Angel Gone Bad Page 8

  Now she saw that in protecting her emotions, she’d closed off a vital part of herself, the part that Rune was opening up again. Was that good or bad? Could she have the courage to take life in both hands and fully experience what Rune had to offer? Could she live with more heartache? Or could she be heartless and live for the pleasure of the moment?

  One thing for sure, if she threw caution to the wind, she had the opportunity to bring her personal experience of power and passion and danger in Texas and Indian Territory to readers through her novels.

  “Angel!” Rune held out a horse’s reins. “Are you woolgathering?”

  She felt her thoughts spin away like a dropped deck of card as she took the reins from him.

  “Let’s go.”

  She mounted the horse, knowing it was a long ride to the Bend, knowing her muscles were going to protest, knowing it’d be hot and dusty. Yet it’d be worth that trouble, and much more, if she could find Tate, give her readers a new story for their hard-earned money, and figure out something about Rune.

  Angel adjusted to the hard saddle and the rhythm of her horse, a sorrel gelding with an easy stride and a sensitive mouth. She stayed close to Rune as they rode out of the alley. They joined the busy traffic, easing around wagons, horses, and pedestrians. She stayed alert, watching for lawmen. She saw one, but he was looking the other way. As they moved steadily toward the edge of town, she began to relax, hoping that their fears had been unfounded.

  Rune abruptly turned off the main road into an alley. She had to hurry to catch up, glancing back over her shoulder. She saw nothing that would set off alarms, but it didn’t mean that he hadn’t seen something.

  She rode up beside him. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Looks okay so far. But it’s best not to travel in a straight path.”

  She nodded, knowing he made an outlaw’s kind of sense.

  As she followed his winding way out of Paris, they moved ever closer to the countryside and safety. Finally, when the hustle and bustle was left behind, he turned off the road and stopped.

  “We’re safe now?”

  “No.” He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he pushed back his hat. “But we’ve got some breathing room.”

  “Good.”

  “You okay with your horse?”

  “He’s fine.”

  Rune nodded, glancing over her. “If you get too tired or sore, let me know and we’ll take a break. I know you’re not used to being in the saddle all day.”

  “I’ll need a break, but I’d like to get past Honey Grove first.”

  He looked toward the north. “Looks a little dark. Rain’d sure be welcome. Cool it down.”

  “But we’d also get wet.”

  He chuckled as he urged his horse back down the road. “Can’t please you, can I?”

  She caught up with him again. “You sure could if we caught the train in Dodd City.”

  “I’d like nothing better, but best not to chance it.”

  She didn’t doubt his wisdom. She just didn’t like it. She adjusted her weight in the saddle, wishing she could get more comfortable but knowing it’d get worse before it got better.

  A little later, thunder rumbled in the distance, a breeze swept down from the north, bringing the scent of rain.

  Rune raised a fist to the sky. “Hail Thor! Let the potato wagons roll!”

  “What?”

  “My Swedish grandfather always said the potato wagons were rolling when he heard thunder.”

  “That makes a little sense. But Thor?”

  “Norse legends of gods and goddesses. When Thor throws his hammer across the sky, he causes lightning and thunder.”

  She chuckled. “Must be a mighty big hammer.”

  “Sure is. It’s called Mjolnir, the Crusher. Always comes back to him after he throws it.” Rune threw back his head, laughed, and then tossed her a challenging glance. “I’ve got a big hammer, too. Want to see it sometime?”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “You’re just funnin’ me.”

  “Not about Mjolnir. That’s serious business.”

  As she laughed even harder, the first drops of rain hit her hat. Lightning flashed in the north, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Her horse shied to the side, prancing in agitation. A wall of cool wind hit next, and she grabbed her hat to keep it from being swept away.

  “Hail, Thor!” Rune raised his fist to the sky and shook it, laughing as rain pelted down upon him. “Thor is really cutting loose now. He’s riding across the sky in his chariot pulled by his mighty horned goats.”

  “Thor’s goats?” Angel worked to keep her mount under control, but he was getting more agitated by the moment.

  “Mountain goats with dangerous, curved horns.”

  “Not milk goats then.”

  He rolled his eyes, and then pointed up at the sky. “Tooth-gnasher and Toothgrinder are pulling hard.”

  “I like their names.” She focused on her horse, easing back on the reins to keep him under control as the rain came down harder.

  At the next flash of lightning nearby and a loud clap of thunder, Angel’s horse threw up his head and took off running. She clamped down with her knees and grabbed the saddle horn with one hand while pulling back on the reins with the other, but she could barely stay in the saddle.

  She heard Rune calling her name, but she couldn’t spare him any thought. She had to stop the horse. Nothing else mattered as rain pounded her, driven by slanting wind with lightning crackling and thunder booming. She could well imagine Thor driving his chariot across the sky.

  As the storm increased in fury, her horse ran harder, but she grew weaker. Soon she wouldn’t be able to stay in the saddle. Already her muscles were shaking with effort. Now she wished she’d spent more time riding than at a desk reading and writing. She tried to look for a soft place to land, but she was blinded by the rain and darkness that had descended on them.

  As she decided to jump rather than fall, a large shape loomed beside her. She glanced over. Rune was whipping his horse with his reins, forcing his mount up beside her. He hollered something at her, but his words were lost in the rain. What could he possibly do?

  He rode in close, stirrup strafing stirrup. He leaned over, jerked the reins out of her hand, and wrapped them around the saddle horn. He put an arm around her waist, lifted her from the saddle, and used both arms to set her on his lap, staying in his own saddle with only his powerful leg muscles to hold him.

  Once she was cradled against his chest, he reached out and retrieved the reins to her horse. He began getting the animal under control. Finally, both horses slowed until they were once more walking down the road, but still skittish from the storm.

  Angel shivered against Rune, tired and scared. But more than anything she was mad as a wet setting hen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Put me down!” Angel struggled in Rune’s arms. “I could be on the train. I could be comfortable and dry. I could almost be back in the Bend. Instead, I’m in the middle of nowhere. I’m wet. I’m chilled. I’m shaken half to death. And that miserable horse you rented almost killed me.”

  “Guess you’re—”

  “And on top of all that, there’s no reason for any of this. We’re not even being chased by the law. I didn’t make the marshal suspicious. You simply have an exaggerated sense of your own importance to the authorities.”

  “It’s better to—”

  “Stay safe!” She elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Do you call this safe? This storm could go on all night. We could be struck by lightning. My clothes are ruined. I don’t know how I’ll ever get my wig to look right again. I special ordered it from The Enchanted Lady’s Illustrated Catalog.”

  “You can get another—”

  “Wig? How dare you! Do you know how much it cost? Even worse, do you know how long it takes to get an order to Bonham from New York City? No, of course you don’t. You moved up in the world when you shopped at Harris Mercantile in Paris . . . Texas.” />
  “I don’t need much.” Rune suspected there was no way to win this argument. And he had to admit, she had a point. Prison had taught him caution. The AHTA had taught him wisdom. Angel was teaching him, once more, that you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of a strong-minded woman.

  “And do not dare mention Thor and his stupid goats again. I mean, goats, of all things. Would stallions be too much? I’d use buffalo before I would goats!”

  “They’re mountain goats, not like the small—”

  She elbowed him again. “That’s not the point! I’m blaming Thor for my ruined wig. Think he could go poof and replace it?”

  “I don’t think he cares much about wigs, or hair in general, but he is a redhead.”

  “A redhead! Maybe he’ll let me have his hair for a new wig since he ruined mine. I can go from blond to red.” She struggled harder. “Let me off this pea-brained horse. I’m going to walk to the nearest train station and travel the rest of the way in comfort. You can babysit these two poor excuses for mounts from now till Sunday.”

  “They’re wet and miserable, too.”

  “I don’t care!” she screamed in frustration.

  Both horses spooked, snorting and throwing up their heads as they danced sideways across the road.

  Rune fought to bring them back under control while keeping Angel stable across his lap. When he finally had the horses calm, he made up his mind to end this pointless argument. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong. They needed to get under cover. He’d seen a pecan grove and turned the horses in that direction.

  “Where are you going?” She grabbed the reins and jerked back.

  “Stop!” He squeezed her hands till she whimpered and let go. She’d finally made him mad, too.

  “That hurts.”

  “We don’t need any more shenanigans out of you.”

  “I told you to put me down. I’m taking the train.”

  “You want a train? Bonham’s got a real fine station.”

  “Bonham?” She grew quiet, shifting uncomfortably against him. “I forgot we were so close. I look like myself. Somebody could recognize me.”

  “Dodd City? I’ll take you there.”

  “Dodd is right next to Bonham.” She shivered. “Nothing along here will do, not with me dressed like this.”

  “I thought you wanted to ride the train.”

  “I can’t! Thor ruined my wig.” She elbowed him again.

  “You do that one more time and I’ll dump you straight off this horse.”

  She grew still. “I apologize. Seems like that’s all I ever do with you.”

  “There’s a lot more you could do with me, but this isn’t the time.”

  “You kept me from taking a bad fall. Thank you.”

  “You mean I saved your sorry neck.”

  “I said thank you and meant it.”

  He shut his mouth before he said things he’d regret. Bad enough they were caught in a storm, but she could at least be stoic about it. A little more appreciation wouldn’t be out of line either.

  He guided both horses under the spreading branches of the pecan trees and felt the rain slack off as it hit leaves. Overhead, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The storm appeared to be settling in for the night. He didn’t like the danger of being under the trees, but there wasn’t much choice. They needed shelter and they couldn’t afford to be seen at a hotel in any of the towns.

  He moved deeper into the grove, squinting as he looked for fallen branches or logs that he could use to build a crude lean-to. A little farther in, he thought he saw a gray wall, but he didn’t believe his eyes. Be just like Loki to play tricks on the ground while Thor roared across the sky.

  “Is that a cabin?” Angel asked, pointing ahead.

  “Looks like it could be.”

  “If that’s a dry place to get out of the rain, Thor can keep his hair and his goats.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be grateful.”

  “Just let it be real.”

  Rune guided the horses up to what turned out to be a small shack with a lean-to for animals. The wood was weathered gray and warped with age. It looked like a few shingles were missing from the roof. But all in all, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “I think I’m going to cry.”

  “Cry?”

  “With relief!”

  “Me, too.”

  She chuckled, slumping back against him.

  “I’m going to ease you down to the ground. Watch your step. And don’t go into the shack till I check it.”

  “Trust me. I’m not anxious to encounter any snakes or spiders.”

  “Hope nothing’s living in it.”

  He put his hands around her waist, remembering how he’d touched her the same way earlier that day, and felt the old curl of heat in his gut. She was the orneriest woman he’d ever met, but he couldn’t get enough of her. He lifted her and slowly let her down. When she was steady on her feet, he quickly threw a leg over the saddle and jumped down beside her.

  He handed her the horses’ reins and strode over to the shack. He jerked open a sagging door and looked inside. It was too dark to see much. He pulled a tin out of his pocket, selected a match, flicked it with his thumbnail, and held up the light. Except for mouse droppings, spiderwebs, and dust, the place looked clean. It had just enough room for two saddles and two people.

  “Is it okay?” she called.

  “It’ll do.”

  And then he realized he had Angel exactly where he’d wanted her for a long, long time. At his mercy.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “It’s going to be like this.” Rune turned from the open door of the shack. Outside the rain poured down in torrents.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Angel said.

  “You’re wet. I’m wet.”

  “The horses are wet.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, feeling chilled to the bone. She was well aware that her sodden clothes clung to her body like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. But his clothing did the same. He was leaner than before, but just as muscular and just as attractive.

  He was definitely handy. He must have conjured some Norse goddess to help set the shack to rights while she’d unsaddled the horses. After they’d carried the saddles inside, he’d used a broken piece of pottery as a fire pit where he’d lit a pine knot. Now they had a little light and heat. They even had two dry blankets because he’d wrapped them in oilskin before leaving Paris.

  “We can’t stay wet or we’ll get sick.” Rune took off his leather holster with the Colt .45 and set it near the saddles.

  “I suppose you suggest we strip off our clothes.”

  He grinned, a wolfish twist of his lips, as he looked her up and down.

  “Rune, be reasonable.” She felt her nipples pebble at the heat in his blue eyes and knew he could see the effect he was having on her through the thin fabric of her blouse. She crossed her arms higher, covering her breasts.

  “I’ll help you, if you’ll help me.”

  “I don’t need help this time.”

  “I do.” He took three steps that brought him close. “I’ve needed help from you for a long time.”

  She felt her breath catch in her throat.

  “You owe me. You agreed to do whatever I want whenever I want.” He cocked his head. “I want you.”

  She closed her eyes to shut out the devastating sight of him, but she could still feel his intent like the unrelenting storm outside. She’d fought her need for him for so long that it hung like an anvil around her neck, a weight that she desperately wanted to release.

  “Take my shirt off me.”

  “Oh, Rune, I don’t want to touch you.”

  “Don’t you?”

  She inhaled sharply, but that only brought the tantalizing scent of him, sage and leather, closer. What had she told herself in Paris? She’d issued a challenge, not just for herself but for what she could bring to her readers. It didn’t have to go too
far, just a little touch, perhaps a kiss. Beyond that, she didn’t know quite what to expect anyway. She wouldn’t be bullied or cowed. Instead, she would stay in control. With that in mind, she reached up to the first button of his sodden shirt.

  “That’s my girl.”

  “I’m not your girl.”

  “Not yet.”

  She struggled to get the button through the buttonhole. Wet fabric made it difficult. Not touching him made it even harder.

  He covered her hands with his own, pressing their flesh together. “I remember when you touched me freely, a hand here or there to catch my attention.”

  “That was before. This is now.”

  Still she went after the first button, feeling the heat of him through the wet fabric against her fingers. When the button gave way, she hurried on to the next, feeling not only his heat but the rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his heart. It made him real where he had been a dream for so long. When she came to his belt, she stopped. Below lay dangerous territory.

  “Go ahead. Pull out my shirttail.”

  She bit her lower lip as she jerked out his shirt. She quickly unbuttoned the last buttons. She stepped back. All done.

  “Thanks. Now take it off me.”

  She could handle a clothed Rune, but a bare chest? She hesitated, then reached up, pulled it down over his shoulders, and caught her breath.

  He tossed aside his shirt, revealing the thick muscles of his chest tapering to his flat, muscular stomach. A pendant shaped like an anchor at the bottom and a bird’s head at the top hung from a thick chain around his neck.

  Curious, she reached up and touched the dark metal with the tip of one finger. “Is that a—”

  “Thor’s Hammer. Forged of iron. Grandfather brought it from Sweden.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Not surprising, but Grandfather said there are plenty in Sweden, Norway, and around the world left by the Norse when they went a-viking.”

  “What did they do a-viking?”