet and quick.”
“Okay,” she answered without much enthusiasm. “But how did we catch up with them so fast?”
“Spikes probably stopped to wait for Blackhawk.”
“That’s the Indian who works on the ranch, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and he really does have eyes and ears like a hawk. So make sure you stay close to me.”
“You can count on that.”
“Let’s go,” he said, looking down at Bandit. “Hush, boy.”
The fire became brighter as they moved closer. The orange flames crackled and hissed toward the sky. Three men sat around the blaze, drinking and talking. Two horses were tethered nearby. The saddles lay on the ground by the fire. As they crept past, giving the campsite a wide berth, they could hear voices, which carried clearly through the night.
“What do you want with the hermit?” Blackhawk asked, sitting cross-legged, a bandanna tied around his forehead. He took another swig of whiskey.
“None of your damn business,” Spikes said, taking the bottle from him. “If you want whiskey, you’ll forget all about this. Especially if you know what’s good for you.”
“I am like a sigh on the wind.”
“Whatever the hell that means,” Spikes answered, taking a swig of whiskey as he rested on his saddle.
The other man seemed asleep or passed out on a blanket by the fire.
They’d almost gone around the group when Miranda stepped on a stick. It popped, and the noise sounded like thunder in the darkness. In an instant, the hermit swung around and clamped a hand over her mouth. Her scream died against his palm.
“Shh,” he whispered into her ear.
Spikes jumped up. “What the hell was that?”
“The night has its own music,” Blackhawk replied, reaching for the bottle.
Spikes kicked the bottle away. “Check it out, you stupid Indian.”
Blackhawk stretched and got to his feet.
Miranda’s heart lodged in her throat. She couldn’t move or speak. She couldn’t do anything but rest against the security of the hermit’s chest. She felt his heart beat with a frantic rhythm. Or was that hers? She couldn’t tell. Their bodies were so close she couldn’t distinguish her heartbeat from his.
He slowly removed his hand and shook his head. She knew what that meant—be quiet, keep still. She wanted to run, get away as fast as she could, and had to restrain the impulse.
The woods seemed to become electrified as Blackhawk made his way directly toward them. Every footstep, every breath, every movement was charged with static energy.
The hermit stepped in front of her, the rifle butt resting on his hip, his finger on the trigger. For a split second, the fear left her as she realized what he was doing. He was protecting her, using his body as a shield. He was a total stranger, and yet he’d put his life in jeopardy for her. She felt closer to him than anyone in her family. In what—twenty-four hours?—this man, whose name she didn’t know, was willing to risk his life to save hers.
She shivered at his bravery and shoved her hand into her pocket, her fingers touching the cold steel. She wouldn’t let him down. If anything happened, she had the gun.
Her heart raced, and her body began to tremble as Blackhawk slipped closer. About fifteen feet from them, he stopped. The only sound Miranda heard was the beating of her heart as the Indian gazed at them through the darkness. The moonlight was bright enough so they could see each other. Blackhawk’s hair was long, black and dirty, and his eyes were trained on the hermit. He didn’t carry a gun, only a big hunting knife around his waist.
Spine-tingling silence followed.
Miranda held her breath.
“What’s out there?” Spikes called.
The two men continued to stare at each other. Miranda waited for the hermit to lower his rifle or for Blackhawk to go for his knife, or something—anything—before her nerves burst through the top of her head.
Then suddenly Blackhawk nodded once. The hermit reciprocated.
“A hungry coyote,” Blackhawk answered as he turned and headed back to the fire.
Relief flooded Miranda. She didn’t understand what had just happened, all she knew was that she could breathe again. The hermit took her hand and led her farther and farther away.
They walked steadily without a word. Sometimes they went in circles; at others they went over areas they had already covered. She didn’t ask questions. She knew it had to be a trick to throw Spikes off their trail.
Her legs grew heavier and heavier. When she thought she couldn’t stand the pain a moment longer, the hermit stopped, removed his backpack and slid to the ground, resting against a tree, Bandit by his side.
She heaved a grateful sigh and plopped down on the ground, leaning back against a fallen log. It took a while for her heart rate to still and her pain to ease. Then she closed her eyes and let the night sounds engulf her, alien yet soothing sounds that were growing familiar. As her body relaxed, she finally had to ask or she was going to burst with curiosity. “Why didn’t Blackhawk say something?”
“Guess he was repaying a debt,” he replied, pulling his hat low. “I hauled him out of Beaver Creek a few times. He always cursed me and mumbled in a drunken haze about a wife and kids and how he should be dead, too.”
“What happened to his wife and kids?”
“Don’t know. Never asked.”
“Were you sure he wasn’t going to give us away?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Hell no, you never know what a drunk’s going to do.”
“But you didn’t aim your rifle at him or anything.”
He pushed the hat back impatiently, and she thought he was going to say something about her questions, but instead, he shook his head. “Pointing a gun at him would only have angered him. Besides, I could see he didn’t have a gun and a bullet is much faster than a knife. If he’d done anything, I could have dropped him in an instant, and Spikes and his friend would’ve been dead before they knew what happened.”
Then why hadn’t he killed them? she thought to her horror. What was she thinking? Mass murder. God, no. She didn’t want anyone—not even Spikes—to die because of her. She just wanted to be home and safe with her family.
Family? Someone in her family had paid Spikes to kidnap her. She couldn’t escape that grim truth. She had a feeling that before she reached the safety of her home, someone was going to die. Would it be her? The hermit? Or Spikes?
Something rustled in the leaves and she hardly noticed. She wasn’t afraid of the woods anymore. She was only afraid of Spikes.
The night air chilled her and she slid her hands into her pockets. Her fingers touched the cold steel and she thought of the initials on the handle.
She sat up straighter, gathering courage. “Could I ask a favor?”
There was a long strained pause after her question. Then, without mercy, he answered, “I’ve already granted you one favor. That’s all you’re going to get.”
His voice didn’t deter her. She had to know. “It’s just a small favor.”
He said nothing, just sat as if turned to stone.
“You see,” she persisted, “if we’re going to face death together, I figure I should at least know your name. I refuse to call you Hermit.”
After a moment, he asked, “Why is my name so important?”
“Because you were willing to die for me back there with Blackhawk. A stranger. I don’t want you to be a stranger anymore. I need to know your name for my own peace of mind.”
His name. How long had it been since he’d heard his own name? Years. He didn’t want to tell her his name, but he could feel the words surging to his throat against his will. She was making him feel things he shouldn’t feel, and he could no longer deny it. He didn’t know what the morning was going to bring and, God help him, he wanted to hear his name on her lips.
Before he could say anything, she said, “It starts with a J, doesn’t it?”
The gun, he thought. She’d seen the initials on the gun.
“John, Joshua, Jeremy,” she said, guessing. “Jeffery, Joseph, Judd—no, none of those are right. Let’s see…”
“Jacob.”
Her eyes swung to his. He’d said his name. Jacob. Yes. Strong. Leader. It fit him perfectly.
“Jacob,” she said in a breathless sort of wonder. “Jacob.”
The word was like a haunting melody to his ears. All he could think about was catching the sound falling from her lips, catching them with his own. The feeling threw him. He hadn’t experienced anything like this in so long that for a moment he felt helpless and vulnerable. He immediately put the skids on emotions that were threatening to overtake him.
Miranda watched his face and saw his troubled thoughts reflected there, but she felt elated that he trusted her enough to share his name. She had to know more.
She rose to her knees and crawled to his side, sitting back on her heels. “Jacob what?”
He didn’t say a word.
“Okay,” she said. “It begins with a C, so…”
She felt the heat of his dark eyes. “Didn’t you hear anything I said when we started this journey? No questions. Remember?” He had that impatient note in his voice again, but it didn’t stop her.
“Yes,” she answered. “But we’ve gone way beyond that. We’re partners and friends now, aren’t we, Jacob?”
God, the way she said his name was beginning to get to him. So many emotions broke through inside him. He could actually feel a sense of release, an opening around his heart. He wanted to talk, to be her partner, her friend, just as she’d said.
“Yes,” he murmured.
“And friends share things, secrets. Whatever you tell me, I would never tell anyone else.”
Somehow he knew that she wouldn’t.
She waited for him to speak. He didn’t, so she prompted, “Jacob…?”
His eyes caught hers in the darkness. “Culver,” he answered. “It’s Jacob Culver.”
“What did Jacob Culver do for a living?”
“Detective,” he answered without hesitation. “I worked homicide for a Houston division.”
“I knew it had to be something like that,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “The holster and all, plus you’re very good with guns.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Touch me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s been…years since a woman has done that.”
There was a warning in his voice and she didn’t miss it. She just didn’t understand it. “Are you trying to frighten me?”
“Just telling you the truth.”
“No,” she said. “For some reason you’re trying to scare me. You’ve been doing that ever since you carried me out of that place.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “This isn’t a fairy tale. It’s life and it’s not pretty. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”
Was he right? At the moment life had dealt her a dreadful hand, but she refused to allow that to overwhelm her. At least she’d met Jacob, and that was a good thing.
“No,” she told him. “Life’s not all bad, and neither are you.”
“Really?” he snorted. “You don’t know me, lady. I’m hiding in these hills for a reason.” He paused, then said, “I’m wanted for the murders of my wife and son.”
The words should have shocked her, but somehow they didn’t. Instinctively she knew he’d never hurt anyone.
She answered immediately. “I told you earlier that I know the person you are inside, and you could never kill anyone intentionally.”
He blinked, astonished by her words. No one believed in him that much, not his family, his friends, not even his own brother. Everyone assumed he was guilty because he and Sheila had been having problems. Now this woman, whom he barely knew, was professing his innocence. It took him a moment to collect himself.
Miranda saw that he was coming to grips with his emotions, and she gave him time.
Finally she said, “Tell me about your wife.”
He didn’t even hesitate. It seemed natural to talk to someone who had such faith in him. “Sheila was a lot like you,” he said, then stopped abruptly.
Those were not the words she wanted to hear, but she couldn’t help wondering what it was about her that reminded him of his wife. She didn’t have to wait for the answer.
“She was a rich man’s daughter—his only daughter—and she was used to getting anything she wanted. I was working two jobs when I met her because I was putting my brother, Lucas, through law school. Our parents died when I was twenty and he was fifteen, so I’d been taking care of him for a few years. I had a security job at nights. I worked for anyone who needed protection. Sheila’s dad hired me and several other guards for one of his big parties. I must have caught Sheila’s eye, because she kept pestering me all evening, bringing me drinks and flirting. I told her I couldn’t drink, that I was working, but Sheila never learned the meaning of the word no.”

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