Excerpt8

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

December 15, 1871 – Northern New Mexico

      Zach Price hadn’t been this close to a woman in five years.
      The time he’d spent in prison had robbed him of many things, and he’d often wondered if the ability to
feel passion and desire had been among them.
      Apparently not.
      As the rocking motion of the stagecoach brought the woman’s knees into contact with his own once
again, he wished he were as unfeeling as he’d thought. The stirring in his groin was an inconvenient,
painful reminder that he’d never again know the softness of a woman’s body against his. The manacles on
his hands and feet, and the presence of the lean, sharp-eyed lawman at his side, ensured it.
With every bumpy mile, the stagecoach took him closer to Texas, where he’d spend the rest of his life in the
same federal prison he’d escaped from two short weeks ago.
      If he’d known his freedom would be so fleeting, he’d have gotten stinking drunk and spent what time
he had in the arms of some pretty whore. Instead, he’d kept to himself, living like a hunted animal,
traveling at night, sleeping during the day, desperate to reach his brother in the Colorado Territory.
He’d never expected the United States Marshal on his tail to get there first.
      Once again, his gaze returned to the woman sitting across from him. Understandably nervous about
sharing the ride with a convicted killer, she had yet to look him in the eyes. Her lovely face was pale, and
she looked exhausted. He wondered how long she’d been traveling, and why she’d boarded the coach alone,
with no man to watch over her.
      Her vulnerable beauty enchanted him and, for a long moment, he entertained the possibility of taking
her hostage when they stopped for the night. He could wrap his chained hands around her slim neck, press
against her, use her as a shield to make his escape…
      Reluctantly, he discarded the notion. Despite the desperation clawing and twisting in the pit of his
stomach, he hadn’t sunk to the point of involving an innocent bystander in the hopeless mess he’d made of
his life.
      He shifted and turned his gaze out the window, noticing it had begun to snow. The sight cheered him.
He hoped the weather delayed their journey. Even a few extra nights in a stage stop with Marshal Scott
breathing down his neck would be preferable to returning to prison.
      “Where are you headed, ma’am?” The marshal spoke for the first time since they’d boarded the stage in
Trinidad.
      “I’m going to Texas for Christmas,” she answered. Zach found himself leaning forward in an effort to
hear her better. “I have family there.”
      She was even lovelier when she smiled, and he didn’t think his opinion was influenced by the fact
that he’d been so long without a woman. She had delicate, classic features and expressive, wide, green eyes.
Her hair was a rich, buttery gold, and her figure was trim, yet rounded in all the right places. He imagined
he could even smell her; a light, flowery scent that triggered a sudden, vivid memory of a girl he’d known
in Virginia. Before the war.
      “We’re going to Texas, too,” the marshal informed her. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, ma’am. It’s not safe
for a pretty little thing like you to be traveling all by yourself.”
      An embarrassed blush tinged the girl’s pale cheeks. “That’s kind of you, sir. But really, I’m sure I’ll be
just fine. I’ve come all the way from Denver already.”
      She glanced in Zach’s direction and, for just a moment, her clear, green gaze caught and held his.
Unmistakable trepidation shadowed those emerald depths. She probably didn’t want anything to do with
the marshal as long as he had a dangerous criminal like Zach in tow.
      The marshal also obviously understood the reason for her reticence. “Don’t worry none about him, ma’
am. I’ve got the situation well under control. He’s harmless as a Christmas goose trussed up in those
shackles.”
      The girl stared at the metal bracelets around Zach’s wrists and ankles. She met his gaze again, and this
time he saw more sympathy than fear. “Are those dreadful things necessary?”
      “Yes, ma’am,” the marshal answered. “As I said, he’s harmless enough as long as he’s chained. But
make no mistake. He’s a bad ’un. Killed some men in Texas a few years back, then managed to escape from
prison. Took me two weeks to track him down, and I don’t intend to lose him again.”
      Zach forced his features to remain impassive, even though he burned with shame and anger at being
discussed as though he were deaf and dumb. He didn’t know why he cared what this woman thought of
him, but for some reason he wanted to shout a denial. He wanted to try to explain the circumstances that
had led him so far from the life he’d once expected to live.
      The coach shuddered then gave a precarious lurch. Zach tore his gaze away from the girl to glance back
out the window then wished he hadn’t. The snow was falling much harder now than just a few moments
ago, and the road dropped off into a deep ravine on his side of the coach.
      They seemed to be heading right for the edge.
      “Shit,” he muttered, trying to brace himself, but unable to do so because of the shackles.
      “What the hell…?” The marshal half rose from his seat and opened the door, as though he meant to ask
the driver what was going on. He never got the chance. The horses gave an ear-piercing squeal, and then
the coach tipped, tumbling off the edge of the cliff, crashing end over end into the ravine.

* * * * *

      Bethany Sinclair awakened to the unfamiliar feel of a man’s heavy body sprawled atop her. She gave a
frantic shove but couldn’t dislodge the smothering weight. Gasping for breath as panic coursed through
her, she glanced about, trying to figure out why everything looked so odd and unfamiliar.
      Where was she? What on earth had happened?
      A horrible, discordant sound shattered the stillness—the sound of an animal in pain. The man groaned
and lifted his head. When she recognized the dangerously handsome face hovering just inches above her
own, she struggled even harder.
      The prisoner from the coach. There had been an accident, and now she was pinned beneath him.
      “Get off me.” Terror laced her voice as all her efforts to remove him went in vain. He was too big, too
heavy.
      “Calm down.” He shifted, relieving her of most of his weight, yet keeping her pinned where she lay in
the shattered remnants of the coach. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
      A bloody gash marred his forehead, and his blue eyes were cloudy with pain. She tried to relax,
remembering the kind marshal who’d befriended her before the wreck. He would help her. He wouldn’t
allow this criminal to do her any harm. “Where’s everyone else?”
      “I don’t know.” He scanned the immediate area with sudden purpose. His lean body tensed as he
realized the lawman was nowhere in sight.
      Dear God. He was a killer. An escaped convict. To what lengths might he go to keep from being taken
back to prison?
      His gaze returned to her face, but his eyes were sharper now, more focused. “Are you hurt?”
“I can’t tell.” She was surprised he cared enough to ask. “You’re crushing me. Everything hurts.”
      He frowned and rolled all the way off her. The awkwardness of his movements reminded her he was
still shackled. She scrambled away, wincing when a shaft of pain shot up her left leg. Her skirts were
wadded around her knees, and she stared in dismay at the jagged, four inch cut on her calf.
      The prisoner knelt at her side, looking concerned. “Is your leg broken?”
      She shook her head. It wasn’t broken, but it bled profusely. She trembled as she realized how lucky
she was to be alive.
      “Damn.” He stared at her for a long moment then got to his feet and pulled himself out of the scattered
wreckage of the coach, having a hard time of it because of his bound ankles.
      She watched as he disappeared from view, unsure whether to be relieved or frightened. Where were
the others?
      With shaking hands, she tore off a length of her petticoat to use as a bandage, trying to ignore the
pained squeals of the horses. It was hard going, but at last she managed to rip off enough to bind her calf.
Once she’d accomplished the task, she dragged herself out of what remained of the coach, gasping in
dismay when a blast of snow carried by an icy wind buffeted her.
      Halfway up the steep hill, the prisoner stood over the twisted, bloody body of the man who’d been
trying to bring him back to justice. The marshal had obviously been thrown from the coach as it began to
roll. From the looks of him, the vehicle had crushed him.
      Bethany averted her gaze and swallowed to keep from retching.
      “He’s dead.” The prisoner’s voice was quiet and controlled, but she knew what this meant to him.
      Freedom.
      “What about the driver?” Bethany asked, even though she was afraid she already knew the answer.
      The prisoner pointed to another spot a few dozen yards away. “His neck’s broken.” As he spoke, he
leaned down and rifled through the marshal’s pockets. He found what he’d been looking for—the key to his
shackles and a pistol.
      Bethany stared at the gun, her blood freezing in her veins as he walked toward her. If he killed her
now, his escape was assured.
      She stumbled backward, her injured leg aching in protest. Shaking her head, she lifted her gaze from
the gun to the man. He was dangerously beautiful, with inky black, overlong hair, and chiseled features.
His blue eyes were shuttered, impossible to read. “Please,” she whispered. “You said you wouldn’t hurt
me.”
      He stopped just a few feet in front of her and extended his hands. The key he’d taken from the marshal’
s pocket dangled from between his thumb and forefinger. Up close, she could see how the handcuffs had
abraded the skin around his wrists. He said nothing, just held out his hands.
      She considered refusing, but what good would it do? If he meant to kill her, he could do it with his
hands bound. So far, he’d done nothing to harm her. Perhaps once he was free, he’d make his escape.
Then all she’d have to worry about was how to survive the night—alone, bleeding, and stranded in the
middle of a blizzard with no shelter.
      Trembling, she took the key and fitted it into the lock. The handcuffs fell away with a click, and he
was a prisoner no longer. He brushed her cheek with his icy fingertips, stunning her with his tenderness.
His blue eyes were startlingly bright amidst his dark features, and snowflakes had caught in his long, inky
lashes.
      “Thank you.”
      She shivered. “What are you going to do now?”
      Frowning, he took the key from her and stooped to unlock the chain around his ankles. “I won’t go
back to prison. But I won’t let you freeze, either.” He stood, looking around at the twisted wreckage. “There
were some lap blankets in the coach, weren’t there?”
      Bethany nodded, eager to help. “There were some sack lunches, too.”
      “Smart girl.” A brief smile touched the perfection of his full lips. “Find them while I put these poor
horses out of their misery. I’ll help you get out of the weather before I leave. Don’t worry. I’m sure
someone will come looking when the stage doesn’t show up on time.”
      “Will they?” She doubted their stage’s tardiness would cause much concern. At least not for quite a
while. They’d expect a delay and probably wouldn’t mount a rescue until the weather cleared.
      “They’ll come.” His voice was grim as he moved toward the horses that lay in a broken, jumbled heap,
caught in their traces. “They knew I was on board.”
      He was a killer, she reminded herself. The marshal had told her so. But as she watched the prisoner
soothe the terrified, injured horses, she found she no longer feared him.