"You're breaking my heart. Go to bed."
"Mariah's waiting for me."
"I'll tell her what we decided," Cash said. "With luck, she'll change her mind when she finds out Nevada won't be her trusty wilderness guide."
"Are you deaf as well as blind? I keep telling you, it's not Nevada she's looking at!"
Cash turned on his heel and left the room without saying another word, but he let the outside door close behind him hard enough to make a statement about his temper.
Outside, the cool summer darkness was awash with stars and alive with the murmur of air sliding down from the highlands to the long, flat valley that was the Rocking M's center. Lights burned in the bunkhouse and in the old ranch house. Cash moved with the swift, ground-covering strides of a man who has spent much of his adult life walking over wild lands in search of the precious metals that fed civilization's endless demands. Though he wore only a shirt and jeans, he didn't notice the crisp breeze." He knocked on the front door of the old ranch house with more force than courtesy.
"Come in, Luke. It's open."
"It's Cash. Is it still open?"
Mariah looked down at her oversize cotton nightshirt and bare feet. For an instant she wished she were wearing Spanish lace, Chinese silk and French perfume. Then she sighed. As angry as Cash sounded, she could be naked and it wouldn't make a speck of difference.
What is it about me that irritates him?
There was no answer to the question, other than the obvious one. He wasn't wild about the idea of being saddled with her out in the backcountry, just as he hadn't been wild about helping her with her car. He looked at her as a helpless, useless burden. That shouldn't surprise her. Her stepfather had felt precisely the same way.
Mariah opened the door and stifled an impulse to slam it shut before Cash could come in. He towered over her, looming out of the darkness like a mountain, and his eyes were black with anger.
"Come in, or would you rather bite my head off out in the yard?"
The sound Cash made could most politely be described as a growl. He stepped forward. Mariah retreated. A gust of wind sucked the door shut.
Cash looked at the nightshirt that should have concealed Mariah's curves but ended up teasing him by draping softly over her breasts and hips. Desire tightened his whole body, hammering through him with painful intensity. The thought of being alone with her night after night was enough to make him slam his fist into the wall from sheer frustration.
"What do you know about wild country?" Cash asked savagely.
"It's where gold is found."
He hissed a single word, then said, "This won't be a trendy pseudo-wilderness trek along a well-beaten path maintained by the National Park Service. Can you even ride a horse?"
"Yes."
"Can you ride rough country for half a day, then scramble over rocks for another half day?"
"If I have to."
"The line shack leaks and it rains damn near every night. The only privy is a short-handled shovel. At the end of a hard day you have to gather firewood, haul water, wash out your socks so you won't blister the next day, eat food you're too tired to cook properly, sleep on a wood floor that has more drafts than bare dirt would and-"
"You make it sound irresistible," Mariah interrupted. "I accept."
"Damn it, you aren't even listening!"
"You aren't telling me anything I don't already know."
"Then you better know this. We'll be alone out there, and I mean alone."
Mariah met Cash's dark glance without flinching and said, "I've been alone since I was dragged off the Rocking M fifteen years ago."
Cash jammed his hands into his back pockets. "That's not what I meant, lady. Up on Devil's Peak you could scream your pretty head off and no one would hear."
"You would."
"What if I'm the one making you scream? Have you thought about that?"
"Frankly, you're making me want to scream right now."
There was a charged silence.
Mariah smiled tentatively and put her hand out in silent appeal. "I know what you're trying to say, Cash, but let's be honest. I don't have the kind of looks that drive a man crazy with desire and we both know it. Just as we both know you don't want to take me across the road, much less spend a few weeks in the wild with me. But I'm going to Devil's Peak. I've been dreaming of looking for Mad Jack's mine as long as I can remember. Come hell or high water, that's what I'm going to do."
Cash looked down at the pale, graceful hand held out to him in artful supplication. He remembered how cool and silky Mariah's fingers had felt when they had rested on his bare forearm. He remembered how quickly her hand had warmed at his touch. He wondered if all of her would catch fire that fast.
The thought made him burn.
"I'll take care of packing the supplies and horses," Cash said coldly, "because sure as hell you won't know how. We leave in five hours. If you aren't ready, I'll leave without you."
"I'll be ready."
Cash turned and left the house before Mariah could see just how ready he was right now.
6
Five hours later Mariah pulled open the front door before Cash could knock. Silently he stared at her, noting the lace-up shoes, faded jeans, an emerald turtleneck T-shirt beneath a black V-necked sweater and a long-sleeved man's flannel shirt that ended at her hips. The arms of a windbreaker were tied casually around her neck. The outfit should have made her look as appealing as a mud post, but it was all he could do not to run his hands over her to find the curves he knew waited beneath the sensible trail clothes.
"Here," Cash said, holding out a pair of cowboy boots. "Luke said to wear these if they fit. They're Carla's."
While Mariah tried on the boots, Cash glanced around. She had packed a lot less gear than he had expected. A military surplus backpack was stuffed tightly and propped against the wall. Other military surplus items were tied to the backpack – canteen, mess kit and the like. Extra blankets had been rolled up and tied with thongs.
"Where's your sleeping bag?" he asked.
"I don't have one."
"What the hell are you planning to sleep on?"
"My side, usually. Sometimes my stomach."
Cash clenched his jaw. "What about hiking boots?"
"My shoes are tougher than they look." Mariah stood and stamped her feet experimentally. "They're long enough, but they pinch in the toes."
"That's how you know they're cowboy boots," Cash retorted.
Mariah glanced at Cash's big feet. He was wearing lace-up, rough-country hiking boots that came to just below his knees. The heels were thick enough to catch and hold the edge of a stirrup securely. She had priced a similar pair in Seattle and decided that she would have to find Mad Jack's mine before she could afford the boots.
She bent down, tied her shoes to the backpack, and picked it up. "Ready."
Cash's long, powerful arm reached out, snagged Mariah's impromptu bedroll, and stuffed it none too gently into her hands. "Don't forget this."
"You're too kind," she muttered.
"I know."
Empty-handed, Cash followed Mariah to the corral. Four horses waited patiently in the predawn darkness. Two of them were pack animals. The other two were saddled. Cash added Mariah's scant baggage to one of the existing packs and lashed everything securely in place. Moments later he stepped into the saddle of a big, rawboned mountain horse, picked up the lead rope of the pack animals and headed out into the darkness without so much as a backward look.
"It won't work," Mariah said clearly. "I don't need your help to carry my stuff. I don't need your help to get on a horse. I don't need your help for one damned thing except to make Luke feel better!"
If Cash heard, he didn't answer.
Mariah went to the remaining horse, untied it and mounted a good deal less gracefully than Cash had. It had been six years since she had last ridden, but the reflexes and confidence were still there. When she reined the small mare around and booted it matter-of-factly in the ribs, it quickly trotted after Cash's horse. The mare was short-legged and rough-gaited, but amiable enough for a child to ride.