She was willing to bet her life on that.
Fifty yards out and the terrain leveled off. She found her rhythm and picked up speed, just as she had at the track back at the prison where lifer Mary Beth Jenkins had timed her two-mile run six days a week for the past four months. Between weightlifting and running, Abby was in top physical form. Now, as her feet pounded the earth and she pushed her body to the limit, she prayed all that hard work was going to pay off.
She could hear the horse breaking through brush behind her. Cowboy Cop yelled again, but she couldn’t make out the words and she didn’t slow down. Burning lungs and sore muscles were nothing compared to the agony she faced if he caught her. Abby was running for her life. She’d decided the first time she’d heard her cell door close that she’d rather die than spend the rest of her life behind bars.
Of course, Fate had different ideas. One minute she was running like an Olympian, the next she was perched on the edge of a gulch, fighting to keep herself from falling into a stream where the water ran white and swift ten feet below.
Cutting to the left, Abby resumed her sprint. She knew better than to waste precious seconds looking over her shoulder, but the urge was too strong to resist. The sight of Cowboy Cop astride that big, spotted horse and gaining on her at an astounding rate made her heart jump high in her throat. Good Lord, he was going to catch her!
Spurred by panic, she ran at a dangerous speed, hurtling over fallen trees, ducking the occasional branch. Her breaths came hard and fast, the thin, cold air setting her lungs on fire.
The cop was so close she could hear the squeak of leather, the horse’s hooves pounding the hard-packed earth. Sensing he was about to leap—knowing how a gazelle must feel when a lion’s claws closed around its throat—she pushed harder.
An instant later he came down on top of her like a ton of bricks. Strong arms closed around her shoulders, his sheer weight dragging her down. She stumbled. Her legs tangled. Then the ground rushed up and smacked the air from her lungs.
Abby landed hard on her stomach. She tried to crawl away, but his hand snaked out and clamped over her ankle. Yelping, she lashed out with her foot. Her heel connected with something solid. His curse burned through the air.
“Stop fighting me and calm down,” he growled.
Only then did Abby see her chance. Somehow she’d managed to land a kick just below his right eye. While she hadn’t intended to hurt him, his instant of pain gave her the opportunity she needed to save her life. Leaning close to him, she jerked the radio from his belt and heaved it as hard as she could toward the stream.
Above her, Cowboy Cop went perfectly still.
Abby held her breath.
An instant later the sound of a splash rose over the din of rushing water. And for the first time in a year the thrill of victory gushed through her veins.
But her sense of victory was short-lived. The next thing she knew she was rolled onto her stomach, her hands jerked behind her back and a pair of handcuffs snapped firmly around her wrists. Evidently, Cowboy Cop didn’t appreciate her tossing his radio.
Abby lay still for a moment, catching her breath, gathering her senses, trying to decide on her next course of action.
“Son of a gun.” Rising, he stalked to the steep bank.
She watched as he chucked his boots, yanked off his full-length duster and hurled it onto the grass behind him. Not bothering to roll up his Wrangler jeans, he skidded down the bank and entered the icy water and began the hopeless task of searching for the radio. She could tell by his posture he was angry. She had to hand it to him, the man had exercised restraint so far. Guilt nudged her that she’d put that bruise under his eye. Truly, she wasn’t a violent person. She downright detested violence under most circumstances. But this afternoon definitely qualified as one of Grams’s “desperate” times.
She watched him wade into water that nearly reached his hips. Just the thought of venturing into that icy water made her shiver. “Lady, you are a menace not only to me but to yourself,” he snarled.
“I’m sorry,” she offered.
He shot her a withering look and continued his search.
His eyes were the color of flint, all rigid control and that cool distance cops seemed to specialize in. The man might know how to fill out a pair of jeans, he might even have pretty eyes, but Abby knew better than to let herself be charmed by a cop. She hated the way they looked at her. With suspicion and disdain and that nasty little hint of superiority that set her teeth on edge. Despite his finer attributes, he was a cop where it counted. And she’d be wise to remember that in the coming hours.
“Well, Einstein, it looks like you and I are going to have to ride back tonight without the benefit of the chopper.” He waded through knee-deep water and stepped up onto the muddy bank.
She shouldn’t have noticed the way that wet denim hugged his lean hips and muscular thighs, not to mention another part of his male anatomy she did not want to think about. She shouldn’t be noticing a lot of things about this man, including the fact that he was undoubtedly the most handsome cop she’d ever laid eyes on.
He’d lost his hat at some point, revealing dark hair that was cropped short. His features were angular and lean with cheekbones befitting a Comanche chief. His hollowed cheeks and straight nose lent him a hardened appearance. But his mouth was oddly soft—and sensual enough to tempt a saint.
Abby winced when he reached up and fingered the bruise under his right eye.
“I’m sorry about the bruise,” she said quietly.
“The bruise?” A humorless laugh broke from his throat as he reached for his boots and stepped into them. “You just chucked our only means of communication and you’re worried about a freaking bruise?”
“You should put something cold—”
“If we run into heavy weather or one of us gets hurt—”
“I’m sorry you’re so upset about the radio.”
“You’re damn straight I’m upset! I can’t believe someone would do something so incredibly stupid. Even a convict!”
“I hate to point this out, but I think you’re angry because I got the jump on you.”
He shot her an incredulous look. “What?”
“I nearly got away. That chaps your ego. That’s why you’re so angry.”
“I appreciate you pointing that out to me, but I’m particularly angry because we’ve got over five hours of riding ahead of us and heavy weather moving in.”
“Look, I’m sorry I put you in a tough spot. But I’m sure you’ll get out of this just fine. This isn’t personal. It’s just that…I can’t go back.”
He choked out another humorless laugh. “I hate to be the one to break this earth-shattering news to you, Blondie, but you don’t have a choice.”
“I can’t go back. I won’t.”
He glared at her. “If you’ve got any other quick-escape schemes up your sleeve, I strongly suggest you put them out of your mind because it’s not going to happen. Got it?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly. You escaped from prison. It’s my job to take you back. End of story.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Look, we can do this the easy way, or I can use force. It’s up to you. But I can tell you, if you choose option number two, it’s only going to make it harder for you.”
“Cowboy—”
“Don’t argue. Let’s go.”
“Please, don’t do this.” Despite her best efforts, her voice quivered with the last word. “I can’t go back.”
He regarded her with those cool, gray eyes. “You should have thought of the consequences before you murdered someone.”
Even after nearly a year of being called a murderer, the word still made her shake inside. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Lady, do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that?”
“I don’t care how many times you’ve heard it. I’m innocent.”
“A jury s
ays you did it. The warden wants you back. That’s all I need to know.”
Abby knew her claim of innocence fell on deaf ears. She knew what it sounded like—a murderer’s desperate ploy to buy time. She would never convince this man that she was innocent. The only person who could do that was Dr. Jonathan Reed at Mercy General Hospital in Denver. A man who’d held her heart in his palm—and crushed it right before her eyes.
“I’d rather die than go back to prison,” she said after a moment.
He frowned at her. “You keep pulling stupid stunts like the one with the radio and that can be arranged.” His boots sloshed with water as he stalked over to her. “Get up. We’ve got some ground to cover.”
* * *
By the time they reached the mule a few minutes later, it was snowing. Abby had always loved snow. It made the world look fresh and new and untainted by life’s problems. It reminded her of home and those endlessly long winters she and Grams had spent on the farm back in Calloway County, Kentucky, before Paps passed away.
She wondered if life would ever be that simple again.
A few feet away, looking miserable and cold in those wet jeans, Cowboy Cop shrugged into his duster. Scooping his hat off the ground, he brushed at the dried grass and set it on his head. “Come here.”
Warily, she stepped over to him and stuck out her chin. “If you’re thinking of brutalizing me because I tossed your stupid radio, I should warn you I have a really good lawyer. Jackson Scott Sargent specializes in police brutality and he’s won every case—”
“Shut up and turn around.” Frowning, he extracted the handcuff key from a small compartment in his belt.
Realizing with some surprise that he was going to remove the cuffs, she turned her back to him and offered her wrists. “Oh, well…thank you.”
He removed the cuff from one wrist. “Don’t thank me because I’m just letting you wear them in front because you’re going to get up on that mule—”
“Wait just a—”
“And you’re going to need to hold on to the horn with both hands because she’s got a gait like a truck with four flat tires.”
“I don’t know how to ride.”
“I don’t care.”
“If I fall off—”
“I’ll leave you where you fall.”
“If I get injured in any way, my lawyer, Jackson Scott Sar—”
“Shut up about the lawyer, lady, will you?”
“I’m merely forewarning you what could happen if I don’t get back to Buena Vista in the same healthy condition in which I left.”
“I’ll remember that next time you do something stupid like fall out of a tree or trash our only means of communication.”
She started to back away, but he tugged on the cuff. “Give me your other hand.”
“Please—”
“Not after the stunt you pulled. Give me your hand. Now.”
Resigning herself to being cuffed and forced to ride that obstinate-looking mule, she stuck out her hand. Far too efficiently, he snapped the cuffs into place. “Feel better?” she asked nastily.
“Sure do.” He walked over to the mule. When she didn’t follow, he raised his hand and beckoned her with his index finger. “We’ve got snow moving in, Blondie. Let’s move.”
Abby wasn’t sure how she was going to get out of this. Evidently, Cowboy Cop was a by-the-book guy and took his job way too seriously. Well, she’d just have to keep her eyes open and hope for an opportunity. If one didn’t arise, she’d just have to make her own. She didn’t relish the idea of spending a cold, wet night out in the snow, but knew the weather might turn out to be an advantage.
She followed him over to the mule.
“On the count of three, I want you to put your left foot in the stirrup, your hands on the horn and hoist yourself into the saddle.”
“I know how to get on.” She lifted her hands and set them on the leather-covered horn. She’d only ridden a couple of times in her life. Back on Grams’s farm, Mr. Smith had owned several Shetland ponies. Abby had liked them just fine with their long manes and pink noses, but she’d never gotten the hang of how to stay on their backs. She’d spent a lot of time that summer dusting off her behind.
“One-two-three.”
Abby hoisted herself up, lifting her right leg over the mule’s back.
“You’re a natural,” Cowboy Cop said.
“Careful, my head’s going to swell.” She stuck her tongue out at him when he turned his back.
Taking the lead attached to the mule’s halter, he lashed it to his saddle. “You’d be wise to stay alert and pay attention to me and your mount.”
“Like that’s going to make any difference to me as you lead me to my death.”
He shot her a frown over his shoulder.
“And we’re going to get wet,” she said.
“Welcome to Colorado in November.” Gathering the reins, he vaulted onto the big, spotted horse with the ease of a man who rode often and well. “We would have been on board a nice warm chopper by now if you hadn’t chucked the radio.”
“I’ll take my chances with the weather.”
His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“Not by choice.”
“You’ve got a twang.”
“I do not have a twang.”
“You’ve definitely got a twang. I’d say you’re from Tennessee.”
“It’s not a twang, and I’m not from Tennessee.” When he only continued to stare at her, she added, “I’m from Kentucky.”
Twisting in his saddle, Cowboy Cop reached into a large leather bag slung across the back of the saddle and retrieved a rolled-up bundle. He removed the tie and shook it. Abby was surprised to see a long, all-weather duster materialize. She wasn’t sure why, but the fact that he was thoughtful enough to think of her physical comfort—especially when she’d given him the mother of all shiners and trashed his beloved radio—touched her.
Turning his horse, he pulled up beside her mule, so close their legs brushed. “It’ll keep you from getting wet, and keep the wind off you.” He reached around her and fastened the button at her throat.
It had been a long time since Abby had been close to a man—especially a man who looked as good as this one. Her heart did a weird little dip, then tapped against her ribs like a brass knocker. He smelled of leather, the out-of-doors, and healthy man. He was so close she could see the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, smell the tang of mint on his breath.
Her mule chose that moment to shift. Cowboy’s knee bumped against hers. The touch jolted her. She hadn’t intended to make eye contact with him. But one moment she was trying to avoid looking at him, the next she was staring into steel-gray eyes that were a tad too cool and a million times too discerning. His face was less than a foot away from hers and for a moment, they were eye-to-eye. His gaze never faltered as he secured the duster at her throat. She thought she saw a flash of heat in the cold depths of his gaze, but it happened too quickly for her to be sure.
And at that moment Abby clearly saw this man’s only vulnerability—and suddenly realized what she was going to have to do to escape him.
* * *
If Jake hadn’t experienced it firsthand, he never would have believed what had just happened had really happened. Not to by-the-book Jake Madigan. The level-headed lawman who always looked twice and never took anything at face value. Jake simply didn’t go goo-goo eyed over women no matter how good they were to look at. And he never, ever, trusted them.
So what the hell was he thinking letting those big violet eyes of hers get to him like that?
The woman was a menace. Not only to society, but to his own rock-solid discipline. She was serving a life sentence for murder, for God’s sake. If that little side note wasn’t enough to persuade his libido to take an extended vacation, the corrections official’s briefing that morning should have been, especially the part about Abigail Nichols’s history of mental instability. Jake had seen
firsthand that she was self-destructive; he’d watched her toss his radio into the stream, putting them out of communication with RMSAR headquarters and the Chaffee County Sheriff’s Office dispatch. Such an act was not only foolhardy, but dangerous.
Now, on top of those man-killing eyes of hers and feminine charms he had no right to be thinking about, he also had the blasted weather to contend with.
Damn crazy woman.
The snow was coming down sideways now. Not only was Jake wet and freezing from the waist down, but he was starting to get worried. The weather had deteriorated at an alarming rate. Visibility had dwindled to less than a quarter mile. They wouldn’t be able to travel much longer. The snow was already a foot deep and getting deeper by the minute. The wind had kicked up to a brutal speed and howled through the trees like a keening ghost. The drifts forming now would be large enough to swallow a man in a few hours. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, they were going to have to find shelter and camp for the night.
Jake definitely wasn’t going to be home in time to watch the hockey game.
Cursing the weather—and his crafty prisoner—he huddled deeper into his duster and brooded.
“Hey, Cowboy, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet, but it’s snowing like the dickens.”
Turning in his saddle, he looked at her, felt a quiver of an emotion he refused to name kick through him at the sight of her. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. That wild mass of blond curls was damp and blowing in her face and glittered with a frosting of snow.
“Put your hood up,” he said.
Raising her cuffed hands, she tugged the hood over her head. “My hands are cold.”
“I was wondering when you were going to get around to complaining,” he rumbled, hoping to keep her mind off the cold. Even from four feet away he could see that she was shivering. Her hands were bright red. Serves her right, he thought. But deep down inside, he didn’t like seeing her shake with cold. Damn it, he didn’t like the way things were shaping up at all.