right away. He wanted to enjoy the silence a little longer. It was his opinion that the mules were more sweetly tempered than the woman in his arms. "Rockies," he said.
She sighed. "I know that. I want to know where."
"Colorado."
She knew that, too. "Is that the best answer I can expect from you?"
"From me or any of the others."
"We're going to your hideout then?"
"Something like that."
His terse, evasive answers were annoying. Michael's hold on the threads of her patience was tenuous at best. "Why am I with you?" she demanded. The effect of her snapping tone was lost as she winced with pain. She tried to raise her hand to nurse her aching jaw and found it trapped by her captor's arm. "May I?" she asked, gritting her teeth as tears gathered in her eyes.
Ethan loosened his grip and allowed her the use of one hand. It was easier to ride when she was unconscious, or at least unmoving. He needed all his concentration to negotiate the narrow passes and ledges and keep himself, his hostage, and his horse upright.
Michael cupped the side of her swollen face. She imagined she would be black and blue for days. "Why am I with you?" she asked again.
"Because I told Obie you were my wife."
"Your wife!" She had meant to scream the words but Ethan was too fast for her. His hand clamped over her mouth and nose and the words were caught in the heart of his palm. The pressure of his hand nearly caused her to faint from pain and lack of air.
"Shut up and listen for a change!" he said with low, rough menace. "You don't need to comment on everything I say. I'm trying to save your miserable life. Don't make me regret it." He felt her resignation in the relaxing of her posture. She shuddered once as she slumped against him. Ethan moved his hand away cautiously and heard her sip the air gratefully for breath.
When the trail widened, Ethan hung back and let the others go forward. There was some good-natured ribbing when the men became aware of what he was doing. It was the most anyone had talked since leaving No. 349.
Ethan didn't say a word until he was certain they could not be overheard. Even then he kept his voice low. "I told Obie you were my wife because it was safer than what you were going to say."
Michael tried to remember her last words before she was cold-cocked. Frowning, she asked, "How do you know what I was going to say?"
"Because, lady, you're about as easy to read sometimes as a headline. You were about to blurt out that that reporter was your colleague." His tone dared her to say otherwise. "Isn't that right?"
She offered a reluctant yes. "How did you know?"
"He told me," Ethan lied. "When you came running out of the train, hell bent on martyrdom, he told me. Begged me to save your life."
"And you couldn't refuse a dying man's last wish."
"Something like that."
His cold, neutral tone grated on Michael's nerves. "You're really an amoral bastard, aren't you?"
Ethan refused to be riled. "If you say so."
They rode in silence a little while. Ethan knew she was crying, but whether it was for herself or for Drew, he didn't know, and didn't care to know. Eventually he gave her the kerchief from around his neck. "Here. Blow."
Michael accepted it, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. When she tried to return it her gesture was acknowledged with a terse, "Keep it." She stuffed it in the pocket of her duster.
"Couldn't you have left me behind?"
"I don't see how. Telling Obie that you're my wife seems to guarantee that you know who I am. I couldn't leave you once he thought you recognized me. It would put all of us in danger."
Michael levered her head back a little and stared at the hard cast lines of her captor's profile. "It's odd," she said slowly, softly, "but it's as if... I'm not sure... as if I do know you."
Trust her to worry an idea to death, Ethan thought, disgusted. He could see now that she was not going to rest until she placed him. "I don't see how that's possible."
"Neither do I," she admitted. She
She sighed. "I know that. I want to know where."
"Colorado."
She knew that, too. "Is that the best answer I can expect from you?"
"From me or any of the others."
"We're going to your hideout then?"
"Something like that."
His terse, evasive answers were annoying. Michael's hold on the threads of her patience was tenuous at best. "Why am I with you?" she demanded. The effect of her snapping tone was lost as she winced with pain. She tried to raise her hand to nurse her aching jaw and found it trapped by her captor's arm. "May I?" she asked, gritting her teeth as tears gathered in her eyes.
Ethan loosened his grip and allowed her the use of one hand. It was easier to ride when she was unconscious, or at least unmoving. He needed all his concentration to negotiate the narrow passes and ledges and keep himself, his hostage, and his horse upright.
Michael cupped the side of her swollen face. She imagined she would be black and blue for days. "Why am I with you?" she asked again.
"Because I told Obie you were my wife."
"Your wife!" She had meant to scream the words but Ethan was too fast for her. His hand clamped over her mouth and nose and the words were caught in the heart of his palm. The pressure of his hand nearly caused her to faint from pain and lack of air.
"Shut up and listen for a change!" he said with low, rough menace. "You don't need to comment on everything I say. I'm trying to save your miserable life. Don't make me regret it." He felt her resignation in the relaxing of her posture. She shuddered once as she slumped against him. Ethan moved his hand away cautiously and heard her sip the air gratefully for breath.
When the trail widened, Ethan hung back and let the others go forward. There was some good-natured ribbing when the men became aware of what he was doing. It was the most anyone had talked since leaving No. 349.
Ethan didn't say a word until he was certain they could not be overheard. Even then he kept his voice low. "I told Obie you were my wife because it was safer than what you were going to say."
Michael tried to remember her last words before she was cold-cocked. Frowning, she asked, "How do you know what I was going to say?"
"Because, lady, you're about as easy to read sometimes as a headline. You were about to blurt out that that reporter was your colleague." His tone dared her to say otherwise. "Isn't that right?"
She offered a reluctant yes. "How did you know?"
"He told me," Ethan lied. "When you came running out of the train, hell bent on martyrdom, he told me. Begged me to save your life."
"And you couldn't refuse a dying man's last wish."
"Something like that."
His cold, neutral tone grated on Michael's nerves. "You're really an amoral bastard, aren't you?"
Ethan refused to be riled. "If you say so."
They rode in silence a little while. Ethan knew she was crying, but whether it was for herself or for Drew, he didn't know, and didn't care to know. Eventually he gave her the kerchief from around his neck. "Here. Blow."
Michael accepted it, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. When she tried to return it her gesture was acknowledged with a terse, "Keep it." She stuffed it in the pocket of her duster.
"Couldn't you have left me behind?"
"I don't see how. Telling Obie that you're my wife seems to guarantee that you know who I am. I couldn't leave you once he thought you recognized me. It would put all of us in danger."
Michael levered her head back a little and stared at the hard cast lines of her captor's profile. "It's odd," she said slowly, softly, "but it's as if... I'm not sure... as if I do know you."
Trust her to worry an idea to death, Ethan thought, disgusted. He could see now that she was not going to rest until she placed him. "I don't see how that's possible."
"Neither do I," she admitted. She
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