Free Rainbows and Rapture by Rebecca Paisley Page B

Many years had passed since anyone had shown him any sort of care. He’d been forced to run far away from that kindness then, and he refused to accept it now, either.
    He yanked the blanket off. “I’m not cold!”
    She frowned down at him, baffled by his sudden anger. “Well, all right! But you ain’t gotta act so ugly about it, do you? Great and greasy gobs o’ gallopin’ goose hair, Zamora, I was only tryin’ to be nice.”
    He bolted to his feet and stalked away from the dying fire. “I don’t recall asking you to be nice.”
    Her frown deepened. “I ain’t never heared o’ needin’ permission to be nice to somebody. Why cain’t I be nice to you?”
    He jammed his fingers through his hair and stared at the distant darkness. “Because I say so.”
    “Well, that’s jist plumb nelly dumb . Do you tell ever’body not to be nice, or jist me?”
    He broke a twig off a wilted crabapple tree. He never had to tell anyone how to act. Everyone always acted the same—afraid. So afraid that no one even got near him unless it was absolutely necessary.
    Everyone except Russia Valentine. Dammit, what was the matter with the girl? Didn’t she care anything at all about his dangerous reputation? He raked his hand through his hair again.
    When he didn’t reply, Russia recalled that earlier in the day he hadn’t wanted her to say anything about his looks, either. “Do y’like folks to be mean to you?”
    “I like to be left alone.”
    “Well, you sure don’t have any problem with that, do you? From what I seed back in Hamlett, folks stay as far away from you as they can git.”
    He ignored the emptiness he felt at her last statement. “Where were you before Rock Springs?” he asked again.
    Russia couldn’t for the life of her understand the man. Shrugging, she lay back down in her bed, turned onto her side, and propped herself up on her elbow. “I been all over. I cain’t remember ever’ single town. Now come back over here by the fire and git it goin’ good again. It’s pro’bly chilly over there in the dark, and you’re gonna git ammonia.”
    “Pneumonia!”
    “Whatever. Now git over here where it’s warmer. It ain’t that I’m tryin’ to be nice to you or nothin’, but if you take sick, I ain’t gonna have nobody to help me catch Wirt.”
    He saw right through her lie. In an effort to forget the distressing emotions her strange regard for him caused, he decided to concentrate on something he could understand. Ambling toward her, he stared at her breasts. Through the thin fabric of her gown, he could see their dusky crests. He tried to look nonchalant, but felt his face tighten as desire returned. “You have to remember the towns, Russia. Otherwise, we stand no chance of finding Avery.”
    She closed her eyes and thought. Finally, after a very long moment, the information came to her. “Before Rock Springs I was in Rosario, Mexico. Before that, I was—”
    “Rosario? That’s a long way from Rock Springs. Why did you go so far?” he murmured huskily, savoring the sight of her softly formed mouth.
    His gently asked question pleased her. Maybe he was mellowing toward her. “Y’know, Zamora,” she began, smiling, “you’re a halfway decent feller when you ain’t spittin’ spite. This talk we’re havin’ right now’s the nicest one we’ve ever had.”
    She was looking at him with a tender glow in her eyes. His irritation and puzzlement swelled, and he wished to God he could understand why she was intent on being so kind to him. “Where were you before Rosario?” he snapped.
    “Calavera,” she said sweetly, determined to ignore his renewed gruffness. “It’s a small town about ten miles from the Mexican border.”
    “Twenty miles,” he corrected her.
    “Ten miles, twenty miles. What’s the difference?” She braced herself for his loud reply.
    “The difference is ten miles!”
    At the yell she’d known she’d hear, she smiled. “Yeah, well, I don’t travel nowheres else