Heather Graham (19 page)

Only when he was forced to relinquish his hold to load the truck did he do so. Martine stared mutely at him for a moment, then turned in a sudden whirl and raced back to the house.

He caught her on the porch. Again he didn’t hurt her. He just held her and smiled politely. “Mrs. Montgomery, you can set your rear into the truck or I can do it for you. The choice is yours.”

She squared her shoulders, stiffened her spine—and walked to the truck. She didn’t doubt him for a moment. Not in his present mood.

The long drive to the cliffs was made in total silence. Kane pulled the truck higher up the ridge than she had. He knew exactly where he wanted it: near the star.

“We’ll sleep in the cave,” he said curtly.

“What about snakes?”

He raised a brow to her. “Have you seen snakes up here?”

“Rattlers. They’re always around the rocks.”

“We’ll just make sure we’ve got clear space and that we aren’t disturbing any nests. Come on, let’s unload.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to help you do anything,” Martine said, not moving.

He shrugged and got out to do it himself.

After pulling out the blankets, food, and clothing, he paused, leaning against the driver’s window to stare at her across the seat. “Is the torch still in the trunk bin?” he asked.

Yes, but so was the gold!

She lowered her lashes to hide her growing panic. “I’ll get it!” she said quickly.

“I thought you weren’t going to help?”

“Just leave me alone and I’ll get the damn flashlight.”

He shrugged. Martine got out of the truck, waited for him to retreat to the cliff, and then got the flashlight, her heart beating furiously as she saw that the gold box was still there.

What would happen if he spent days digging only to discover that she had had it all along? If she could just get the keys to the truck away from him, it wouldn’t matter.

But when the sun set that night, she began to wonder uneasily if it would matter. She had spent the day sitting stonily in the shade of the cliff; Kane had spent the day splitting rock and digging. Bare-chested, he had spent hours swinging pick and shovel, and she had been left to watch the muscles play beneath the bronze tan of his glistening flesh.

And to wonder dully why she still wanted desperately to believe that it all was a nightmare, that some miracle would explain his behavior, that she could love him again.

He made their dinner, and she was too hungry to refuse the stew he cooked over an open fire.

Ironically he had brought wine. In her misery Martine decided she might as well drink it.

After they had eaten and Kane had set the plates aside, he sat across the open fire from her, still bare-chested, watching her as he poured out the last of the bottle of wine between them.

“Are you planning on killing me?” she asked bluntly.

“Killing you?” He was incredulous.

“This is kidnapping, you know.”

“In a sense, I suppose it is,” he replied. “But then,” he added lightly, raising his glass in the air, “we could think of it romantically, you know. Newlyweds beneath the stars.”

“If you touch me. I’ll scream my head off.”

Kane laughed again. It seemed that his temper had faded at last; he had beaten it out on the rock. “Martine, I’m willing to bet that if you believed in the least someone could hear you, you’d have been screaming long before now. But don’t worry, I’ve no intention of touching you.”

Martine blinked, wondering if he meant it.

“Who’s the old Indian woman?” she asked.

“A friend,” he said curtly.

“What is the relationship between you, Lisa, and her?”

“None of your business—unless I find the gold.”

He rose then and stretched. “Will you excuse me if I prove to be less than entertaining tonight, darling?” he drawled. “I’m really bushed.”

To Martine’s absolute amazement he prodded the fire to a satisfactory blaze, grabbed a blanket, and curled up beneath the shale.

She wished it could be so easy for her.

And then she was glad that it wasn’t. She waited for a long while until she heard his deep, even breathing.

She rose as quietly as she could, found his discarded shirt and denim jacket, and very methodically went through the pockets. To her frustration, the keys to the truck weren’t in any of them. With an oath of disgust she threw his shirt back to the ground, only to be rewarded by his husky chuckle.

“Sorry, sweetheart. They’re in the pants.”

Was there a slight innuendo to his words? At the moment she was too angry to care. She found her own blanket and curled up for a very miserable night.

By the morning she was stiff and sore and truly irritable. She wasn’t sure if she cared whether or not he had thoughts of doing away with her. Of course, that was probably because she didn’t believe—couldn’t believe—that he would hurt her.

Kane had breakfast ready. Bacon and eggs and hard rolls, all well prepared. But then she didn’t doubt that he had been around ranches all his life, and ranchers tended to know how to survive in the open.

She ate in rigid silence and was surprised when he told her he intended to drive to the stream for water and to wash.

He smiled at her suddenly eager expression.

“Don’t raise any false hopes, Martine. Sonia will be at the ranch house today, and Bill and Jim will be branding calves.”

“How do you know that?”

“I run a tight ship,” he said briefly.

They were alone at the stream, completely alone. Without a glance her way, Kane stripped and plunged in, obviously enjoying the clean water against his flesh. “Aren’t you coming in?” he asked cordially.

She felt sticky and dusty and miserable and longed to dive in. But she was also horrified by the thought that although she believed his promise that he wouldn’t touch her, she didn’t trust herself. It still hurt too badly. She had fallen too deeply in love to fall out of it easily; she had become too accustomed to his body joining with hers. …

“I don’t trust you,” she said sweetly.

“I told you I won’t touch you.”

She shrugged, then realized his pants were on the embankment. She tried to wait until he seemed unaware of her, still standing there. Then she hurried down to grab the pants quickly and rifle through the pockets.

It was no good. She had barely touched the jeans before he rose from the water in front of her and she found herself fully dressed and soaking in the stream.

“Martine,” he told her very softly, “you’re not leaving. We’re in this together now, you and I.”

“I hate you,” she told him.

He gave her a crooked, pained smile that almost managed to brush her heart. “Why couldn’t you ever just trust me?” he asked with a whispered agony that seemed to pull and tug at her soul and make her wish desperately all over again that there was some reason in it all.

She turned her back on him and swam a little down the stream. Moments later he stood on the bank, dressed in jeans again. “Take off your wet things. I’ll bring you dry clothing.”

The clothes were on the shore, and Kane was nowhere to be seen. Miserably Martine shed her soaked things, splashed in the fresh water again, and dressed.

Kane was waiting for her in the truck.

The rest of the day was similar to the one before it. Martine sat rigidly; Kane plowed away at rock and earth.

That night they ate hot dogs and drank burgundy.

“What happens if you don’t find the gold?” Martine asked.

The firelight was reflected in his eyes. “I’ll find it.” He smiled at her devilishly. “I’ve got lots and lots of time. And lots of faith.”

“What if the map is a sham?”

“It isn’t. I know a friend of the man who buried the gold.”

Martine stared at him hesitantly for a moment. “Kane, were you here the day that Ed was hurt?”

“No, I wasn’t,” he said flatly. Then he rose again and fixed the fire. “Good night, Martine.”

He got his blanket and curled up by the rock wall. Martine gazed into the fire, bleakly realizing this could go on interminably. She desperately needed to get away from him, but she could never make it on foot. She had to have the keys.

In frustration she curled up a little outside the cave entrance, staring up at the stars. Hours passed and a coyote began to howl in the distance, Martine shivered, remembering that they had never caught the prowling cougar. A wildcat wouldn’t bother her—she knew that—not unless she bothered it. But she was suddenly frightened and longed to curl up beside the man who had surely kept to one promise, the one he had made not to touch her.

The keys, she reminded herself, were in his pants, if she could only get his pants off. …

And then she was ashamed of herself for thinking of seducing a man—even if he was legally her husband—when she suspected there was something untrustworthy about him.

But as the coyote continued to howl she reminded herself that she had already made love with him dozens and dozens of times.

And somewhere in the middle of the night she stood, shed her clothing, and walked over to him.

“Kane!” she whispered.

He opened his eyes, astonished. She stood over him, tall and sleek, yet as beautifully curved and luscious as a nymph come to torment his dreams. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch her, to smooth back the auburn hair curling around the firelit silk of her flesh.

Instead, he smiled bitterly. “You’re not getting the keys, Martine.”

She spit out an oath and flounced back to her own position, sitting before the fire, her knees drawn up, her arms crossed and rested over them. Wearily she closed her eyes and put her head on her arms.

She was so angry, he thought bitterly, that she didn’t even realize she was still naked.

He rose and went over to her. He hunched down on the balls of his feet beside her to reach tenderly for her chin. She didn’t fight him. She just stared at him with such misery that he wanted to forget the whole thing.

But he couldn’t, not now. If he didn’t find the damned gold, he’d never be able to really clear himself in Martine’s eyes.

“Nan, the Indian woman, is very dear to me, Martine. I made a promise to her that I would never mention her name to anyone unless I did find the gold. When she was young, she was very deeply hurt. She sees few people. I would have brought you there eventually.”

“But you did bring Lisa,” Martine said, hurt and bewildered.

He hesitated for a long while. “Lisa is her granddaughter.” Once again, he paused. “And my cousin.”

“Cousin!” Martie gasped. “Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”

“When I find the gold, I’ll explain the whole thing. I swear.” He smiled painfully at her, dared brush her forehead with a kiss, then returned to his own place against the rock.

For a long while he lay there with his heart beating like a drum, praying breathlessly, clenching his jaws together so tightly they hurt.

And then his prayer was answered. “Kane?”

He spread open his blanket. She lay down beside him, and he shook when he touched her.

“Kane, I have to tell you something,” she whispered.

“Not tonight,” he told her raggedly. “Not tonight, please. Love me, Martine. Trust me … if just for tonight. Be my wife and my lover. Hold me. God, but I missed touching you. …”

He did so then, reverently. The dirt floor became a bed of soft clouds for them both. Never had making love been more beautiful, for each touch was stressed by words of love and assurance, words that overlapped one another, mattering tremendously and not mattering at all. …

“I still don’t understand, but it doesn’t matter—”

“I kept losing my temper because I was so afraid I was going to lose you—”

“I couldn’t stop loving you. Even now I have to trust you because I can’t stop—”

“I had to keep my word, you’ll understand—”

“Dear God, I think I’d die without you—”

“Oh, Martine, touch me, hold me—”

“Kane—”

Nothing was really explained. It really didn’t matter. Through it all Martine felt bliss and contentment and splendor.

She had never been foolish—only when she doubted him. Her love had always been the truth; she was fully convinced of that now.

And in the morning she would point him to the gold, and they would laugh. …

And then his mystery would be explained. Right now it didn’t matter. No gold on earth could compare to that of his eyes when he was warmed and brightened by his desire, his tenderness, the love she fully believed in. Nestled in his arms, she was convinced that the cave was the most beautiful, romantic place on earth. So, content with the present and the thought of the future, she slept.

Martine awoke knowing something was wrong, yet confused about what it was. The fire was burning. She could smell coffee perking.

With her eyes still closed, she knew that the coffee was almost ready—

That was what was wrong. Coffee shouldn’t have been ready, because Kane was still beside her. She could feel his body beside her own.

She opened her eyes and gasped. She was staring down the long nose of a double-barreled shotgun.

“Good morning, Mrs. Montgomery,” Ken Lander said cordially, not moving the shotgun from her face. He smiled, and she thought again that it was such a pity such an attractive smile could hold such venom. She swallowed, drawing the blanket around her nudity, wondering why Kane didn’t wake.

“What do you want?” She glanced quickly at Kane’s shoulders; he didn’t move.

Ken Lander laughed; the sound was absurdly good-natured. “He’s not going to wake up, Martine.”

“What do you mean?” she exclaimed, wanting to touch Kane yet terrified to do so.

“Oh, he’s not dead—yet,” Lander said. “They say the strongest man has his weakness. You were Kane’s, Martine. You see, I came in here while you were still sleeping like a baby. I told him I’d slit your throat if he came too near me, and when I asked him, the man turned around as docile as a lamb. Went down like a damned mountain lion, though. But he should be out of it for a while, at least long enough for me to talk to you.”

“Talk about what?” she demanded hoarsely.

“The gold, Martine.”