Bounty Hunter (7 page)

Elizabeth packed the last two jars of preserves in the cardboard box, then hefted
it to one hip, using the other one to bump the screen door open. After placing it
in the back of the pickup along with the other two boxes, she took a moment to wipe
her forehead on the sleeve of her berry-stained yellow T-shirt.

She stepped onto the front porch, a smile crossing her face again as she looked at
the newly straightened railing. Kane had repaired it that morning. Right after he’d
fixed the legs on the kitchen table. She pushed through the small front room on into
the kitchen, thinking about their conversation over the freshly cooked fish last evening.

After the intense moment by the stream, followed by the even more intense conversation
about Kane’s past, he’d kept the dinner conversation strictly business. She’d spent
most of the rest of the night trying to convince herself she was relieved.

Kane had told her that by recycling the unused materials from the barn and bunkhouse
renovation, he could fix quite a bit. A lot more than she’d planned on. She knew she
should have told him she didn’t intend to stay long enough to make some of the repairs
necessary. But the memory of the kiss they’d almost shared made her unwilling to ruin
the remainder of their outing with a lot of unwanted questions.

She pushed out the back door, glancing up as she always did at the stunning view of
the Selkirk Mountains. She wondered if, given the right circumstances, she might enjoy
living out there. A loud bang followed by what sounded like swearing jerked her from
her thoughts.

She headed for the barn, a smile curving her lips as she concentrated on the loudly
spoken language with a strange flat intonation. Whatever it was, it wasn’t English.

Intrigued, she quietly ducked inside the opening where the warped barn doors used
to hang. She found Kane gripping one hand with the other, glaring at his open palm.
She was a step away when he looked up.

“Don’t just stand there,” he demanded, “grab a pair of pliers.”

Caught off guard, she stopped short. “Pliers? What did you do that requires pliers?”
she asked, concerned that he’d really hurt himself. “Here, let me see.”

She reached for his hand and tugged gently until
she had his large callused hand cradled in her palms. His skin was dusty and very
warm. She told herself her fingers trembled slightly because she was concerned about
his apparent wound, not because she could feel his breath fan against her cheek as
she angled his hand to catch a ray of sunlight.

It took a second, but she found it. She forced herself not to smile, but he must have
seen the muscles in her jaw twitch, because he pulled his hand away.

“No big deal, I’ll take care of it,” he said gruffly.

“I’ll find the pliers,” she said solemnly. “Maybe I should get the saw in case we
need to amputate.” He shot her a look that should have reduced her and the barn to
ashes. She didn’t flinch. Allowing her lips to curve slightly, she said, “Hey, you
don’t need to explain the dangers to me. If that splinter got infected, you could
lose the whole arm.”

He spun around and walked up to her until there was barely a breath of air between
them. She faced his flinty expression as squarely as she could given the difference
in their heights. There must be a reason why she shouldn’t be having fun with him,
she thought absently, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of what it could
be.

He grabbed her left arm, raising it beside them until the Band-Aid on her forearm
was level with her eyes. “For someone who howled like a stuck pig this morning over
a puny steam burn, you sure are having a good laugh.”

She gasped. “Hey, having a patch of your skin
bubble up and slide off your arm is worth a good scream. And I did not sound like
a pig,” she added as an afterthought.

Her gaze shifted to his hand, then to his stormy eyes.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked after a long moment.

She shook her head, wondering where her voice had gone. His thumb rubbed over the
edges of her bandage as he continued to stare. She felt trapped by his dark eyes,
but couldn’t deny the bond excited her as much as they disturbed her. Her breathing
came out in little gasps.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she managed, her voice hoarse. “Yours needs tending to, though. Let me see
this.” She pulled his hand up between them. “It’s not too bad, but it has to come
out.”

He bent over, placing his lips near her ear. “There was always one remedy I wanted
to try.”

She didn’t dare look up. Just the heat of his breath on her skin was making her toes
curl. She hated danger. Had spent three hideous months hiding from it. So why was
she willingly courting it now by not moving away from him?

“Which one is that?” she heard herself ask.

“The one about kissing it to make it better.”

She thought about running while she still could, but that impulse died when she looked
into his eyes. Something she saw there, past the teasing, past the sensual wordplay,
tugged at her in a deep, dark place
she hadn’t examined since her parents had died. “No one ever did that for you?”

“Never let anyone try.”

The tugging sensation became a clutch near her heart. Purposely ignoring conscious
thought, she drew his hand up to her face. She closed her eyes and pressed a soft
kiss to the warm skin beside the small wound.

A soft groan escaped him, and her eyes opened as she looked up to him. “Did I hurt
you?”

He stared at her for so long, she decided he wasn’t going to answer her. Then he pulled
his hand gently from her grasp and said, “Thank you.”

Before she could ask him to explain, he stepped away and moved over to the toolbox,
rummaging through it before speaking again. “Was there some reason you came out here?”

His tone was flat, but he wasn’t angry. At least she didn’t think so. She didn’t know
what to think. He had her emotions running in circles so tight, she felt almost strangled
by them. Deciding maybe it was best to follow his lead, she answered his question.
“Actually, I came out here to tell you I was going down to Boundary Gap to deliver
a batch of jam to Dobs.”

Kane’s head whipped up.

Elizabeth was caught off guard by the sudden intensity of his gaze as he stared at
her for a moment. This time there was no sensual promise, or deeply hidden wounds.
His expression was alert and
focused, almost like a predator who’s scented his prey.

She waited for him to say something, but he apparently decided against it, because
he resumed his search through the toolbox.

Feeling a sudden need for fresh air and wide open spaces, she turned to go. “You need
anything?”

“Yeah,” he answered without looking up, “the needle nose pliers.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Wait here a minute.” Exasperated now by his obvious intention
to return to his taciturn self, she headed for the door. The sooner she fixed his
damn hand, the sooner she could get out for a much-needed break. She was two steps
from the door when he spoke again.

“Never mind.”

She turned in time to see him pull a very lethal looking knife from the sheath she’d
noticed he always had strapped on his belt. He’d turned it so he could use the pointed
tip on his palm before she broke out of her momentary shock.

“Hey! Don’t do that!” She hurried across the hard-packed dirt floor to the makeshift
bench where he was seated.

The deadly looking blade a hairbreadth away from his flesh, he looked up at her, his
expression unconcerned. “You were the one telling me about the horrors of infection.”

“I may live out in the boonies, but I do have
enough sense to have a first-aid kit. Come up to the house and let me take that sliver
out the right way.”

In one clean motion, he slid the blade smoothly in its leather sheath, tossed the
pliers back into the box, and stood. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Grumbling under her breath about men in general and Kane in particular, she turned
and stalked out the door.

She was halfway across the yard when he said, “And it’s not a sliver, it’s a chunk.”

Despite attempts to stifle it, his petulant remark brought a smile to her lips. Damn
the man for always managing to catch her off guard. She entered the kitchen and motioned
to the table. “Have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

Kane felt like an idiot sitting at the tiny kitchen table, waiting like some kid for
Mom to come take care of his boo-boo. He didn’t know what had prompted his kiss-it-and-make-it-better
proposal out in the barn. It had been foolish, not to mention dangerous. Her sweet,
healing kiss had taken him completely off guard.

He didn’t think he’d ever forget how she’d looked at him or how when her thick lashes
had drifted over her newly tanned cheeks, he’d felt his heart drop to his knees. “Damn
freckles,” he muttered.

He forced himself to stop visualizing those tantalizing little brown spots that splashed
so provocatively
across the bridge of her cute little nose—as if she’d purposely placed each and every
one of them with the intention of driving him crazy—and turned his mind to her proposed
outing today.

He knew from talking with her over dinner that she only went down into the tiny mountain
town once a week, but that didn’t soothe his instincts. The idea of her traveling
over that lonely stretch of mountain road in her rusty excuse for a truck bothered
him more than he wanted to admit. He knew his concern was only partly based on the
probability that the guy tailing him when he left Boise might have picked up his trail
after he’d ditched him in Coeur d’Alene.

“This whole thing stinks to high heaven,” he said as he studied the small room, thinking
again that she was damn lucky the old house hadn’t caved in on her head while she
slept. A good high wind …

“Are you still grumbling over that tiny fleck of wood?”

He turned his attention to the doorway and had to fight the surprising urge to smile.
She was dressed in old jeans—sans the sponges—and a canary-yellow T-shirt that sported
berry stains in excruciatingly tempting places. No, he didn’t want her to mother him.

What he wanted was for her to come closer so he could remove those berry stains—with
his tongue.

He shifted in his seat and looked at his hand as she dumped her supplies on the table.

Scooting her chair to face his, she pulled his hand into her lap. The instant his
knuckles brushed her denim-covered thigh, he pulled it right back.

“Just shove that stuff over where I can reach it, I can take it from here.” His tone
was gruffer than necessary, but what the heck. She was lucky he didn’t wipe the table
clean and haul her on top of it instead.

“Really, Kane—”

“Really, Annie,” he shot back, and reached for the pair of tweezers she’d laid next
to the alcohol.

With a sigh of defeat, she shoved her chair back and stood. She started to leave the
room when he finally looked up. “You sure that truck will make it to Boundary Gap
and back?”

She turned around, a look of surprise on her face. Apparently he hadn’t sounded as
casual as he’d intended.

“It’s made it so far. I know it looks bad, but it runs okay.”

She shrugged a bit self-consciously, and he felt his chest tighten even further. He
knew what she’d been driving when she’d left Sam and Boise behind three months earlier.
That sleek blue BMW was a damn sight more luxurious than a battered pickup with a
questionable heritage. “Would you mind some company?”

“Ah, y-yeah … sure,” she stammered. She glanced down and, as if noting for the first
time the
big red blotches covering selective patches of her shirt, she said, “I’ll be right
back.”

Kane didn’t bother swallowing his smile this time. He turned his attention back to
the operation he was performing on his hand, which was more than a little tricky given
it was in his left palm and he was left-handed. A minor detail he’d rather cut off
his hand than admit to her at this point. She was really something. His grin didn’t
fade, even when he eventually tossed the useless tweezers back on the table and pulled
the knife out again.

He was already in the truck, motor running, when she pushed through the torn screen
door.

She leaned in the passenger window. “You don’t have to drive.”

“I don’t mind.” His right hand held the steering wheel. His left was tucked out of
sight.

She looked at him uncertainly for a moment. He was about to reassure her he could
handle her precious truck, when she shrugged and walked around the back and up to
his window.

“Okay, but you’ll have to get out to let me in. The passenger door doesn’t work.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t you own anything that isn’t a step away from disintegrating?”
He wasn’t prepared for the flash of pain that crossed her face.

“Aw, hell,” he muttered, and without thinking yanked the door open with his left hand.
The pain was so severe, he didn’t remember to curse in Shoshone.

Annie yanked open the door and grabbed his hand while he was still swearing. “What
did you do, Hawthorne?”

“Nothing.” He clenched the hand in question into a fist to keep her from seeing his
impromptu surgery.

She didn’t even bother arguing with him this time.

“Move over,” she ordered. “I’m driving.”

She was altogether too cute when she got mad. He almost said “Yes, ma’am” just for
the reaction he’d likely get, but he bit his tongue and shifted around the gear stick
to the other side.

She hopped in and slammed the door. Tossing a glance out the rear window, she threw
the truck in reverse and backed out in a cloud of dust.

They’d traveled for several bone-jarring minutes when he said, “You drive this rust
trap pretty well for a secretary.”

She shot him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the rutted lane that
served as a road. “And you crawled over that gear shift pretty gracefully for someone
who needs major medical coverage for a simple splinter removal.”