It took her a moment to grasp that, but then the color drained from her face. "Oh, God, no wonder you couldn't move when you saw him! I couldn't move myself when I thought he was going to hit me, and I didn't know what it would feel like. But you knew. oh, God," she groaned and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck again, as if by doing so she could take the memory away for him. "You knew exactly what it would feel like if he struck you. and he did! You had to relive that nightmare—"
"Cut it out, Duchess," he said gruffly. "You're making it out to be worse than it was. I felt nothing. It takes live nerves to feel pain, and I've got few of those left."
"Oh, God!" She started crying again.
"Now what?"
But she shook her head, aware that he wouldn't want to hear her say that was worse. Only he knew what she was thinking. And he knew what she was doing, trying to smother him with the soothing only a female could offer. She'd have his head at her breast if he'd let her, and trouble was, the thought was too tempting by half.
He had to get her mind on something else, and spotting the rifle she'd dropped on the floor, he asked, "Where were you heading with that rifle?"
"I'm afraid I didn't hear you come in," she snif-fled. "It had finally occurred to me that you might have had more difficulty at the,saloon after I left."
"And so you were going back to save me?"
"Something like that."
She expected him to laugh. Instead she felt his hand in her hair pulling her head back so he could kiss her. And she didn't wonder about the almost desperate quality of that kiss, for it could have been more on her part than his. Their time together was running out, and they both knew it.
Chapter Forty-three
There was a light swirling of snow outside the windows of the private car as the train rolled into the Cheyenne depot. After spending nearly a year in the warm Mediterranean countries before sailing to America, Jocelyn had not seen snow in a very long time.
"Is the weather too severe here for horses, do you think?" she asked as she let the curtain fall back into place.
Colt was shrugging into his coat. "Wild horses have lived here for hundreds of years, Duchess. You think folks can get along without their horses?"
She smiled a little self-consciously. She'd told Vanessa she meant to locate her stud farm here, but that decision had been impulsive, influenced by the man casually preparing to leave the train — and her. If she had no other reason to live in this territory, perhaps another part of the country would be better for raising her Thoroughbreds.
"But would you breed horses here?" she asked him.
"I intend to, with that little filly you owe me. If you're worried if she'll survive, don't be. The weather is actually ideal for animals, the summers not too hot, the winters not too cold."
"It was my own stock I was concerned with. Didn't I mention that I am considering staying here?"
"For God's sake, why?"
She turned away from his expression of horror, a lump rising in her throat. It hurt, it really did, and she was about to tell him not to worry about it, that if she did choose the Wyoming Territory for her farm, she'd make sure it was far away from him.
But he came up behind her, placing a hand on each shoulder to tell her, "Forget I said that. What you do now is your own concern, since my job's over."
But how in the hell was he going to get through each day knowing she was close? Colt wondered. He had thought she'd do whatever it was she had come here for, then take the train back East. He could forget about her then. But if she didn't leave.
She shrugged his hands away, but he'd felt her stiff-ness before she did. "I can't imagine why I keep forgetting how eager you are to end our association. If you'll just take me to a hotel, you can be on your way. I'll have your fee delivered to your sister's ranch as soon as it arrives."
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I—"
"No. you won't, Duchess."
Jocelyn's lips clamped together. He'd done this to her once before, only then she had merely wanted to talk to him. Now she wasn't so intimidated by that implacable expression. She was also allowing her temper to push aside her hurt. So he wouldn't wait? So he wanted all ties with her broken immediately?
After the week they had just spent together, she had thought she had begun to understand him a little better. She had even begun to hope.
"If you're worried that I'll deliver the money, I won't. I assure you, you won't have to see me again. But I certainly haven't carried that kind of money in my valise. If you can't wait until my wagons arrive, I suppose I can wire my closest bank and have the money transferred — what is it now?" she demanded when he kept shaking his head.
"You try and pay me that money and I'll burn it. I never wanted the damn money and you know it. You just have that filly delivered when she's ready to be parted from her mama, and we'll be square."
"So you stuck with a job you hated for nothing? At least let me pay you the going fee—"
"No."
She glared at him. "You're determined to make me feel guilty for taking advantage of you, aren't you?
But I'll have to disappoint you. If I feel anything, it's certainly not guilt."
With that she swiped up her valise and marched out the door. Colt gritted his teeth, angry enough to spit.
His saddlebags were still in the bed compartment, or he'd have been right behind her. Damned women.
Was she trying to make him feel guilty for not taking her money? All he wanted was to get away from her before he did something stupid, like tell her how he felt about her. He could just imagine her reaction to that. She'd run like hell — if she didn't laugh first.
He recalled what she'd said about visiting that sa-loon, that she'd never have the opportunity again because once her people rejoined her, she couldn't be so bold. The same thing applied to him and he knew it. She might be willing to share his blankets as long as they were alone and no one else knew about it, but some of her people were bound to be here waiting for her. She'd be appalled if they found out she'd taken her half-breed guide for a lover. If she had a bee under her bonnet now, it was likely because he'd re-minded her it was over before she could dismiss him. That was when she had gotten all stiff and huffy.
Slamming out of the private car, Colt had to run to catch up with the duchess. She should have gone di-rectly to the stock car so they could retrieve the horses first, but instead she was moving briskly into town. He had half a mind to just let her go. She was safe enough now. But worrying about her had become a habit. Until he was sure her people had arrived ahead of them by train and he could turn her over to them, he was still stuck with her.
Jocelyn was too angry to notice where she was going, who she was passing, or anything else about Cheyenne, Wyoming. She felt — used. Good Lord, had this past week just been his way of getting even with her? He had felt used by her, and now he'd made sure she felt the same. What a low, despicable thing to do. But what else could she think? Just this morning he had made wild, passionate love to her, had held her tenderly in his arms afterward. Now he couldn't wait to part company, to never see her again. Never? Oh, God, she'd never see him again, never know his touch again. How could she bear it?
Her feet slowed, her chest filling with pain. She tried to recall where she was, that she couldn't cry on a public street, but the tears gathered anyway. And then her wrist was caught and she was jerked to the side, and her first thought was, Not yet, he hasn't deserted me just yet. But a hand clamping over her mouth and a sharp prick on her neck swiftly changed that notion.
"Yer lucky the boss wants ta see ya first, gal, or I'd slit yer throat right now. Make any funny moves an'