stood and pulled her to her feet. Then he marched her back to where his horse stood grazing and guided them both into the woods.
Twigs cracked beneath their boots. Far above them, birds twittered a cheerful song in their nests. Juliana was grateful for the shade. Her neck was damp from the weight of her hair, and the bodice of her dress clung to her skin. Her heart thumped against her rib cage. He’d frightened her there at the last, more even than when he’d aimed a gun at her. His forbidding expression still burned in her mind.
When she finally saw the stream up ahead, she resisted the urge to run and lie down in it.
Two of the bandits turned to stare at them. The skinny one seemed nervous, his gaze shifting between her and the other two. The man she assumed was Fitzgerald looked hard at her. He was not an unattractive man, average really, and built like a bull.
Juliana resisted the urge to hide behind Harrison.
“I thought you said you could handle her.” The words came out as an accusation.
“She didn’t get away, did she?” Harrison shot back.
“We’ll have to get rid of her at some point, you know. She knows too much.”
The cruel words, spoken so casually, washed over her like a wave of icy water.
“Not yet.” Harrison stole a glance at her. “I want some time alone with her first.”
Juliana faltered, suddenly sick to her stomach. After all his promises to get her to safety, she hadn’t expected that. She lowered her gaze to the ground.
Fitzgerald barked a laugh. “Good for you, Harrison. I was beginning to wonder about you. Six months on the trail and you never once joined us at the saloon.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve always been a sucker for Irish beauties.”
Juliana’s head shot up, but he kept his face averted from her searching gaze. A red flush climbed up his neck, indicating what? Embarrassment? No, that would mean he possessed a conscience.
Moving to dig in his saddlebags, he brought out a small tin cup and held it out to her without sparing her a glance. It chafed to have to accept anything from him, but thirst drove her. Careful to avoid his fingers, she grabbed the cup and hurried to the water’s edge to fill it. The cold, crisp water washed away the film of dirt coating her throat.
“Take this.” He appeared beside her with a bulging handkerchief. “We’re only going to be here about fifteen minutes, so if I were you I’d eat fast.”
“I don’t want it.” She stood abruptly and stepped back, wary of his intentions.
“Take it.” He closed the distance between them and loomed over her. “You’ll need your strength.”
She was hungry. Snatching the bundle from him, she marched over to the nearest tree and, moving beneath the branches into the shade, sank down in the soft grass and smoothed her dress to cover her pantaloons.
She watched Fitzgerald and the young outlaw, who were crouched downstream and cramming food into their mouths as if it were their last meal. Harrison didn’t join them. With clean, precise movements, he crouched and dipped his canteen into the stream. Lifting it to his mouth, he swallowed long and deep, his corded neck muscles visible. After refilling and capping the canteen, he retrieved his lunch from his horse’s saddlebag and ate standing up. His hat hung on the saddle horn, providing Juliana with a clear view of his profile.
She noted his strong jawline, stubborn chin and grim mouth.
He wore his sleek, ebony hair short. The conservative style suited him. His clothes weren’t of the finest quality but were in good condition. No missing buttons in the black cotton shirt, no patches or holes in the black pants. The fact that he was dressed in black from head to toe seemed to fit his personality.
He was, in a word, formidable. Impenetrable. Hard. Callous.
He glanced her way and caught her studying him. Juliana felt her cheeks flame, and she immediately dropped her gaze to the food in her lap.
Her lavish breakfast seemed so long ago, although in reality it had only been about five hours. The sun was almost directly overhead, so she guessed it was nearing noon. Unexpected tears came to her eyes as she ate the slabs of ham and hard biscuits, and she had a difficult time swallowing.
Today was to have been a day of celebration. Instead, it was a nightmare!
Why, Lord? I don’t understand. What is to become of me?
Her mother’s birthday was ruined. Ruined!
Certainly there would be no celebration now. All that hard work wasted! Fifteen-year-old twins Jessica and Jane had put in more hours than anybody, preparing various meats, pies and, of course, the birthday cake. How disappointed they must be!
She wondered if Megan had gone into town to search for her. Of her four sisters, Juliana was closest to nineteen-year-old Megan. She was the quiet, thoughtful one. The bookworm, her head filled with all sorts of romantic notions Juliana liked to tease her about. Poor Megan. Even she’d have a hard time putting a romantic spin on this situation.
What if Sheriff Timmons had sent someone out to the O’Malley farm to relay the awful news? They would be frantic with worry!
If it hadn’t been for this trio of wastrels, especially Harrison, the scoundrel … that greedy, no good—
Dusty black boots appeared in her line of vision, and she looked up to find the blackguard staring down at her, his brow furrowed in question.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you hungry?”
“What’s wrong?” She tossed the remainder aside and jumped up to face him squarely. He was tall, but then so was she. Tilting her head back a fraction, she glared at him. “Oh, let me see … I’d intended to go shopping but instead interrupted a robbery. I had a gun held to my head. I was forced to ride for hours with strangers to an undisclosed destination. To put it in simpler terms—you kidnapped me. Tackled me. Threatened me. Tore my favorite dress.” She indicated the hem with a sweep of her hand. “And worst of all,” her voice wobbled, “you made me miss my mother’s birthday.”
One rogue tear slipped down her cheek, and she blinked fast to dry her eyes.
Before she could comprehend what he intended, he lifted his hand to her face and ever so gently wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb. His touch was as delicate as a butterfly’s wing.
“I’m sorry.”
Juliana couldn’t move. Was that regret darkening his eyes? All coherent thought evaporated. She hadn’t a clue what to think or say. Him? Apologize?
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. The next moment he pivoted on his heel and strode away, making her wonder if she’d imagined the tender moment.
“Time to go,” he called over his shoulder. Apparently he was confident she wasn’t going to try to run away again. And why shouldn’t he be? He’d already proved she didn’t have a chance of escaping him.
She eyed his holster. Her
