he sighed, he could see why being a hero had gone completely out of style. It wasn’t easy being the knight on the shining white horse. Not with the women of today. Come to think of it, it wasn’t even easy with the horses of today. Honey made it clear she’d rather be eating oats than rescuing a damsel in distress.
“Tired, that’s what you are,” Flint said softly as he leaned over the horse’s neck. Honey sighed, and he gave the horse another encouraging nudge. “We’re both tired, aren’t we? But don’t worry. We’re almost there. Then I’ll have something sweet for you.”
The bundle behind him gave an indignant gasp and then another angry growl.
“I was talking to the horse.” Flint smiled in spite of himself.
Chapter Two
Francis wished she had worn those ruby silk flowers in her hair like the teenagers had urged her to do. At least then, when the horse shook her, the petals would fall to the ground and leave a trail in the snow for someone to follow when they searched for her in the morning. Maybe if she were lucky, some of the sequins on her long evening dress would fall to the ground and leave a trail of reddish sparkles.
She still didn’t understand what had happened.
One minute she’d been looking at the night sky, searching for the tail star of the Big Dipper. The next minute she’d felt someone put an arm around the small of her back. She hadn’t even been able to turn around and see who it was before another arm went behind her knees and she was lifted up.
Suddenly, instead of seeing the night sky she was looking square into the face of Flint Harris. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. Her mind went blank. Surely, it could not be Flint. Not her Flint. She blinked. He was still there.
She was speechless. He was older, it was true. Instead of the smooth-skinned boy she remembered, she saw the face of a man. Weather had etched a few fine lines around his eyes. A tiny scar crossed the left side of his chin. His face was fuller, stronger.
Oh, my Lord, she suddenly realized. It’s true. He’s kidnapping me!
Francis opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out. She took a good breath to try again when Flint swore and hurriedly stuffed an old bandanna into her mouth. The wretched piece of cloth smelled of horse. She understood why it smelled when Flint slung her over his back like she was nothing to him but a sack of potatoes in a fancy bag. He then hauled her off to a horse tied behind Mr. Gossett’s house.
Once Flint got to the horse, he stopped to slip some wool mittens from his hands and onto her hands. The mittens were warm inside from his body heat, and the minute he slid them onto her hands, her fingers felt like they were being tucked under a quilt.
But she didn’t have time to enjoy it.
There was a light on in old man Gossett’s house, and Francis struggled to scream through her gag. She knew the man was home since he never went to community gatherings. He was a sour old man and she wasn’t sure he’d help her even if he knew she was in trouble. Through the thin curtains on his window, she saw him slowly walking around inside his kitchen. Unless he’d grown deaf in these past years, he must have heard her. If he did, he didn’t come outside to investigate.
Flint didn’t give her a second chance to scream. He threw her over the back of the horse, slapped his jacket on her shoulders and mounted up.
Ever since then she’d been bouncing along, facedown, behind his saddle.
Finally, the horse stopped.
They had entered a grove of pine trees. The night was dark, but the moon was out. Inside the grove, the trees cut off the light of the moon, as well. Only a few patches of snow were visible. From the sounds beneath the horse’s hoofs, the rest of the ground was covered with dried pine needles.
The saddle creaked as Flint stood to dismount.
Francis braced herself. She’d been trained to cope with hostage situations in her job and knew a person was supposed to cooperate with the kidnapper. But surely that didn’t apply to criminals one knew. She and this particular criminal had slow danced together. He couldn’t shoot her.
She’d already decided to wait her chance and escape. She had a plan. Flint had made a mistake in putting the mittens on her. The wool of the mittens kept the cord from gripping her wrists tightly. When Flint stepped down on the ground, she would loosen the tie on her wrists, swing her body around and nudge that horse of his into as much of a gallop as the poor thing could handle.
Flint stepped down.
The horse whinnied in protest.
“What the—” Flint turned and started to swear.
Francis had her leg caught around the horn of the saddle. She’d almost made the turn. But almost wasn’t enough. She was hanging, with one leg behind the back of the saddle and one hooked around the horn. She’d ripped the skirt of her ruby sheath dress and all she’d accomplished was a change of view. Her face was no longer looking at the ground. Instead, she was looking straight into the astonished eyes of Flint L. Harris.
Francis groaned into her gag. She’d also twisted a muscle in her leg.
And she’d spooked the horse. The poor thing was prancing like a boxer. Each move of the beast’s hooves sent a new pain through Francis’s leg.
“Easy, Honey,” Flint said soothingly as he reached out to touch the horse.
Francis saw his hands in the dark. His rhythm was steady, and he stroked the animal until she had quieted.
“Atta girl.” Flint gave the horse one last long stroke.
Flint almost swore again. They should outlaw high heels. How was a man supposed to keep his mind on excitable horses and bad guys when right there—just a half arm’s length away—was a dainty ankle in a strappy red high heel? Not to mention a leg that showed all the way up to the thigh because of the tear in that red dress. He was glad it was dark. He hoped Francis couldn’t see in his eyes the thoughts that his mind was thinking.
“She’ll be quiet now.” Flint continued speaking slow and calm for the horse’s benefit. “But she spooks easy. Try to stay still.”
Even in the darkness inside the pine grove he could see the delicate lines of Francis’s face behind the gag. Her jaw was clenched tight. He hadn’t realized—
“I know it’s not easy,” he added softly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
A muffled protest came from behind the gag.
Francis had worn her dark hair loose, and it spilled into his hands when he reached up to untie the gag. Flint’s hands were cold, and her hair whispered across them like a warm summer breeze. He couldn’t resist lingering a moment longer than necessary inside the warmth of her hair.
“It’s not how I meant to say hello again,” Flint said as he untied the bandanna. And it was true. What he’d say when he met Francis again had gone from being a torture to a favorite game with him over the years. None of his fantasies of the moment had involved her looking at him with eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t pretend you ever meant to see me again.” Francis spit the words out when the
