It was clear he would not offer marriage, and she feared deep in her heart she’d known he wouldn’t have. She accepted that she still loved him, that she was still vulnerable to him, and he had the power to destroy her.
“You are being a right bastard, Elijah,” she said quietly.
He stood staring at her, his mien even more unreadable than how it had been earlier. “We have an early morning before us. Get some sleep.”
He was so hard and uncompromising he made her want to scream. She nodded jerkily and staggered towards the bedroom door. Her throat burned. She wanted to feel anger at his bald treatment, instead she only felt foolish. Foolish because she’d fantasized about him declaring his love and how much he’d missed her. She had gone about it the wrong way. She had climbed into his bed like the wanton hussy Thomas had labeled her. The pleasure had been scorching, but she needed to give him something other than her body.
He was like the mountain lions that roamed the forest, fierce and wild, and if she was not careful he could shred her to pieces. Sheridan clutched the buffalo quilt to her chest. What she needed to do was seduce Elijah’s heart. She had to court him. And she knew she had never been committed to a more daunting and frightening task.
Chapter Six
Elijah was comfortable with the silence. No words had been exchanged between them all morning. The silence was only now broken by the rhythmic beating of his horse’s hooves. He’d hardened himself against the surge of need when Sheridan had exited his cabin fully dressed in another of his shirts and the too tight damp pants. He only had his stallion with him at the cabin, so she had to ride with him. The feel of her against him as they descended the mountain trial was a torture he bloody deserved.
He was impressed with her silence. She had always been a vibrant thing, constantly chatting and laughing, bringing light to drive back the darkness that had tried to claim his soul. When he had left the ranch, for months he had woken up in the mornings feeling incomplete. The need had slowly dissipated, and now for the first time in weeks he felt the same niggle of dissatisfaction. She had always been responsive to his every touch and last night she had damn near killed him. She had been perfect. Too perfect. Her passion for him had been the same. Sweet, hot and wild, just a fleeting thought had his cock stirring. The texture of her skin had been so smooth and silky. All the resolve he had built against her had buckled the minute she had stepped into the room. He had felt sick to his stomach this morning, when he realized that he had emptied himself into her several times. He’d never figure
d himself to be such a weak man. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had been without a woman for more than a year. He had been into the town. The saloons girls were always offering and not once had he been tempted. It was Sheridan herself.
He was not falling into that trap ever again. But, his plan to purge her from his system had certainly backfired. Instead, he was craving her even more, hungering for her smiles more desperately. He had been a bastard to her last night, and the way she had walked out, obviously torn, but head held high, had gutted him. He had called himself all kinds of fool for wanting to go after her. He should be pushing her away from him and this savage life. Yet…
“I was an ass last night.”
She stiffened, then a few beats later she relaxed into him. “That you were,” she said with a mocking western drawl. “And you admitting you were an ass is not an apology.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the bite in her voice. “I’m sorry, I did not intend to bruise your feelings.”
A soft scoff escaped her. “What do you intend…to offer marriage?”
When had she gotten so bold? “No,” he said gruffly.
Her shoulder lifted in an inelegant shrug. “Then we should perhaps discuss something else, shouldn’t we?”
He allowed his hands to tighten across her waist, and reflexively she clasped his forearms. She had changed. He could see it—stronger, less vulnerable, and less shy. He was not sure what had wrought the change and he gritted his teeth, furious with himself for he wanted to know. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted.
“Will your missing me change anything?”
“No.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because it’s the truth…and because I did not want you to believe I did not miss your presence in my life.”
He froze as he noted something he should have observed earlier. There were tracks. And they did not belong to him or Sheridan. He pulled on the reins and studied the forest floor.
She twisted around slightly. “What is it?”
“There are several tracks on the trail to the cabin. They did not find the fork but they came close.”
She clutched the reins in a tight grip. She was nervous.
Back tracking his horse for a short distance, he noted when they lost the trail to his cabin. Elijah studied the tracks. Some were deeply grooved in, indicating they stood waiting for a while. He counted three distinct horse tracks. A fourth horse had joined them, but it had not stopped. It had only circled, and the watchers had moved with him. He saw the point where they got confused at the fork and had turned back.
“They were trying to find you,” he murmured, deep in thought.
“Mr. Sullivan’s goons are persistent. The bastards,” she swore softly.
They came to the point where he’d found her. There was a pool of blood on the forest floor and then spatters that wetted the trail they rode on. He analyzed the blood trail. The man his knife had found had not died. The rains last night would have removed all tracks, so they had been there only a few hours ago.
He kept the pace slow and steady, even though awareness rippled through him.