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
