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  His voice was heavy with sarcasm, "Oh, yes, ma'am. Miss Townsend, perfectly clear." Then a smile spread across his lips, but there was no humor in his cold gray eyes. "Now, let me make something clear to you. I would not escape—even though you have given me several opportunities already, and will no doubt present me with several more before we reach the ranch. Do you want to know why?"

  "Not particularly," she quipped indifferently, and all the while her mind raced, wondering if she had indeed given him chances to escape. No, she had been too careful . . . hadn't she?

  "Nevertheless, I’ll tell you-even if you threaten to shoot my legs out from under me for talking. I wouldn't miss the expression on your face when you learn I have been telling the truth. Nor would I miss the expression on your face when I turn you over my knee and give you a good paddling!"

  Haughtily, she tossed her head. "You wouldn't dare!"

  "Oh, wouldn't I?" Adam's gray eyes gleamed at such an enjoyable thought. "Since you behave like a wild heathen, that's exactly how you should be treated."

  "Quit calling me that name! Just because I am part Indian gives you no right . . ."

  Careful to keep his features expressionless, Adam was inwardly startled over her revelation. From her appearance, he'd had no inkling this girl was part Indian; not with her having a relatively fair complexion, soft green eyes, and no distinct Indian features. He knew Warren was white, and that he had three half-Indian brothers, but to his knowledge Warren had never mentioned having a sister—mixed blood or otherwise. "Your heritage has nothing to do with my statement! It so happens, I was referring to the fact that you charged headlong into a dangerous situation-something a lone man would have given serious consideration to before doing. And if you think you're fooling anyone by running around wearing men's clothes-that are much too tight-and using grammar that makes you sound^ like you’ve never cracked a book, you're not. You're a ... a nuisance, that's what you are . . . worse than a flea on a dog." ,

  "Y-you have your nerve speaking to me like that! She sputtered indignantly. She thought her charade had been a stroke of genius, but apparently he had seen through it immediately. Then why had he allowed her to capture him? Could it be, he had been telling the truth?

  Adam continued as though he never heard her, although his voice was now edged with steel, "Furthermore, if you had any brains between your ears you would know that even a tame animal will turn dangerous when cornered. Did you ever stop and consider that you’ve accused me of cattle rustling and murder? Either crime is a hanging offense and a man can only die once. If I was guilty, I would have nothing to lose by trying to get the drop on you. And by damn if I was guilty, I might not stop at stealing your horse and riding away. I might be tempted to see for myself just how much of a woman you are underneath those tight britches." He rocked back on his heels and, ignoring the pain that shot through his feet, smiled smugly. "Judging by the expression on your face, I'll bet you never considered that possibility, did you?"

  Too stubborn to admit how sensible his argument was, Blair protested, "N-no, but you have underestimated my ability to defend myself. Mister . . ."

  "Cahill, Adam Cahill. And I think you have overestimated yourself. There is a world of difference in firing at a tin can until you can hit it accurately, or shooting wild game to go on the table. But when a man takes a bead on another man and knows when he pulls the trigger, that man will die . . . well, it sets him to thinking. It is a deed a man with a conscience does not take lightly." The lines deepened along his brows and under his eyes, a muscle flicked angrily at his jaw. "I’ve spoke my piece and you'll hear no more lectures from me. You can stay here until dark if you like, but I'm going to the ranch. I've walked more today and endured more aggrevation than I have in my entire life, and Tm tired." With that, he turned and began walking.

  Quickly mounting, Blair had to let out enough rope to accommodate his long, limping strides, then quickly shortened it when she nudged the mare to within ten yards of him.

  Not wanting to admit she might have been mistaken, Blair was determined to have the last word. "You just said all those things in hopes that 1 will relax my guard. Well, I’ll tell you right now, Mr. Adam Cahill, it won't work! It won't work at all!"

  Adam never said a word. Instead, his jaw thrust more defiantly, and his shoulders squared with renewed determination.

  The sun was just setting low in the western sky when they entered the front yard. Tillie, who had been standing on the porch, hurried to meet them.

  "Stay back, Tillie," Blair warned. Although the man's argument had made very good sense, she felt committed to seeing it through until her brothers returned. Then, they could decide whether he was telling the truth. "This man is dangerous. I caught him near Grandfather's meadow. He had just killed one of our steers. Not only that, I've got my suspicions he has murdered the deputy marshal."

  Tillie's huge black eyes grew even rounder when she looked at the man and saw for herself the dangerous aura he emitted. "Oh, Lord help us all!" she wailed, clutching at her bosom.

  Minutely shaking her head, Blair shot her a cautious look. "Is Warren here?"

  "No, don't you remember, child? Ah told you Mr. Warren won't be. . . ."

  ". . . You said you expected him and all of the ranch hands to be here by suppertime."

  Finally understanding the meaning behind the girl's words, she said hurriedly, "That's right, but Ah ain't seen hide nor hair of 'em yet." Carrying the pretense as far as she knew how, Tillie shaded her eyes and peered into the distance. "Don't know what could be keeping 'em. They should have been back long 'fore now,"

  Thinking quickly, Blair displayed false bravado. "Don't worry about it, Tillie. We can handle him. We'll just lock him in the storm cellar. Once he is inside there, escape will be impossible."

  The storm cellar was an impenetrable fortress. It was seven feet deep, measuring twelve by twenty feet in length and width. The top was braced with massive oak logs and covered with six feet of firmly packed red clay. Sometimes, during tornado weather, especially if a bad cloud was brewing, the entire family would sleep down there. She figured if it was strong enough to withstand some of those violent storms, it was strong enough to safely hold Adam Cahill until help arrived.

  Dismounting, she gestured with the rifle. "All right, mister, go around the side of the house and raise the cellar door. Tillie, don't get close to him, he's a desperate man. There's no telling what he'll try to do."

  Adam rolled his eyes and merely shook his head to conceal his annoyance.

  Breathing hard, Tillie followed close behind Blair. "Oh, don't worry none about that. Ain't going to give that hairy-legged man a chance to grab me—or you either for that matter!" She brandished the broom that seemed as much a part of her as her hand. "A'll whomp him across the head if'n he tries! Yes, ma'am," she added empathetically, "Ah'll do it in a minute, so, Mr. Outlaw, don't get any funny notions, you hear!"

  Reaching the cellar, Blair ordered sharply, "Now, raise the door and go all the way to the back, and I’ll throw the rope in after you."

  "You mean the condemned prisoner doesn't get a final meal?" Adam questioned, the cynical half-smile acutely marking his attractive yet lethal-appearing countenance.

  She retorted in a voice that was whipcord sharp, "There's food stored down there, help yourself. There are also beds, quilts and blankets, and there are candles and a tin of matches located in a groove on the left wall close to the bottom step. A lit candle should enable you to find the lamp." A smug, satisfied gleam came into her eyes. "And just to show you that even a wild heathen can have compassion, Tillie, please get a bucket of water and when he gets to the back of the cellar, place it on the first step."

  "Ifn you ask me, you're treating him too good, 'specially if he killed Mr. Ramsey."

  "Even though the facts point to his guilt, it hasn't been proven yet. And knowing Pete Ramsey, he would want this man to have a fair trial before he
was hanged."

  Adam tossed back his head and laughed heartily "Again, too many dime novels and penny dreadfuls!" he admonished.

  She was barely able to control her rush of anger. "Oh, be quiet! Go on, get inside the cellar! You've done nothing but make sly and insulting remarks!"

  His tone was filled with scorn and ridicule, "Yes, ma'am, anything you say."

  The moment the cellar door was safely locked behind him, Blair lowered the rifle and sighed from relief. Not accustomed to carrying a heavy gun for so long, she doubted if she could have held it, aimed, a second longer. Her heart hammered wildly against her breast as fear and thoughts of what could have happened swept over her like a stormtide.

  Tillie placed one hand akimbo and wagged a scolding finger at her. "What did Ah tell you, child? Ah told you it was dangerous for a young girl to go off riding alone. Ah warned you 'bout them mean or nesters!"

  "Yes, Tillie, I know you did," Blair said, staring thoughtfully at the closed door. "But you are wrong about one thing. I don't know what he is . . . but I know he's not a nester." For a moment she could see him in her mind's eye; the way he cocked his head to one side when amused—even though his amusement had been laced with caustic humor, how his eyes narrowed with anger, how his lips tightened in a grim line. No doubt she had seen his ill-tempered attributes and she wondered how he would look clean shaven and in a good mood. Delightful shivers raced over her at that thought. Deep inside her began the fervent hope that he was innocent as he had claimed. There was also a nagging worry that she had pushed him too far, had stripped him of too much pride for him to ever look at her without hate and contempt in his eyes.

  Sighing wearily, she started for her horse but Tillie stopped her. "Where do you think you are going, child?"

  "For his horse and gear. The animal is injured and I promised him I would not leave it out there overnight. And there's no use arguing with me about it, my mind is made up."

  Shaking her head, Tillie shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "Ah'm not about to waste my breath 'cause that's all Ah'd be doing if Ah tried to talk you out of going. 'Sides, Ah haven't lived out here for nigh on to twenty years without knowing an injured animal is easy pickings for the creatures who roam at night. You just be careful and hurry home. Ah'll have supper waiting on you."

  After the door closed behind him, the cellar became pitch black. Striking a match and lighting the candle located exactly where she told him, Adam made his way over to the lamp and lit it. Within such a dark enclosure, the flickering light cast a warm, amber glow, enabling him to see quite well.

  Three beds were lined side by side with only a tiny walk space in between. Quilts and blankets had been rolled up and tied, and were lying across the foot of each bed. A scarred table held a set of dominos still scattered about, and above the table was a lantern that could be pulled down for additional light. Shelves on either side of the walls contained many jars of canned food. There was a damp, musty smell in the air even though a flue had been placed in the ceiling for the express purpose of letting fresh air inside. As with all storm cellars in this part of the country, he knew the mustiness came from the red clay soil the land was known for.

  "Not exactly the comforts of home," Adam muttered aloud, "but I’ve been in worse."

  Sighing wearily, he sank onto one of the beds and removed his moccasins. Wincing from pain, he stared at his feet, noting that the blisters had popped and his socks were now stained with blood. "Damn!" he grumbled. "If that little . . . heathen hadn't interfered, I could have taken my time getting here and my feet wouldn't be in this bad of shape." He threaded his fingers through his hair. "Damn head hurts too-but not nearly as much as her backside will when I finish with her!"

  It wasn't so much that Adam blamed the girl for his predicament; if he had not been so careless, she would have never caught him by surprise. But she had humiliated him and that was even worse, because he had a strong opinion about how women should behave, and how they should stay in their place. A woman — regardless if she measured five feet and weighed one hundred pounds soaking wet, or a six-foot Amazon tipping the scales at two hundred pounds — was a delicate creature and a man was supposed to protect her. A woman was lace, silk, and gingham, all rolled into one. A woman had a fresh-baked-bread smell about her. She was a loving mother, she was a songstress whose voice carried sweetly into the night. Granted, a woman living on a farm or ranch was more knowledgeable than a city person. But a real woman did not wear men's trousers, ride astride a horse, talk like a wild-eyed heathen, or brandish a rifle like a man. If that girl had had one ounce of female blood in her, she should have fainted dead away after realizing the danger she was in.

  Then, a slow smile spread lazily across Adam's face as he recalled her defiance, her bravery—foolish as it was —her iron will and stubbornness. Even he had to admit, if the circumstances had been different, it might have been refreshing to meet a female so full of fire and sassiness. Without a doubt, there was much more to the little girl with the woman hidden—and not very well at that—underneath the dirty face, bad grammar, and tight clothing, and he would like to be around to see the real woman when she revealed herself.

  Not liking the direction his thoughts were going, Adam gave his head a vigorous shake. "I can't spend my time thinking about that little uncivilized pagan," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I have more important things to do."

  Knowing his feet needed immediate attention, Adam searched the shelves for something with which to doctor them. Finding a tin of Cloverleaf Salve, and an enamel wash pan, he then carried the bucket of water to the bedside and poured some into the pan before tearing a sheet into strips. After removing his socks, he slowly thrust his feet into the water. The icy shock caused him to wince and suck air between his teeth. With each painful throb, he muttered curse words that only a man should hear, but they were directed at the mere snip of a girl who was miles away collecting his horse and gear.

  Chapter 6

  Like a pale blush of pink dotting a woman's cheeks, dawn was stealing slowly across the sky when Blair awoke. Soft sighs of contentment escaped her throat after snuggling into her pillow and deeply breathing the fresh, crisp air that ruffled the curtains at the partially opened window. Stretching languidly, a frown creased her brow when the faint stirrings of an unpleasant dream tugged at her subconscious. Then, her eyes flew open and she bolted upright in bed when the memory of the previous day came flooding back.

  Had she actually captured a possible cattle rustler and murderer, then marched him in at gun point? Searching her mind, she hugged her knees to her. There was no denying it, it had happened! At the thought of what she had done, gooseflesh popped up on her arms and back and she sat there, amazed and very shaken. How could she have been so foolish as to risk her life by attempting to capture such a dangerous man?

  Then, an astounding thought struck her that left her senses reeling. Did she really feel foolish, or was it just an emotion her conscience demanded she have?

  "Now why would I think something as ridiculous as that?" she mused aloud. "He is a dangerous man . . . and the fact that he is also handsome shouldn't matter in the least. I’ve read that many diabolical men have hard, lithe-muscled forms, arms rippling with power, and lips. ..."

  Shaking her head vigorously, Blair could not believe what was going through her mind. "That man was certainly right about one thing! I have been reading too many dime novels! Imagine, having romantic notions about ..." She hesitated, blinking with bafflement and exasperation. "There my vivid imagination goes again!"

  Swinging her legs from beneath the heavy quilt, she pulled on the robe lying across the foot of her bed. "I have better things to do than burden my mind with such foolish thoughts."

  Since apparently none of the hands had returned to the ranch during the night, there would be chores to do. Her bare feet felt the early morning chill of the wood floor as she crossed to open the door leading into the hal
l.

  When the door was opened, Tillie, who had been dozing in a chair, came instantly awake. Blair gasped and stammered in profound confusion, "What on earth are you . . . Did you sleep here last night?" she asked, dismayed.

  Tillie stood and stretched, her bones popped and snapped from the movement. "No, Ah can't rightly say Ah slept here, but Ah did sit here though."

  "In heaven's name, why?"

  Tillie never batted an eye. "Didn't want to chance that man bustin' out of the cellar and coming in here and murdering us in our sleep."

  "Oh, Tillie," Blair muttered impatiently, "we were in no danger. That cellar is strong enough to hold ten men." Seeing the weariness on the old woman's face, she smiled tenderly and placed a kiss on her cheek. "But I thank you for looking after me. Now, you go on to your room and get some sleep while I take care of the chores. I don't want to give Warren anything else to be angry about, and you know what a stickler he is about the chores being done first thing in the morning."

  "You sure you don't need any help?"

  "Positive. Actually, there really isn't that much to do. Yesterday when I saddled the mare, I noticed there was only one milk cow; all of the others haven't come fresh yet." Suddenly she giggled. "Gracious, it feels good for someone to understand me when I say something like that! The girls at the school would have no idea that the term 'coming fresh' refers to a pregnant cow who can't give milk until she has her calf. But, as I was saying, the hands have taken most of the horses, and the ones that are here can graze in the pasture. So the chores shouldn't take more than an hour at the most."

  "What 'bout that man?" Tillie asked, her voice lowered fearfully.

  Blair shrugged, pretending indifference. "He has plenty of food and water, he'll keep until Warren gets here."