Runaway
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Praise
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
About The Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Copyright
Praise for Carolyn Davidson’s previous titles
The Forever Man
“This is a lucid and graceful romance, new pleasure for readers who loved ‘Sarah, Plain and Tall.’”
—Romantic Times
“The dream of happiness centers lovingly around The Forever Man, which becomes the forever family.”
—Rendezvous
Loving Katherine
“Readers will enjoy this tender tale.”
—Romantic Times
“41/2
Carolyn Davidson appears to have a bright future…”
—Affaire de Coeur
Gerrity’s Bride
“…fun, excitement and suspense. Most enjoyable.”
—Rendezvous
“Carolyn Davidson creates such vivid images, you’d think she was using paints instead of words.”
—bestselling author Pamela Morsi
“It’s not proper for us to be in a
bedroom together, Will,”
Cassie said in a harsh whisper.
He grinned. “We’ve been sleepin’ together for better than two weeks already. Unless you want to go down there and tell my ma that we’re not the married couple she thinks we are, we’re stuck with this until I can figure something out.”
“Once we sleep in this room together, we’re stuck with the story, no matter how you slice it,” she hissed at him.
“Well, I can’t come up with any better idea,” Will said softly. “I’m afraid your reputation is about shot, Cass. And it’s my fault. Do you want me to go downstairs and tell my mother we’ve traipsed clear from Texas without being married?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want to sleep in that bed with you tonight!”
Dear Reader,
It’s June, so start thinking about your summer reading! Whether you’re going to the beach or simply going to relax on the porch, don’t forget to bring along a Harlequin Historical® novel. This month we are delighted with the return of the immensely popular Carolyn Davidson. Carolyn is a self-described writer of “farm love” whose stories feature hardworking, masculine heroes and strong family ties. Never is this more obvious than in Runaway, the story of a young woman who, hours after her mother’s death, fatally wounds her stepfather in self-defense and is rescued by a kind cowboy, who takes her back to his parents’ Missouri home as his “wife.”
Widow Woman, by long-time Silhouette author Patricia McLinn, is a compelling Western about a beautiful rancher who must win back the heart of her ex-foreman—the man she once refused to marry and the unknowing father of her child. Laurel Ames returns with Infamous, in which a dashing nobleman and spy, having put up with a very silly and snobbish mother and sister all his life, finally meets a woman he feels is worth pursuing—much to his family’s chagrin!
Rounding out the month is Midsummer’s Knight by award-winning author Tori Phillips. Here, a confirmed bachelor and a reluctant widow betrothed against their will switch identities with their friends to spy on the other, and fall in love in the process!
Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical® novel.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
Runaway
Carolyn Davidson
CAROLYN DAVIDSON
Writing about small towns, ranches and farms comes naturally to Carolyn Davidson, who hails from a long line of farmers on her mother’s side. From her father’s side of the family, a strain of Gypsy blood lent flights of fancy to the mix, creating a child with a wild imagination. In her early years she made up stories to tell her nieces and nephews; as a teenager she wrote them in notebooks.
Then came marriage to her high school sweetheart, a union that thrives today and has produced six children. Only when the nest was empty did she try her hand at serious writing. Serious, as in love and marriage. Romance, in a word. After selling seven novels during the past few years, she has decided that writing is far and away the most exciting venture she has embarked upon.
Be sure to look for Carolyn’s next book, The Wedding Promise, available in October 1998. Readers’ comments are more than welcome in her mailbox, P.O. Box 60626, North Charleston, S.C. 29419-0626.
To old friends, who only improve with age.
To childhood memories and growing-up years. To those
who have shared my life and enriched it—but especially
to cousins Shirley and Kate, my first friends, who have
wonderful staying power. And, as always—to Mr. Ed,
who loves me.
Prologue
North Texas, 1894
His hands curved, fingers spread, as if ripe peaches waited to be grasped and held against his palms. But the avid, greedy heat of his gaze focused not on a tempting display of fruit, but on the gently rounded breasts of the young woman across the room from where he stood.
“Your mama would have wanted me to look after you, Cassie.” Thin and rasping, his voice grated on her ears, and the girl backed another step closer to the doorway.
“I’ll take good care of you, girl.” He’d begun to wheedle now, and she recognized the direction of his thoughts. She’d seen him, heard him distract her mother with his coaxing, whining small tributes to her fading beauty, until he could reach out and grab the woman he’d sorely misused for three years.
One more step and she would be within sight of freedom. One small glide to the right, the careful easing of her foot past his rumpled pile of clothing, and she would flee. She could outrun him, once she made the doorway. He’d had enough to drink, waiting for Cleta’s last breath to sigh past her ashen lips, to make him clumsy, to make his voice slur as he spoke.
“Your mama’s barely cold. We need to see to her bury-in’, you and me.” He lifted his grimy hand to swipe beneath his nose, and Cassie’s flesh crawled, as if hundreds of small worms moved beneath her skin.
She slid her foot a few inches, brought the other to meet it and caught sight of filtered sunlight, patterned across the floor of the next room. Her hands flattening on the wall behind her, she groped for the curved molding marking the doorway.
“Don’t be thinkin’ you’ll run off, girl. We got things to settle here. Your mama told me you’d need lookin’ after, and who better than your pa to tend to you.” The same hand he’d smeared beneath his nose extended toward her, the ragged fingernails rough against her arm, and she bolted.
Shuddering at his touch, she rounded the doorway, blinking at the sunlight, her eyes accustomed to the dark bedroom. She’d huddled next to the lumpy mattress for hours, tending the woman who’d lost almost all resemblance to the mother she remembered.
“Come back here, young’un!” Remus Chandler plunged after her, his lips drawn back, his tobacco-stained teeth bared in a grim travesty of a smile. His curved fingers snagged the fringe of her shawl and he tugged sharply.
It was a simple choice, and Cassie made it without a second thought. Releasing the hold she’d maintained during the night hours, when the shawl had been a matter of warmth, she relinquished it into his keeping. She scampered across the outer room, past the rough table that held the remnants of Remus Chandler’s breakfast, along with the dirty plate from his meal last night.
Was it only yesterday when she’d found her mother curled on the bed, breath rasping as if she must conserve each small measure of air? Cleta had mumbled words of instruction against Cassie’s cheek. Words that warned of the evil inherent in the man she had married, both mother and daughter long since ruing the day.
“Run, child. Get away…Remus…hide, Cassie.” Cleta’s frail voice had moaned the broken phrases and Cassie had brushed countless kisses against her mother’s brow, whispering words of assurance in reply.
“I’ll be fine, Mama. Rest easy now.” She’d cried her tears in the months gone by, and now her eyes were dry, burning from the sleepless night. Hours without rest had left her body weary, but her mind and senses were sharpened, honed by the fear instilled in her by her mother. Remus Chandler was cruel, rotten to the core, and her legal stepfather. Only the needs of the frail woman who’d borne her had served to keep Cassie within the man’s clutches.
Now his groping hand tugged at her dress, sharp fingernails digging at the flesh beneath, and Cassie cried out at the indignity of it. She reached back to snatch the cloth from his grasp and met the bony grip, his fingers wrapping around her wrist.
“Let go of me, you filthy bastard!” As if it were familiar to her lips, the curse was spit in his direction, and he met it with a snarl.
“I’ll teach you to talk to your pa thataway, girl!” His other hand reached for her and he shoved her to the wall, slamming her head against the logs.
Pitching her slight weight against him, she retaliated, and caught him off balance. Together, looking like a tipsy pair of dancers in a barroom, they slid across the floor, Remus tottering, Cassie shoving him in a desperate attempt to free herself from his grasping hands.
The table was against his back and his whiskey-laden breath was foul in her nostrils when he pulled her flush against his scrawny body. She reached to balance herself on the table, and her fingers met the sharp side of the knife he’d used to saw at his stringy beef last night.
She grasped at it, unaware of the slice she inflicted across her palm. Allowing the knife to slide within her clasp, she gripped the bone handle with a fierceness that radiated to her very soul.
Lifting the weapon, she plunged it to the hilt. It entered his back just next to his shoulder blade, the tip exploring the very center of his heart.
Chapter One
It looked like a bundle of clothing, tossed by the side of the stream, until he caught sight of a bare foot emerging from the froth of undergarments.
If Will had had his druthers, he’d have finished watering his horse and gone on his way without a second glance. But the upbringing he’d received at his mother’s knee, way back when, would not allow such a thing to happen.
Looking into the face of death would be disruptive to his morning, but over the years he’d managed to inure himself to the sight So it was with a sigh of resignation that he nudged the toe of his boot beneath the middle of the shabby bundle of clothing and lifted the slight form buried within.
The body rolled, the foot being joined by a second as it slid even farther from the protective folds of fabric surrounding it. Two rounded calves, pale against the grassy slope, caught his eye. Then a slender arm that had covered her face fell beneath her, exposing a length of dark hair, a bare shoulder and the profile of a young girl.
“I’ll be damned!” Whether he was relieved by the flutter of eyelashes that bespoke life or aggravated by the responsibility he’d taken upon himself with his investigation was a moot question. Will was on his way to parts north, and being attached in any way to a female—and especially one as young as this—was not a part of his plan.
He squatted, reaching with one finger to nudge at the bare shoulder. “Hey there, missy! Let’s take a look at you.”
The eyelids ceased fluttering, the nostrils flared and the mouth opened.
The finger he’d poked her with joined the other three just in time to curve across her mouth, stifling the scream he’d figured would be greeting him. What he hadn’t figured on was the set of even white teeth that nipped sharply at him, just as the creature within the bundle of female clothing rolled from his touch.
Already too close to the bank of the stream for any degree of safety, she plunged with amazing speed into the gently rippling water. Within seconds, the flurry of movement spurred Will into action. Kneeling in the spot the girl had occupied, he reached one hand to grasp at an arm that was groping from the surface of the water.
She was small, slim and supple, but weighed down by the dress and petticoats she wore, and his muscles bunched and flexed as he hauled her from the water. Hoisting himself to his feet, he dragged her up the creek bank, both hands full of wet clothing, then held her before him.
Her dark hair hung in wet strings across her face, and her eyes squinted shut against the water. Coughing and gagging, she clung to his arms, sagging as if her legs would not hold her erect. The blue dress was torn, exposing her right arm and shoulder and the very top of a lush, curving breast.
Hell’s bells! This was no kid, no youngster in need of rescue. He’d just managed to get himself tangled up with a woman, full grown from the looks of it. And of all the things in this world Will Tolliver didn’t need, a stray female topped the list.
She’d coughed her way out of choking to death at least, and her legs seemed better able to hold her upright. He eased his grip on her shoulders, noting idly the texture of her skin as his fingers slid over the wet surface.
And then she looked at him. Opening her eyes, blinking several times at the sunlight, she gaped at him.
Eyes like the forget-me-nots his mother had growing by the outhouse took his measure. Blue as the summer sky, edged with a darker rim and surrounded by a fringe of black lashes that clumped together with a residue of water from the stream, those eyes made a journey from the top of his head to the middle of his chest and then back.
“Who are you?”
It was a woman’s voice, sure enough, he decided. Low pitched, holding only the faintest tremor, it issued from a soft mouth that trembled and then stilled its giveaway movement as she clamped her lips together.
The shivers racking her body were another matter altogether. Only a warm fire and dry clothing would solve that particular problem, and with a sigh of aggravation, Will set about bringing it to pass.
“My name’s Tolliver,” he grunted. “And takin’ care of a half-drowned female is a far sight from what I had planned for today.”
Her eyes widened at his words, and she planted her feet more firmly against the creek bank. “Then take your hands off me, mister, and make tracks. Nobody asked you to wake me up and shove me into the stream.”
Will plopped her down where she stood, only too aware of the clinging fabric of her dress and undergarments, resisting the urge to tug the wet material into place over the rise of her bosom.
Bad enough to be needing a woman’s touch for longer than he could remember. Even worse was standing here eyeing this female’s form, bosom half exposed to view, and him randy as a barnyard rooster.
His sigh of resignation was deep and heartfelt. “Sit right there and don’t move. I’m gonna build a fire and find you something to put on.” He turned from the sodden lump she’d become with his urging, her arms winding around her knees, bent almost double to better warm herself.
“Yes, all right,” she said grudgingly, her eyes wary as she watched him head for his horse and pack mule. Within moments he’d stripped the mule of a bulky, canvaswrapped bundle and begun rooting around in its depths. With a grunt that appeared to signify success, he pulled out a nondescript shirt, slinging it over his shoulder. It was wrinkled, but looked to be fairly clean. A pair of heavy stockings came next, joining the shirt, and then a pair of trousers.
“Tolliver?” Her voice had lost its tremor, but not the low, sultry sound he’d noted right off.
“Yeah?” He looked back at her over his shoulder. She was too young to sound so damn womanly, he decided. Her face was sunburned across her nose and forehead, freckles dotting her cheeks and joining across the bridge of her narrow nose. The dark hair was long, hanging almost to the ground as she crouched before him.
“Thank you for pulling me out of the water. I can’t swim.” The words were grudging, but issued in a polite form that suggested she had just remembered her manners. Blowing ineffectively at a lock of hair that hung just in front of her right eye, she looked up at him.
“You wouldn’t have been in the water if I hadn’t scared you into jerking away from me,” he told her after a moment. Fair was fair, and the girl was trying to be decent. She was probably scared to death of him, too much so to get up and run, lest he be after her.
“Were you serious about building a fire?” Shivering as she spoke, she hugged herself even tighter as she rocked in place.
“Soon’s I find you enough warm clothes to put on.” He searched another moment, then cast her a glance. “You’ll have to do without underwear. I seem to be scrapin’ the bottom here.”
A faint flush crept up her cheeks, joining the sunburn. “I’m sure anything will do, as long as it’s dry and big enough.”
His laughter was short and harsh. “This shirt will wrap around you a couple of times, if my eyes serve me right Don’t know about the pants. You’ll have to find that out the hard way, I suspect.”
Stuffing the clothing into a compact bundle, he headed back to where she sat “I’ll gather up some firewood and get it going while you get those wet things off.” He waved his hand at a nearby thicket, where bushes and undergrowth vied for space near the stream.
The girl rose quickly, with a sinuous grace, her arms wrapped around herself, as if she would hold against her skin whatever small amount of warmth she had garnered. One hand reached for the proffered bundle, snatching it from him quickly, her eyes barely meeting his before she headed for the shelter he’d suggested.
Her clothing clung, draping her in a wet, dingy array, another tear exposing one shoulder blade, the hem of her dress trailing a torn portion in the dirt as she walked. And walk she did…her hips moving, that wet dress emphasizing the curve of her bottom.
A bruise caught his eye, the discoloration dark against her skin, showing through the torn part of her dress on her back. Either she’d been in one dickens of a fuss with someone, or she’d fallen and gotten herself scraped up somehow. Whichever, she was shivering and about at the end of her tether, so far as he could tell.
If he had his directions right, he was about ten miles or so from either the small settlement of Loco Junction or the town of St. Catherines. And which one this woman had come from was a moot question. Certainly, she’d not walked more than ten miles, unless she had shoes hidden on her person or tossed aside beneath the trees before she’d made her bed by the water.
His gaze traveled again to encompass the form that was even now disappearing behind the bushes, and he grunted, a low, negative sound that echoed his mood. Nowhere beneath that clinging mass of clothing was there hiding anything so cumbersome as a pair of shoes. Indeed, the arrangement of the girl’s body was a pure line from head to toe, unblemished by any bulge or lump other than those she’d come by through the process of just being a woman. And every one of those were in fine shape, her bottom being a prime piece of work if he’d ever seen one.
His fire was ablaze, the dry leaves and kindling he’d set to burning well covered by larger pieces of dead wood, by the time she reappeared. She’d buttoned the shirt partway and was clutching the waistline of his spare pants just beneath the fourth shirt button. His stockings were barely in sight beneath the multiple folds of pant legs, and she took mincing steps as if she feared dislodging the clothing before she reached him.
“Need some help there?” Will offered, crouched next to the fire, his eyes peering from beneath the brim of his hat
“Do you have a piece of rope or a belt, maybe?” Her hair hung down her back, making wet stains on the gray shirt he’d loaned her, and the sleeves were folded several times.
He’d solved one problem. She was more than covered from his view.
“I should have a spare belt.” The bundle of clothing was at hand and he dipped into it once more, coming up with a braided leather length from its depths. “This oughta work. Come here.”
She halted, her eyes wary as she considered his words. “Toss it to me. I’ll figure it out myself.” One hand reached toward him and he shrugged, rolling the leather before he cast it in her direction, across the fire.
She caught it deftly and fed it through the belt loops, tying it in an awkward knot at her middle. One final tug at her handiwork seemed to satisfy her, and she lifted her head to look at him again.
“Do you have any extra food? I’m afraid I can’t pay you any money, but I’ll write you a due note. As soon as I’m able, I’ll make it right with you.” Her tongue touched her top lip and she tilted her head, fussing with the remaining buttons on her shirt. “I’d rather not go back toward Loco Junction, if you don’t mind. Any place north of here will do nicely.”
His eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting briefly. “A man never turns down a stranger’s need for food out here, honey. Hard to say when I might be in the same boat. I’ll share what I have.”
She nodded, accepting his offer, then hunkered down by the fire. As if the beckoning heat gathered all of her energy, she slumped where she sat, her head drooping, her arms wrapped about her knees, her eyes closing.
Setting to work with a measure of reluctance, Will put together a meal of sorts, unwrapping biscuits he’d made early in the day by another campfire. He settled a frying pan over the glowing coals, filling it with thick slices of bacon from his pack. As the bacon fried he added chunks of cooked potatoes, left from last night’s supper. He’d baked several in the coals, saving two for today. From the looks of the girl, she’d be more than able to eat her share.
The scent of bacon and the coffee he’d put to boil roused her after a few minutes and she raised her head, sniffing and blinking, her mouth rosy as she warmed finally from her chill. Her hair had begun to dry, curling around her face, and she gathered it together, her slender fingers twisting in its length to braid it quickly.