Читать книгу Cowboy Resurrected - Elle James - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Sophia swallowed hard, realizing her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.

“Who shot him?” Thorn shook her. Not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to wrench another sob from her throat.

She looked away, the memory of Hector lying in a pool of his own blood far too fresh to erase. “I don’t know.” She choked back another sob, reminding herself that she couldn’t cry forever. After all the time she’d spent as a captive in the compound, she’d learned one thing: crying didn’t solve anything. What would it hurt to tell this man a few details? “Someone in a helicopter fired a machine gun at Hector.”

His brows rose into the lock of hair drooping over his forehead. “A machine gun?”

Sophia nodded.

“Where is Hector now?” Thorn demanded.

“We were in the canyon. Hector had topped the ridge when the helicopter flew in. I h-hid beneath an overhang.” She looked at him through her tears. “I should have helped.”

“Against a helicopter?” Thorn’s lips pressed together. “Not much you could do on your own unless you had a rocket launcher.” He tipped his head to the side. “Question is, why did a helicopter fire on you and your friend Hector if you were only out hiking in Big Bend country?” Thorn’s eyes narrowed. “Now would be a good time to tell me the truth.” He dropped his hold and crossed his arms. He waited a few seconds. “Neither one of us is going anywhere until you do.”

She glanced toward the door. Thunder rumbled, rattling the doorknob. “I told you, we were hiking.”

His lips thinned, and he shook his head. “I’m not buying it. There’s a motorcycle in the lean-to that wasn’t there a day ago. I’m betting you rode in on it.”

She stared up at him, her mouth working, but nothing came out.

“Which brings me back to my original theory. You’re an illegal alien.”

“I’m not. My mother is American and, though I was born in Mexico, I have dual citizenship.”

He held out his hand. “Then you won’t mind showing me your passport.”

She stared at his hand, her throat muscles working at swallowing the lump lodged in her windpipe. “I don’t have it on me.”

“Thought so. No documents, riding a bike across the desert near the border, helicopter in pursuit.” He snorted. “You are definitely an illegal and possibly dangerous.”

“Think what you will.” She tossed back her long light brown hair. “Tomorrow I’ll be away from here, and you won’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

She frowned. “Count on what?”

“That you’ll be gone, or that I wouldn’t worry about you. I’ve kinda taken a liking to you. Must have been the fall.” He raised his hand to the back of his head.

“I’m sorry to say I have not taken a liking to you, señor,” she said, tipping her chin upward.

“Really?” Thorn leaned close, his eyes narrowing even more. He stared at her long enough to make her squirm.

Then he tilted his head back and laughed out loud. “You are entirely too naive and predictable, Sophia.”

She harrumphed, clasping her arms around her body. “I’m happy you find me amusing.”

Lightning flashed, sending shards of light through cracks in the boarded windows, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.

Sophia jumped, bumping into Thorn’s naked chest. She raised a hand to steady herself and encountered smooth, hard muscles. Heat suffused her entire body. She might not like the man, but she couldn’t help admiring his physique. She told herself it was nothing more than appreciation for a fine form.

Her belly rumbled loudly, reminding her that she needed to eat or risk dry heaves. And preparing food would allow her to put distance between herself and Thorn. She nodded toward the food on the bed. “I’m hungry.”

“So you said.” He reached out.

Sophia flinched, raising her hand to block his as she ducked.

Thorn’s frown deepened. “Did you think I’d hit you?”

Sophia straightened, her body tense. “You wouldn’t be the first man.”

He continued to reach past her. Plucking a metal object from a shelf on the wall, he held it up. “I was reaching for the can opener.” Thorn tossed the device on the bed and turned to grip her arms. “For the record, I don’t hit women.”

She planted her feet wide, her eyes narrowing to slits. “No? But you grab them and hold them hostage.”

“Damn it, woman. For your own good.”

“And how is being a captive good?” She snorted. “You’re like most men, thinking a woman must be controlled, that she doesn’t have a brain to think for herself.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.” His hands fell to his sides. “Given that you could have died with your friend Hector and might have been caught in a flash flood or struck by lightning, I think I can prove my case for keeping you here.”

She shrugged and ducked around him. “I don’t care what you prove.” Sophia grabbed the can opener and set it against the lid on the can of beans. After several attempts, she gave up, her stomach twisting, the hollow feeling making her nauseous.

“Good grief, woman.” Thorn took the can and opener out of her hands. “It’s not rocket science.”

“No? Then you do it.” She backed away from him, the nausea increasing until heat radiated through her body and she knew she couldn’t hold back any longer. Sophia ran for the door, her footsteps drowned out by the pounding of rain on the tin roof. Her hand closed around the knob as the first wave hit.

Before she could yank the door open, a hand closed over hers. “Going somewhere, sweetheart?” Thorn asked, staring down at her, his brows drawn together in a fierce frown. “I thought we’d settled all this running away stuff, at least until after the storm.”

She clawed at his hand. “Please.” Sophia swallowed again and again, trying to force the bile back. “I have to get out.”

He moved to stand in front of her, his arms locked over his chest like a barroom bouncer. “No.”

“So be it.” She heaved. What remained of the food she’d eaten the night before rose like a projectile up her throat. She bent in time to miss Thorn’s face, but anointed his bare feet.

The heaving continued until Sophia’s body shook so badly she fell to her knees on the hard wooden floor.

She cowered, waiting for Thorn to curse her and call her stupid for barfing on his feet. Sophia braced her body for the beating that was sure to follow.

The harsh words and beatings never came.

When the wave of sickness abated, she lay down on the floor, pressing her heated cheek to the cool wood.

Thorn crouched beside her, brushing her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry. Had I known you were sick—”

Thorn’s voice washed over Sophia like a warm blanket. She lay with her eyes closed, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other to her belly, afraid to move and set off the nausea all over again. “I’ll be okay. I just need to eat.”

“You can’t lie there on the floor.” He touched her arm. “Let me help you to the bed.”

“No.” She brushed away his hand. “Leave me alone. It’ll pass.” After several minutes, her head quit spinning and she dared to open her eyes. “I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

“I’ll live.” His frown had softened to an expression of concern. “Think you can move now?”

She nodded, lying there for a moment longer before attempting the simple task.

“I’m going to clean up this mess.” Thorn moved about the cabin, the soft rustles giving away his location and negating the need for Sophia to look.

Before she could brace her hands on the floor and push herself to a sitting position, Thorn’s strong fingers scooped beneath her legs and back, and he lifted her up in his arms in one smooth, easy motion.

Sophia closed her eyes, praying her stomach wouldn’t churn and release again. “Please, put me down.”

“I will.” He crossed to the mattress he’d unfolded for himself and laid her out on a blanket. “I found another blanket in a box.”

With the back of her hand resting over her eyes, she breathed in and out several times, her mouth tasting so bad she feared she’d lose it again.

The snap of metal on metal made her glance across at Thorn.

With deft fingers, he had the can of beans open in a few quick twists of the can-opener key.

Sophia’s lips tipped upward. “How is it you say...show-off.”

“I never learned how to cook, so I had to get good at eating canned food or starve.”

She smiled.

* * *

THORN’S HEART TUMBLED and came to a crashing stop.

Despite her pale face and slightly green complexion, her smile managed to light up the room, chasing away Thorn’s natural distrust of the woman who’d done nothing but lie to him the entire time they’d been together. Something about her sad eyes and her inherent vulnerability called to his protective instincts. He still held the can, and his heart pounded against his ribs.

Sophia’s smile faded. “You’re staring at me.”

He spun away, wondering what the hell had come over him. He rummaged in the wooden box where he’d found the blanket and emerged with a pot. He emptied the can of beans into the pot and set it on the potbellied stove. Then, using a stick from the box of wood, he stirred the embers inside the stove, making them glow brighter. Heat warmed his cheeks.

The bedsprings creaked behind him.

Sophia had pushed to a sitting position and was reaching for the foil-wrapped package on the other bed.

Thorn got to it before she did and unwrapped several soft tortillas. “Is this what you were going for?”

She nodded and peeled one off the top. Sitting with her legs pulled up beneath her, she nibbled on the corn tortilla, color slowly returning to her cheeks.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked.

She refused to meet his gaze. “I don’t remember.”

“And you were out for a hike on motorbikes.” Thorn stared at her for a long time. “Still not talking?”

She finished the tortilla and nodded toward the stove. “You’re burning the beans.”

Thorn spun back to the stove and rescued the boiling beans. He scrounged up two tin plates and spoons from the storage box, held them under the eaves by the door to rinse them off and scooped beans onto each damp plate.

Sophia accepted the plate without complaint and dug her spoon into the fragrant beans, eating every bite.

Thorn sat back, his own plate forgotten. “How can you eat like that after being sick?”

She accepted another tortilla and sopped up the remaining juices from her plate. She finished the tortilla before answering. “I get sick if I don’t eat.”

“Are you anemic or something?”

“Something.” Sophia set the plate on the floor, stretched out on the mattress and pulled the blanket over herself, closing her eyes.

“That’s it?” Thorn asked.

“I’m working on, what did you call it? Shut-eye.” Her eyes remained closed.

The fire burned down into glowing coals, heat from the stove filling the small space, making it cozy and comfortable despite the storm outside.

Thorn ate the beans on his plate, and then rinsed the pot and both plates and spoons in rainwater. Once he’d returned the eating utensils to the box, he cleared her backpack off the remaining bed, gathered the handgun and rifle beside him and settled on his side, facing Sophia. In the fading light from the fire, he studied the stranger. Her Spanish accent led him to believe she’d spent the majority of her life south of the United States border, but her grasp of English made him want to believe her story that her mother was American.

Her dark blond hair and pale skin could mean either her mother was American, as she’d insisted, or she could be Mexican of Spanish decent.

Sophia’s chest rose and fell in a deep, steady rhythm, her eyelids twitching as if her dreams were not all that pleasant.

What was she afraid of? Why wasn’t she telling him the truth about her presence on the Raging Bull? Who had hit her to make her so skittish?

The more he reflected on Sophia and her possible reasons for being in the cabin, the more questions Thorn came up with. Finally, exhaustion pulled at his own eyelids, dragging them downward.

His final thought of the woman beside him was one that left him frowning into his dreams. She’d stirred in him a spark of awareness he hadn’t felt since Kayla had died in his arms. And worse, he didn’t understand the desire he felt inside to protect her from whatever she was running from.

Hiking in the mountains. Not likely.

With one hand on the rifle, the pistol tucked beneath him, he drifted into a fitful sleep, the storm outside raging well into the early hours of the morning. His dreams were filled with the horror of the shooting that had taken his wife and unborn child, the nightmare of holding Kayla in his arms as she bled out. He’d held her so long that the EMTs had to remind him where he was and that he couldn’t stay in the middle of the street. He had to let go and get up.

“Get up!” a voice said into his ear. A hand grabbed his arm and shook him.

At first Thorn thought it was the EMT telling him they had to load his wife’s body. As he swam to the surface of consciousness, he remembered his wife had been dead for two years. The hand moved from his shoulder, and something tugged in his fingers.

Thorn sat up and grabbed the hand trying to pry the rifle from his fingers. “Let go, or I’ll shoot you,” he said, pointing the pistol at his attacker.

Sophia raised her hands and backed up a step. She wore the jeans and shirt she’d spread out earlier to dry, and her gaze flicked to the door of the cabin, her eyes wide and filled with terror. “Please, don’t let them take me back.”

Thorn frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone is outside. It might be the men who shot Hector.” Sophia tugged at his arm. “Get up. Hurry.”

As the fog of sleep cleared, Thorn realized the rain had stopped and, with it, the lightning. But what he’d thought was thunder was the rumble of an engine, like that of a heavy-duty diesel truck.

He jammed his legs into his jeans and boots, grabbed his rifle and reached for the doorknob. Before he could open the door, it was flung wide, slamming against the wall.

A towering figure filled the frame, backlit by the headlights of a truck standing a few feet behind him, engine running. From his silhouette, he appeared to hold an assault rifle.

His heart racing, Thorn raised his weapon and aimed for the middle of the man’s chest. “Not a step farther.”

The man froze in the doorway.

A voice behind the man in the door called out, “Thorn? Is that you?”

Thorn stared past the man with the assault rifle, his hand steady on his own gun. “Hank?”

The older man pushed past his bodyguard and held up his hands. “You gonna put that rifle down or shoot me?”

Thorn lowered the weapon, ran a hand through his hair and stared out into the darkness. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Thought you might need rescuing. When your horse came back without you on it, I sent out a search party, figuring you got thrown or bushwhacked.” His gaze swung to the woman cowering in the corner by the potbellied stove. “Ah, you have company.”

“Sorry to get you and your men out in that weather. The storm scared my mount, and he took off without me.” Thorn turned toward Sophia. “I took shelter in this cabin, only to discover a squatter beat me to it.” He waved toward Sophia. “Hank, this is Sophia. Sophia, this is Hank Derringer, the owner of the property you’re trespassing on.”

Before Thorn’s last word left his lips, Sophia flung herself at Hank.

Hank staggered backward, his arms going around Sophia to steady them both.

The bodyguard reached for Sophia’s arm.

“It’s okay,” Hank said. “She’s not hurting me. Sophia, this is Max. Max, Sophia. There. You’ve been properly introduced.”

Sophia buried her face in Hank’s shirt, silent sobs shaking her body. “It is a miracle,” she whispered, then her body went limp and she would have fallen to the floor if Hank hadn’t had his arms around her.

Thorn stood by, his hands aching to go to Sophia’s rescue, but he forced himself to stand back.

Hank stared over the top of the unconscious woman’s head. “What the devil is going on here?”