Jake's lips pursed. He knew exactly how much that admission cost her in the way of dignity. He also enjoyed watching her pay the price. "And you want my help, in other words?"
Amanda fumed. He wasn't making this easy for her. Couldn't he see that she wasn't used to begging people for help? Couldn't he see that they were wasting time? If they hurried, there was a chance they could catch up with whoever had taken Roger today. They might even get the boy back by sunset. If they hurried. She nodded impatiently. "If you'd be so kind as to give it, then yes, I want your help."
Jake sucked in a slow breath, his expression thoughtful. Just when she thought he was about to agree, he shook his head. "Uh-uh. People like me learn early on not to poke their nose into other people's business. This problem is your business, princess, not mine."
People like him? And what, pray tell, did he mean by that? Amanda didn't have a clue, nor did she have time to waste trying to figure it out. Crossing her arms over her chest—to stifle the urge to strangle him on the spot—she said coldly, "I see. And how much will it cost me to make it your business?" Her fingers curled inward, her nails digging past her sleeves and into her skin. "I'll pay you generously for your time. State your price, and I guarantee I'll meet it."
A flash of something—outrage, skepticism?—lit his eyes. Whatever it was, the emotion was gone before Amanda had time to decipher it. His features relaxed as he rolled his weight back on his heels and pretended to contemplate her offer. With a nasty grin, he stated an outrageous sum.
"Good heavens, you can't be serious," she gasped.
His expression said he was; dead serious. "I rarely joke, princess... and when I do, it's never about money."
Amanda scowled, and did a quick mental calculation. How much money would be left for her if she agreed? Not much. Jake Chandler's asking price was a full three-quarters of the salary she would get upon delivering Roger to his father—with the boy's scalp, and the rest of him, intact.
On the other hand, she'd get nothing if Roger wasn't found.
Her mind reeled. Facts were facts, and unfortunately the facts of this matter were indisputable. She couldn't find Roger on her own. She was hurt, and her sense of direction wasn't just poor, it was nonexistent. Her supplies were running low, and she had no idea where the next town was so that she could buy more. When it came right down to it, she didn't just need this despicable man's help; her very survival depended upon it.
"All right," she agreed finally, "I'll meet your price. Provided you do the work you are hired for. You find Roger, Mr. Chandler, or you won't get a cent."
Surprise registered in his silver eyes, a split second before one inky brow cocked high. "Do I look like a welsher to you, lady? When I say I'm going to do a job, I do it." He laced his arms over his chest and speared her with a dubious glare. "And before I decide to take on this job, I want some answers."
Amanda leaned heavily against the tree trunk. She blinked slowly to cover the inner workings of her mind, screening emotions she knew this man would detect in an instant. "What kind of answers?"
He counted each one off on the tip of a coppery finger. "I want to know what the hell you're doing out here, for starters. Then you can tell me who the brat is, and where the two of you are heading, and why."
Instinct told her that lying to this man would not be wise. If he ever found out...
But what choice did she have? She couldn't tell him the truth and risk it getting back to her employer. Also, Jake had established in her mind, if not blatant greed, then a definite need for money. Look at the outrageous amount he was demanding for his services! Since Amanda was in a similar situation—in need of fast money—she could understand that. However, being in the same position also made her aware of how little Jake could be trusted. If she was desperate enough to lie to him, who was to say he wasn't desperate enough to lie right back at her?
There was one other consideration: tellin
g Jake who the brat was. Amanda couldn't do that. If she told him Roger was Edward Bannister's son, what would prevent Jake from recovering Roger, then holding the boy for ransom? God, she'd never get any of her hard-earned salary that way!
Amanda made the conscious decision to lie. She also decided she'd best make her lies believable, and she'd best tell them right the first time. She doubted Jake would give her two chances to answer his questions. He'd already made it clear he'd just as soon turn his back and walk away from all this. And she couldn't, under any circumstances, let that happen.
"Too many questions too fast, princess?" Jake drawled, the cocky grin still in place. He could see her mind working and knew she was about to concoct some hairbrained story. For the sheer pleasure of watching her squirm, he decided to let her do exactly that. It wouldn't matter; whatever she said, he wouldn't help her. But at least his curiosity would be satisfied. "Tell you what. I'll make it easy for you. How about if I ask them one at a time? Will that help?"
"Why, yes, I think it would," Amanda answered sweetly, through only slightly clenched teeth.
"Who's the brat?"
"Roger Lennox, my cousin."
Jake nodded. "Where are you going and why?"
"To Pony, Montana. Roger's father lives there, and we're paying him a visit." Ah, now that was the truth. It soothed her conscience to be honest with him at least once. She commended herself on doing better than she'd thought she would. And then Amanda saw his eyes widen at her answer, and she wondered if perhaps she wasn't doing poorly alter all.
"Pony?" he nearly choked on the word. "Pony? Jesus, lady, do you know you're in Idaho?"
Her shoulders squared, her back drew up in a rigid line that would have made Miss Henry beam. "Of course I know. Roger wanted to see the scenery." Idaho! Amanda thought. Good God, how did we get there? "As I recall, Mr. Chandler, that wasn't one of your original questions."
"I said 'for starters' Last question. Where are you from that you talk so prissy? And why the hell aren't you on a stage right now, the way any woman with a lick of sense would be?"
"That's two questions." The glare he shot her told her not to argue, just to answer. "I'm from... Boston" It wasn't really a lie, she told herself. She'd come from Boston, just not originally. Originally, she was from Washington. She saw no need to elaborate about that. It was none of his business.
"Boston?" He shook his head. "That figures."