Free Only My Love by Jo Goodman Page B

quietly and evenly. She took no comfort in it or in the warmth he offered. She had spoken the truth when she said she wanted nothing from him. It had occurred to her there was some price for his protection and though Michael had no clear idea what he might demand, she had no wish to pay.
    She raised one corner of the blanket slightly to let in the firelight. The play of shadow across the hard cast of Ethan's features lent him an edge of dangerous mystery. Against her will, Michael felt herself drawn to him as she struggled to bring forward the memory that would set his face in place and time. As had happened previously, it was a fruitless struggle. There was no clear recollection of lightly colored, blue-gray eyes, of a hooded, direct gaze, of thick lashes or sun lines fanning the corners. She could not understand why the dark ebony hair, overlong at the nape with threads of gray at the temple, should be vaguely familiar when it was relatively unremarkable. Frustrated that she could not grasp the tantalizing bit of memory, Michael dropped the blanket back into place around Ethan and cautiously eased herself away from him.
    She missed his warmth immediately. In spite of the rocky shelter cold air swirled around her as she sat up. She knew then that while escape from the men was a possibility, her chances of escaping the elements were almost nil. She was stupid with cold, she thought, because knowing that she might freeze to death in the wild mountains of Colorado didn't change her mind about leaving.
    Michael carefully searched beneath the blankets for Ethan's discarded gloves. Finding them, she put them on, then removed the uppermost blanket and wrapped it around her head and shoulders. Michael rose slowly, making certain her stiff and unsteady legs would support her before stepping over Ethan and out of the stone shelter.
    The fire the others had built and surrounded with their bedrolls and saddle pillows was a mere pile of embers. Michael stood very still, listening to the shuffle of the horses and the restless movements of the pack mules. She knew her capabilities and admitted that she could never ride one of the animals back to the train, even if she could have mounted. She was likely to be thrown from one of the horses and the mules had been uncooperative even for the men who knew how to handle them. Michael saw no alternative save to set out on foot.
    Snow cushioned her footfalls but made walking difficult. She tried not to think of how far she had to go to reach the abandoned train but only of pressing on. After she had been walking awhile she turned around once, just to gauge her distance from the camp, and was discouraged to still be able to see the red-orange glow from the fire. The hundred yards she thought she had walked couldn't have been more than a hundred feet. Michael had considered the possibility of a search party finding her frozen body on the trail. She hadn't considered that she might fall so close to the robbers' camp that they would be witness to her death. It made her angry enough that she was able to increase her pace for the next few minutes.
    "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
    The voice, seemingly coming from nowhere, but surrounding her on all sides, brought Michael up short. It was Ethan's voice. There was no mistaking the deep, smooth, whiskey tones and the faint drawl. There was also no mistaking the impatience, incredulity, and anger. She clutched the blanket more tightly closed at her throat and squinted in the darkness to find him. She finally located Ethan standing above her on a rocky ledge. For some reason she thought of a mountain goat and giggled. In seconds, for no apparent reason other than she couldn't help herself, she was laughing uncontrollably.
    Recognizing that Michael had reached the end of her mental tether, Ethan climbed down from his perch. His large hands clamped her shoulders and his long fingers pressed deeply against the blanket and into her flesh. His shake was