Free The Loner by Genell Dellin Page A

“You don’t have to stand there and watch me.”
    â€œI will if I want to,” he said.
    He didn’t say it mean; he spoke absentmindedly, as if he weren’t quite aware of what he said. The searching had turned to a faraway look in his eyes—he was looking through her, all the way past her now, thinking about something else entirely. He might as well be trying to read something written on the floor beneath the bed for all he saw of her.
    She wondered what had taken his attention from her. She wanted him to look at her, really look at her again.
    And that thought scared her more than anything else. It was insane. All she needed to know of his thoughts was what he might do to prevent her escape.
    When she pushed up to sit higher against the pillows, the nightshirt bunched into a hard knotunder her bottom. She couldn’t pull at it without starting the pain again.
    â€œI told you not to undress me,” she said, feeling her color rise—along with her temper—as she imagined him doing it. “I told you not to take off my jeans and boots. You’re a man . You had no right .”
    That brought his thoughts back to her. He looked at her, really looked at her again, his eyes full of surprise and then as much anger as a nest of hornets.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about than who sees you naked.”
    â€œIt’s more who handles me naked that concerns me,” she said stoutly.
    She did feel embarrassed, yes, but mainly she felt scared. She was used to the hard, sharp edges of anger and revenge turning around and around inside her. Or the high, hot flares of excitement and intense concentration pushing against cold fear when she made a raid or ruined a bootlegger rendezvous.
    Now she had strange, turbulent feelings attacking her and no names for them. They were growing stronger by the minute as she looked at Black Fox Vann.
    Drive him away. What she had to do was drive him away and put the wall between them again.
    â€œYou can rest easy,” he said, his tone filling withsarcasm. “All I’ve handled is your wound—when you were bleeding to death.”
    â€œJust keep your hands off me,” she said, her voice trying to taper off from exhaustion.
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said, in that same sardonic tone. “I’m no Tassel Glass. All I wanted was to save your life.”
    â€œYou have no right to save my life,” she said, sudden new anger pushing strength into the words. “You’re the one trying to take it. I’d rather bleed to death than hang.”
    A terrible look sliced across his face, as if her words had cut him like a blade.
    â€œ You’re the one who took your own life when you killed Donald Turner,” he said. “And you’d better remember that, Cat.”
    â€œI didn’t kill him, Black Fox,” she said. “And you’d better remember that . You’ll be the death of an innocent person if you take me in to Judge Parker.”
    She thought she saw a glimmer of doubt in his eyes before he turned away.
    â€œI did not kill Donald Turner,” she said, from between her teeth, clenched now against the pain in her shoulder. “And if you’re anywhere near the kind of lawman that people say you are, you’ll go looking for whoever did kill him.”
    He refused to reply to that. In fact, he spoke quickly, as if to change the subject.
    â€œYou say you’re not able to get up,” he saidsharply, as if calling her a liar, “but you surely have to. I can help you use the…accommodations under the bed so you won’t have to go all the way to the outhouse.”
    â€œNo, thanks,” she said, just as sharply. “I can manage.”
    â€œI’ll help you stand up…”
    â€œNo,” she snapped. “Just go and close the door.”
    That, apparently, made him mad. He strode across