Beauty and the Bounty Hunter (18 page)

The man had a point. He so often did. Whatever had kept Alexi going so far—first fear, then dread, then joy and then, perhaps, whatever had been in that
cigarette—was fading. Exhaustion pulled at him like a wailing March wind.

Durga drew back the skin that hung over the door. “All you desire is within.”

A shadow flickered across Cat’s face. The sun at someone’s back, movement, then darkness. She wanted her gun. Hell, she wanted her clothes.

A hand brushed her forehead. She snatched the wrist and squeezed.

“You’re awake.”

Alexi.
If her nose hadn’t been full of the scent of her own blood and the herbs the Cherokee women had used to stop its flow, she would have known it was him the instant he came near, although…

She sniffed. He didn’t smell quite so fresh anymore. She’d inhaled the nervous sweat of those she hunted often enough, but she’d never caught the scent of it on Alexi Romanov. Until now, she hadn’t been certain he allowed himself to sweat. She, on the other hand, was drenched.

“Water,” she whispered.

More rustling, he tripped, cursed, and she couldn’t help but smile. Alexi never tripped. Even in the dark, he had eyes like a cat.

The slosh of liquid, the scent of it, then the dipper pressed to her lips. Cat drank greedily, enjoying the few drops that slid down her chin and across her neck almost as much as what went down her throat.

“More?” he asked.

“Not now.”

He moved back to wherever the bucket was—she couldn’t see it, she couldn’t see anything—this time without tripping, then returned to her side. “How are you?”

“Alive.” She paused. “Right?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And then again…no.”

She squinted against the darkness but could discern only the dim outline of his head. “I must have lost more blood than I thought. Did you say both yes and no to my being alive?”

“You are alive.” He set his hand on her arm. It was so deliciously cool, she sighed with pleasure and wished he would leave it right where it was. Alexi, being Alexi, did just that. “Are you disappointed?”

Cat considered the question. “A little.” The darkness, the herbs, the blood loss had apparently loosened her tongue.

“Then you might be happy to know that you are also quite dead.”

“Interesting,” she said, and he made a choked sound—half laugh, half…what? Neither she, nor Alexi, ever sobbed.

His thumb slid along the inside of her elbow. “Your skin is on fire.”

If that was the case, then why was she shivering?

“Hold me,” she whispered. She had definitely lost too much blood.

Along with her mind.

His thumb paused, midstroke; silence filled the enclosure. He didn’t move. Why would he? Unless it was to run fast and far away from the need even she heard in her voice.

“Talk to me,” she said, thrilled when she managed to sound almost like herself again. “Tell me why I’m dead.”

He lifted his hand from her arm. She had to grit her teeth to keep from snatching it back. How could the coolness of his skin feel so delicious even as she shivered so badly she’d begun to ache from it?

Rustles and thumps ensued; then the blanket was
lifted—the air outside it felt delightful—and Alexi slipped in next to her.

Naked.

“Hush,” he murmured when she stiffened, then pulled her to his chest, running a hand over her hair. “Long ago I learned that the best way to impart warmth is skin to skin.”

Cat gave a soft snort. Alexi thought the best way to impart anything was skin to skin. But his body did feel glorious next to hers. It always did.

“And talking is one of my specialties,” he continued.

“What about the holding?”

“I will practice.”

Cat’s eyes stung. She blinked several times. The scent of smoke rose from the blanket. Smoke always stung her eyes.

He began to speak, the rumble of his voice beneath her cheek soothing her as nothing else ever had. “Hunters came for you.” She shoved at his chest; he held on tight. “They’re gone.” He pressed his lips to her brow, then quickly told her what had happened, ending with her name on a grave marker.

“They were looking for me and not Frank?”

“They asked for you.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s all you can say?”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Shit?”

Cat laughed, then took a sharp intake of breath when the movement jarred her wound.

“Be still.” He stroked her hair again. She wanted to ask him not to stop, but she couldn’t. “This is the second time hunters have followed you to the exact place where you are. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I leave a trail of dead bodies.”

“Frank did.”

“But they weren’t after Frank.”

“Who knew that you were?”

“My—” She paused.

“Your brother-in-law.”

She should have known that Alexi would have wheedled all he wanted to out of Ben.

“Is there any reason he might want you dead?”

While Ben didn’t like what she was doing, he continued to help her do it. He wanted the man who’d killed Billy captured or killed as much as she did.

Well, maybe not as much, which was evidenced by his lack of pursuit. However—

“No,” she said. “Besides, the first time the hunters came after me—”

“Abilene?” Alexi clarified, and she nodded.

“I didn’t get the information on Clyde from Ben.” She
had
turned him over to Ben, but that was after the fact. “Besides, I was Sissy in Abilene.”

“Until you made Clyde say
you or her
? That’s like shooting your rifle toward the sky and screaming,
Come and get me!
”

“By the time I had Clyde repeat after me, those men were already in town.”

“That’s true.”

“How did
you
find me?” she asked.

“
Moya krasavitsa,
” he murmured into her hair. “I will always find you. You shine like a beacon in the darkness of my world.”

Cat blew a derisive puff of air from her lips. Even Alexi laughed. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“Practice,” he said, but the laughter in his voice had died.

“How
did
you find me?”

“How do you think?”

“Mikhail.” Why did she even bother to ask? “But the bounty hunters didn’t have Mikhail, so how did they?”

“How did
you
end up in Abilene?”

“Letty’s was one of Clyde’s haunts. I got lucky.”

“Or unlucky.”

“He’s in jail, maybe swinging by now. How am I the unlucky one?”

“If I hadn’t been there, you would be dead already.”

“Maybe,” she allowed.

But it disturbed her that those other hunters had known where to find her. They hadn’t been after Clyde; they’d been after Cat.

“You are shot,” Alexi said. “This makes you feel lucky?”

Right now, here, safe in his arms—despite the pain and the heat—she kind of did. “I’m not dead.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he muttered.

“You sound like an old woman.” No doubt a result of the many times he’d pretended to
be
an old woman.

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Yet, still, you do.”

“Perhaps this will work out for the best,” he said, refusing to acknowledge her jab. “Those men will spread the word that they have seen Cat O’Banyon’s grave.”

As the truth of his words sank in, she tried to sit up; but she couldn’t disentangle herself from Alexi’s arms, and she was too weak to do more than struggle for a minute. “Now I can sneak up on the guy. He won’t even know I’m coming, because I’m dead.”

“I meant”—Alexi sighed—“you could start over.”

“Start over?” she repeated, confused. She was so close; why would she start over?

“Go on. Begin a new life.”

Cat stilled. “I can’t go on until he’s dead.”

A silence settled over them much louder than any words.

“You mean you can’t go on
because
he’s dead.”

A
s soon as the words were out of his mouth Alexi wanted to snatch them back. Why in hell had he said that?

He waited for her to ask what he’d meant, but Cat was as good at disregarding what she didn’t want to discuss as he was.

The air inside the
asi
was warm, even though by now the sun had to have gone down. Despite the fiery temperature of her skin, Cat continued to shiver. He’d hoped the reaction was shock over what had happened. But if that were the case, she would have stopped by now.

“Are you all right,
moya zhizn’?
”

She remained silent and still; for an instant he thought she might ignore him completely.

“
Moya zhizn’
,” she repeated at last, the words and the accent as perfect as his own. “What does that mean?”

My life,
his mind whispered.

“Silly fool,” his mouth said.

He waited for her response—laughter, a punch in the gut, anything. What he got was an increase in her shivering. So much so he feared she might bite off her own tongue between vehement clicks of her teeth. She must have a fever. The question was: How bad?

“Cat,” he began, pulling back.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness; he could see
her face quite well. Her eyes had rolled back, the whites gleaming despite the lack of light.

Not shivers. Violent, uncontrollable, convulsive paroxysms.

He tried to remember what they’d done during the war when this happened, and it had happened a lot. Usually right before the person—

Cat stopped breathing.

“Did that,” he murmured. Her face was so pale, so still. He pressed his mouth to hers.

No response, but her lips were so damn hot. Soon they would be forever cold, unless he did something.

Alexi leaped to his feet, gathered Cat into his arms, and rushed outside. The moon shone like a beacon across the surface of the stream. He ran to the water, uncaring when stones jutted into his feet, slipping on the grass, sliding in the mud, going down on one knee, then hauling himself back up.

On your feet, Yank! Keep walkin’. Know how you blue bellies like the mud, but if you don’t stand you’ll die there. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d have shot ye already.

Alexi ground his teeth. Would those voices ever go away?

He splashed into the shallows, fought the current, pushing forward as if he could outrun his past. He knew better. The past continued to creep up on him when he needed it to the least.

He checked her face—still pale, unresponsive—kissed her lips again but found no breath, no life. He could think of nothing to do but tread deeper, which proved a good thing. The soft center of his foot came down upon a stone. He recoiled, lost his balance, and they plunged beneath the surface. His mouth, his nose, his lungs filled with muddy water. He shoved against the sandy bottom and the two of them burst free.

Alexi choked, spat, breathed. His heart thundered in his head so loudly, he nearly didn’t notice that she was breathing too.

“
Go raibh maith agat, Dia,
” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “
Grazie, Dio.
” Then, as she opened her eyes, “Thank you, God.”

She seemed to recognize him because her lips curved a bit, but then her eyes fluttered closed and he panicked, thinking she’d left him again. However, this time her chest rose and fell against his. And he couldn’t even enjoy it.

“That’s it.” He clambered from the water onto the opposite shore, climbed the ridge, and continued into town. Though the sun was down, many of the Cherokee sat on their porches, no doubt avoiding the heat of the day still trapped within their homes. They merely stared stoically at Alexi as he stomped by.

He strode through Durga’s open front door. The man sat at the table with Mikhail. Neither one of them seemed surprised to see him. “Saddle my horse,” Alexi ordered.

Durga said nothing, continuing to roll a cigarette, movements unhurried.

“But, Alexi—” Mikhail began.

“I want you to stay with Durga until I return.”

The Cherokee glanced up, his gaze going first to Cat’s face, then to Alexi’s before he nodded.

“I’ll come back for you.” Alexi certainly couldn’t take Mikhail where he was going.

He jerked his head, indicating Mikhail should precede him through the back door. Once he had, Alexi faced Durga. “Thank you for your help. But she…I…” His voice broke; he was mortified.

“Go,” Durga said. “Your friend and I will keep company until you return. All will be well.”

Alexi doubted
all
would be well. Because the place he was headed…

He glanced at Cat’s face. Her lips were bloodless; he could count each vein in her eyelids. Alexi sighed.

He shouldn’t go there, but he was going to anyway.

Alexi found a blanket in their pile of belongings, wrapped it around Cat, then strode to his horse, which stood saddled and ready. He handed his precious bundle to Mikhail, then vaulted into the saddle and reached for Cat.

Mikhail held back, staring down, shoulders hunched. “Alexi?”

Alexi tried to remain calm even though his arms itched to have Cat back in them, and his entire body tingled with the need to be gone. He tried to think of something he could tell Mikhail that would convince him he must stay behind.

Something besides the truth.

“’Fore you go…” Mikhail lifted wide gray eyes to his. “You should probably put on some clothes.”

Alexi rode through the night. Cat barely stirred despite what had to be constant and painful jostling.

He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. All he knew was that by the time he reached the Kansas border they were both drenched in sweat. Whether from the hell-bent nature of their ride, an increase in her fever, or both, he couldn’t say. But he knew someone who could.

For the first time, Alexi might actually be in the right place at the right time. Instead of his past haunting him, maybe it could save her.

In the late afternoon of the next day, he galloped into Freedom, Kansas. Folks on the street stopped what they were doing to stare.

Attention wasn’t good for a man of his occupation.
Certainly, he’d never performed a confidence in Freedom, and he never would. But, as had been proved by the Pardy Langston affair, one never knew when one’s past might jump up and bite. Since he’d come here looking for his past, Alexi shouldn’t be surprised if he was not only bitten by it, but devoured.