Lone Rider by Lauren Bach Page A

surprisingly focused. And filled with anguish.
    “ Dallas .” 
    It wasn’t a question. He knew by the look on her face that she remembered where she was and how she’d gotten there. Another positive sign. She’d undergone a fair amount of trauma , and her head injury still concerned him.
                  She struggled to sit up, accepting his help briefly before pulling away.
                  Dallas squatted in front of her. “How are you feeling?”
                  She didn’t answer right away. The events of the night spilled into her mind. “I’ve got a splitting headache. Which isn’t bad given the circumstances. I suppose I should feel glad to be alive.”
                  He ignored the jibe and held up two fingers. “How many?”
                  It took Tess a moment to realize he was concerned about her head, not testing her math ability. It was tempting to lie. If she said four, could she convince him she needed medical help?
    Then she thought about Bogen’s threat to take her back if she caused any problems. She wasn’t eager to test the man. And end up in the bottom of the lake beside Matt Michaels.
                  “Two fingers,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve got a concussion.”
                  Nodding, Dallas offered her a glass of water. She started to refuse, but caught the slight negative shake of his head.
    “Refusing only makes you more miserable.” 
                  She hated that he was right. Her tongue felt parched , and her throat hurt. She took the glass, carefully av oiding his touch, and found the water sweet and cool.
                  He watched her, quietly. And instead of looking away she met his eyes, searching the silvery depths, wishing she could see inside and know him, truly know him. His motives, his intentions. Who he was.
    He seemed different from Bogen and Snake. But was that because she needed to believe he was different? Because she sorely needed a ray of hope?
    In a world gone crazy he was suddenly the only constant. The only thing familiar.
    What she saw in his eyes reas sured her. Regret, concern, and compassion. Emotions lacking in Snake and Bogen. While Dallas was guilty of criminal acts, she didn’t believe his crimes included murder. Which relieved her, but didn’t let him off the hook.
    She glanced away, struggling to get her bearings. She remembered Dallas freeing her from the pantry, knew he’d carried her through some woods to this cabin. She remembered glimpsing a small log structure that had seen better days. The front porch sagged , and honeysuckle vines covered one whole side where nature fought to reclaim it.
    Tess looked around the interior, finding it small, but in better shape then she had expected. The wide plank floor, though worn and uneven, was clean. She sat on an ancient avocado-colored couch. A matching chair sat off to the right, facing an oversize stone fireplace. Banked flames crackled from behind the wire screen, the only source of heat.
    A small table and chairs took up another corner with a s partan kitchen tucked in an alcove. Two doors punctuated the wall on the opposite side of the room.
                  “Bathroom’s on the left. Bedroom on the right.”  Dallas pointed to the doors.
    She recalled how filthy the bathroom at Bogen’s had been and decided she’d postpone going as long as she could.
    “Where are we?” she asked.
                  “My cabin.”
                  “Who else stays here?”
    “No one. Bogen has the main house. The rest of us have cabins around the perimeter of the woods.”
    It sounded like a potentially large encampment, she thought, her mind already s can ning for escape routes. But if there were woods nearby , she’d have plenty of hiding places.
    “How many cabins like this are there?”  The more she knew about the