Captured (17 page)

She jumped, her eyes wide and her slim shoulders quaking with fear. “Oh, dear,” she wailed pitifully. “Now I’ve made him mad. Please, please don’t leave me alone with him. I just couldn’t bear it again. Not when he’s angry like this.”

The soldiers had shifted imperceptibly during her tale, to the point where they were now interposed between her and Cole, as they glared at him. Even General Brader wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked deadly serious, and maybe even a little angry. “All right, boy,” he said to Cole. “Looks like it’s time for the two of us to have ourselves a little talk.”

Feeling smugly superior, Devon glanced over the general’s shoulder to see Cole’s reaction. Though his face remained a mask of cool aloofness, she watched as his tawny eyes changed from irritation to… amusement. The man was actually trying not to laugh! The least he could do was to get upset. Frustrated by Cole’s lack of response, she fanned herself with her hand and turned her attention back to her guards. “If you gentlemen don’t mind, may I have just one tiny little sip of water? I promise I won’t be any trouble after that.” The soldiers tripped over themselves in their haste to oblige.

Though it might have been immediately gratifying, her ruse not only failed to rankle Cole, it also proved to be of no use whatsoever as a long-term strategy. When he and the general emerged from their talk an hour later, Cole didn’t so much as glance in her direction. He strode down the front steps, heading for a sorrel that was saddled and waiting for him. General Brader moved out onto the porch, rubbing his belly and smiling like the cat who just ate the canary. He took a Colt from one of the soldiers, spun the chamber to check the ammunition, then pointed it straight at her. Devon shrieked and shrank back against the settee.

“Want me to shoot her if she moves?” he called to Cole.

Cole swung into the saddle then edged the horse back toward the house, hesitating as he saw the gun pointed at her. Cole wouldn’t let anything happen to her, he just wouldn’t. Granted, he might threaten her, he might be furious with her, but he wouldn’t let anybody hurt her. Her instincts had told her that from the very beginning, and her instincts were never wrong.

He scowled at the general, his gaze moving from her to the gun. “You weren’t planning on leaving me with the paperwork, were you?”

Devon gasped, and the general made a choking noise. “No,” he said.

Cole shrugged. “In that case, use your best judgment.”

The general slapped his knee and let out a deep guffaw as he passed the gun back to the soldier. “Use my best judgment,” he chortled.

Devon wasn’t amused. But the stinging retort she’d been ready to toss back died on her lips as she watched Cole rein in his mount, spurring the sorrel into a fast trot across camp. She froze, suddenly icy-cold despite the heat of the day. He was leaving her. Cole McRae was leaving her, and he didn’t even care enough to say good-bye. She’d been nothing but trouble, so now he was turning over the chore of escorting her to Old Capitol to General Brader.

She watched his broad back as he rode away and out of her life. A keen sense of abandonment shot through her, leaving her feeling completely lost and adrift. For some reason, she’d become used to having Cole around. More than that, she’d actually come to depend on him. She’d believed he’d be there for her if she ever needed him. Wrong, she realized, feeling as though she’d just been kicked in the gut. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Well, good riddance, she declared silently. She should be happy to see him go. Should be‌—‌but she wasn’t.

Forgetting both her pride and her audience, Devon lurched to her feet, clutching the porch rail in both hands as she screamed, “McRae!” Too late. He kept riding. “McRae!”

Her captor slowed, bringing his mount up short as he turned around. “Cole!” she screamed. He dug his heels in the sorrel’s flanks and spurred back toward her. Devon lifted her skirts and flew down the steps to meet him. Almost at once, she was at his side. Or rather, beside his boot and stirrup, staring up at him as he sat in the saddle. Her breath came hard and fast, as though she’d been running a great length. The sorrel tossed its head and neighed, stepping back.

Cole controlled the horse with gentle pressure from his thighs. He searched her face, frowning as he looked down at her. “Devon, General Brader isn’t really going to—”

“You’re leaving me?” she asked, in a voice she didn’t like at all. She’d wanted to sound cold and contemptuous, to let him know he was a snake for abandoning her. Instead her voice came out frightened and trembling, betraying everything she was struggling so hard to keep inside.

She watched something flash though his eyes, but the emotion was gone too quickly for her to read, “Yes,” he answered.

Devon nodded and swallowed hard, not trusting herself to speak.

“For about an hour,” he continued. “Just long enough to see about finding us a room for the night, some food, and clean clothes. A bath wouldn’t be out of line either.”

Relief coursed through her, stunning her in its intensity. It must have shown on her face, for Cole looked inordinately pleased and altogether smug. Devon caught her breath in giddy anticipation, waiting for him to speak. She felt certain that something had just shifted between them, and that nothing would ever be the same again. He smiled his heart-stopping grin and leaned slowly toward her, soft sentimental words forming on his lips. “You may not have noticed it,” he whispered, “but you’re starting to attract flies.”

Devon jerked back, slapping his leg as hard as she could. “I hate you, McRae.”

He reached down and grabbed her chin before she could spin away. He tipped her face up to his, intently searching her eyes. “Do you, Blake?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. I hate you, I loathe you, I despise you. You’re crude, rude, vulgar—”

Cole scooped her up in his arms, holding her in front of him in the saddle as he nudged the sorrel back to the porch, then dumped her on the other side of the railing beside General Brader. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said to his friend. “Don’t shoot her.”

The general looked disappointed. “What do you want me to do with her, then?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Just see if you can keep her out of trouble for about an hour.”

“I reckon that shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Cole let out a heartfelt sigh and shook his head, once again spurring his mount around. “You obviously don’t know the lady.”

Devon glanced around the boardinghouse room, looking for something to distract her from the wet, splashing sounds coming from the other side of the thin screen partition. Of course, Cole had insisted on bathing first, claiming that the water would be so filthy once she finished that there’d be nothing to do but throw it out. True enough, she admitted, but it was still horribly rude of him to make such a remark.

She’d already wasted a good twenty minutes searching for a means of escape. But the door was locked from the inside, and Cole had the key. The glass that had once been a window was gone, probably shattered by the reverberation of cannon fire from a recent battle. Like all the other windows she’d observed in this small town, it was boarded up, allowing only traces of light and air to seep in through the thick slats. Consequently the tiny room was both muggy and dark, despite the fact that both lamps were lit and burning brightly.

She heard another splashing sound, and her eyes were automatically drawn back to the partition. She had to get away from Captain McRae. Now. Tonight. She’d find Uncle Monty and go back into business. Lift a few gold watches, a few wallets, run a con or two. As a matter of fact, she still had Cole’s watch, and that had to be worth something. She’d sell it and move on. Forget she’d ever dreamed of having more. Forget that she’d staked everything she had, only to have her past catch up with her and ruin it all.

The sound of Cole’s voice calling for his towel interrupted her thoughts. Devon glanced at the washstand and saw two threadbare linen towels stacked above it. She frowned in irritation. What did he think she was, his personal valet? She grabbed a towel, bunched it into a tight ball, and sent it flying over the top of the partition. Two seconds later, she heard a splash, followed immediately by a dark oath. “Devon,” Cole called, his voice strained with patience, “I seem to have dropped your towel in the water. Would you care to bring me mine, or shall I come get it?”

An image of Cole moving toward her, naked and dripping wet, did strange things to her pulse and sent her scurrying into action. “No!” she cried. “Don’t move! I have it right here.” She grabbed the towel and raced to the partition, thrusting her arm behind it. “Here.”

“Sorry. Can’t reach it.”

She strained her arm further.

“No luck. I’m afraid you’ll have to bring it to me.”

“I’ll just set it down here and you can—”

“Bring it to me, Devon.”

She knew that tone. Arguing with him would be pointless now. If she didn’t comply, he’d just do something that would embarrass her even more. Not that she could think of anything more embarrassing than seeing him naked, but doubtless he could. She edged slowly around the partition, her eyes squeezed shut and her arm outstretched. “Can you reach it now?”

“Not quite.”

She sighed and inched forward, then stumbled as her toes knocked into something thick and hard. The tub. Her eyes flew open as she swayed forward, nearly tumbling into the water on top of Cole. He was as naked as the day he was born. Not only did he look as though he was thoroughly enjoying himself, he was making no attempt whatsoever to reach for the towel.

She stared at him in mute wonder, unable to stop herself as her gaze traveled slowly over him. Cole’s hair was sleeked back against his scalp, making his chiseled features even more pronounced and compelling. Wet, creamy streaks of soap clung to his broad chest, a glistening white contrast to his dark bronze skin. His shoulders and arms were thickly corded with muscle, visible proof of the tightly leashed power within his body. Even his legs looked strong, though she couldn’t see much of those. Just the tops of his golden kneecaps and a glimpse of masculine thighs before they disappeared back into the water.

Devon’s mouth went dry as an odd sensation shot through her stomach, making her feel nervous and excited at the same time. Solid, hard, lean, big‌—‌the words flitted through her mind, but none of them quite seemed to capture the raw, masculine beauty of Cole McRae.

“I don’t suppose you’d care to wash my back for me?” he drawled.

That snapped her out of her dazed stupor. Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she flung the towel at his face. “Go to blazes,” she said, then spun around and marched away.

She’d barely made it across the room when she heard another splash, then, after a minute, the sound of his footsteps behind her. Devon turned cautiously around, relieved to see that he was at least dressed now. Well, sort of. He’d pulled on his pants and shirt, but left the shirt unbuttoned. Her eyes went directly to the light smattering of coarse blond hair that covered his chest, then to the rippling muscles that lined his stomach. She noticed that he was barefoot too. Somehow that made him seem less intimidating.

Devon abruptly curbed her wandering thoughts and summoned her most disdainful tone. “May I?” she asked, tilting her head toward the tub. “Or were you planning on making me wait until morning?”

“Lord, no. The sooner the better.” Cole waved his hand in front of his face in a gesture she knew was meant to rile her. Stiffening her spine, she ignored the insult and made for the tub when he stopped her again. She turned to see him toss three soft bundles, all wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with string, on the bed. “You’ll probably be needing these,” he said gruffly.

She stared blankly at the packages, then back at him. A fierce scowl lined his features, and his hands were jammed deep in his pockets. He looked desperately uncomfortable, a fact that was amazing for a man who was always so totally in control. She would have studied that more, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What is it?” she asked, not moving.

“Why don’t you open them and find out?”

She did. The first contained a pale lavender dressing gown, edged with touches of ivory lace at the collar and cuffs. The second package held knit stockings, a camisole, drawers, and a petticoat, all made from soft white cotton and trimmed with tiny blue ribbons. The last bundle contained a brand new gown. It was a lovely indigo calico with delicate touches of sage green. Blue and ivory ribbons were woven tightly through the bodice and sleeves.

Devon stared at the gifts, completely overwhelmed. She’d been planning on washing her garments in the tub after she’d finished her bath and simply hoping for the best. When Cole had said he’d needed to find new clothes, she’d presumed he meant new clothes for him, not for her. And what with goods becoming more and more scarce because of the war, he’d probably had to pay through the nose for them. She frowned, trying to make sense of his gesture.

“If you don’t like them,” Cole said quickly, “We can go back tomorrow—”

“No!” Devon snatched up the gown, as if afraid he’d take it away then and there. “They’re lovely, truly. I just didn’t expect‌—‌I didn’t think‌—‌blue’s my favorite color,” she stammered awkwardly.

Cole studied her for a minute, as though trying to divine the truth of her words, then something that looked like relief washed over his rugged features. “I know.” He reached forward, running his rough masculine hands lightly over the delicate white undergarments. “These had pink ribbons on them, but I told the woman you had to have blue.”

Devon stared at him in amazement, trying to picture Cole in a lady’s mercantile. He had probably scared the shop clerk half out of her wits, making her replace perfectly good pink ribbons because he thought she would like blue better. Just like a man. Give a man a little bit of information and he thought he knew everything.

She stared at the garments, her throat aching with the knowledge that he’d actually wanted to please her. He’d done more than that. Devon was stunned, amused, and absolutely thrilled. “They’re perfect,” she said sincerely.