Jake's expression hardened. No, his entire body coiled tight, like a complicated knot he couldn't even begin to unravel. "Great," he growled. "Just great. There's one tiny problem, princess... one minor detail you seem to have forgotten."
Amanda pressed herself harder against the tree trunk. The brooding look in Jake's eyes was frightening, yet it was also oddly intriguing. Mesmerizing. She couldn't tear her gaze away. "I don't think I've forgotten anything."
"Trust me, you have. You've forgotten that I'm a half-breed savage. A bastard who isn't fit to polish your boots... let alone look at you. Or kiss you. Or touch you."
She couldn't say it. She had to say it. Amanda made her lips form the words her mind was begging her to bite back. Words her heart was pleading with her to say. "But you want to." Then, much higher, much softer, she asked, "Don't you?"
Jake didn't answer. He couldn't. If he said the words, he would have to acknowledge the truth in them. And what would be the point in that? Society had laid the ground rules before he'd even been born. Jake just played the game. There couldn't be anything between a man like him and a woman like the one he now turned his back on. He had the scar on his neck—one scar of many—to remind him, just in case he ever forgot. Which he never did.
What he wanted didn't matter. What Amanda wanted couldn't matter. Jake wouldn't let it.
When he finally forced his feet to start walking, he didn't stop. Nor did he look back.
Amanda's rigid posture sagged. Her eyes stung with tears she refused to shed as watched him turn his back and walk away from her.
She remembered the day her father had told her he was shipping her East, to Miss Henry's school. He'd wanted her to learn to be a lady, like her mother had been. Amanda hadn't wanted to go. Her father had refused to listen. Finally, he'd given her no choice. The day the train pulled out of Seattle, with Amanda on it, she'd felt heartbroken, rejected, betrayed and abandoned. Unloved and unwanted.
She felt that way now, only this time the hurt cut deeper. She didn't think this wound would heal the way the last one eventually had. No, Jake Chandler's rejection would remain raw and open. It would always sting, a scar she could carry on her soul, just as Jake carried his on his neck.
It was going to take extraordinary self-control to not let Jake see how badly he'd hurt her, but she didn't have a choice. As always, she would keep her pain to herself.
She would rather die than let Jake get even a glimpse of it.
Smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt, Amanda straightened her shoulders and stepped away from the tree. Her heels crunched loudly over the moss-covered ground as she retraced her way back to their camp. She was careful to keep a good distance between herself and Jake.
Chapter 8
When Amanda had agreed to compensate Jake Chandler for his services, she'd been sure she was paying an exorbitant amount of money for a minimal amount of work. Her original estimate about how much time it would take to find Roger had been a day if things went well, two if they went badly.
Things
were going very badly.
She and Jake rode all day, stopping only when absolutely necessary to rest the horses or answer nature's call. At midafternoon, Jake picked up the pace. Amanda wasn't sure, but she thought she'd heard him mumble something about Roger and his kidnapper being three hours ahead of them.
That was an hour before he'd lost sight of the prints entirely. At least, Amanda assumed that was what had happened. There was, of course, no way she could be positive; Jake rarely spoke to her. Still, the way he noticeably started slowing the pace around four o'clock, stopping often to inspect the ground, said that was a very good possibility.
He didn't spot the prints again until it was almost dusk, and by then it was too late to track them for more than an hour.
Hate though she did to admit it, Amanda found a lot to admire in the way Jake milked every second of sunlight for all it was worth. He didn't give the sign they would be stopping for the night until darkness had completely enveloped them. By that time, her sore bottom was familiar with every inch of the hard-mold saddle beneath her. Her ankle throbbed and her head ached from gritting her teeth and worrying about Roger.
That she was worrying about the little monster again, Amanda did not take as a good sign. Exhaustion would have to explain it. Truly, she'd never felt this sore and tired in her life!
True to form, Jake led them into a tree-sheltered clearing, dismounted, then, without explanation or apology, rudely abandoned her the same way he had the night before. Amanda was again faced with the unsavory prospect of dismounting unaided. The rat!
This time, she slung her leg carefully over the pommel and slipped to the ground very slowly and cautiously. Last night's incident was still fresh in her mind—her heartbeat stuttered with the memory, her blood warmed. After Jake's earlier rejection, she wasn't about to risk a repeat performance.
Amanda frowned and glanced at her surroundings. She considered gathering up branches and sticks and starting a fire, but only briefly. She was still out of matches. While Jake had helped her build a fire last night, Amanda knew she couldn't accomplish the feat on her own. Besides, she was simply too tired and sore tonight to try.
Her body aching, she limped over to a nearby tree. The hard, cold, lumpy ground made an uncomfortable cushion beneath her sore bottom, and the gritty bark nipped at her tender back when she leaned against it. Despite that, she appreciated the fact that nothing was moving, nothing was jostling her and making her cramped muscles and throbbing ankle hurt even more.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and adjusted herself to as comfortable a position as she was likely to find. Of its own accord, her mind drifted down a sensual path lined with wet copper skin, long black hair, and piercing silver eyes.
Amanda's heartbeat accelerated, and her breathing went choppy and shallow. She promised herself that this time, even if Jake never came back, she would not, under any circumstances, go searching for him!
"Supper," Jake said and tossed something onto the ground near her feet, then turned and swaggered away.
Amanda blinked hard. Her eyes were burning, and for the past half hour she'd been fighting a losing battle to keep them open. She seized on Jake's single word as a good distraction from her exhaustion. His gritty tone coursed down her spine like a drop of warm honey, awakening her senses, honing them.