LITMIR.BIZ

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many times I’ve heard that?”

      “I don’t care how many times you’ve heard it. I’m innocent.”

      “A jury says you did it. The warden wants you back. That’s all I need to know.”

      Abby knew her claim of innocence fell on deaf ears. She knew what it sounded like—a murderer’s desperate ploy to buy time. She would never convince this man that she was innocent. The only person who could do that was Dr. Jonathan Reed at Mercy General Hospital in Denver. A man who’d held her heart in his palm—and crushed it right before her eyes.

      “I’d rather die than go back to prison,” she said after a moment.

      He frowned at her. “You keep pulling stupid stunts like the one with the radio and that can be arranged.” His boots sloshed with water as he stalked over to her. “Get up. We’ve got some ground to cover.”

      By the time they reached the mule a few minutes later, it was snowing. Abby had always loved snow. It made the world look fresh and new and untainted by life’s problems. It reminded her of home and those endlessly long winters she and Grams had spent on the farm back in Calloway County, Kentucky, before Paps passed away.

      She wondered if life would ever be that simple again.

      A few feet away, looking miserable and cold in those wet jeans, Cowboy Cop shrugged into his duster. Scooping his hat off the ground, he brushed at the dried grass and set it on his head. “Come here.”

      Warily, she stepped over to him and stuck out her chin. “If you’re thinking of brutalizing me because I tossed your stupid radio, I should warn you I have a really good lawyer. Jackson Scott Sargent specializes in police brutality and he’s won every case—”

      “Shut up and turn around.” Frowning, he extracted the handcuff key from a small compartment in his belt.

      Realizing with some surprise that he was going to remove the cuffs, she turned her back to him and offered her wrists. “Oh, well…thank you.”

      He removed the cuff from one wrist. “Don’t thank me because I’m just letting you wear them in front because you’re going to get up on that mule—”

      “Wait just a—”

      “And you’re going to need to hold on to the horn with both hands because she’s got a gait like a truck with four flat tires.”

      “I don’t know how to ride.”

      “I don’t care.”

      “If I fall off—”

      “I’ll leave you where you fall.”

      “If I get injured in any way, my lawyer, Jackson Scott Sar—”

      “Shut up about the lawyer, lady, will you?”

      “I’m merely forewarning you what could happen if I don’t get back to Buena Vista in the same healthy condition in which I left.”

      “I’ll remember that next time you do something stupid like fall out of a tree or trash our only means of communication.”

      She started to back away, but he tugged on the cuff. “Give me your other hand.”

      “Please—”

      “Not after the stunt you pulled. Give me your hand. Now.”

      Resigning herself to being cuffed and forced to ride that obstinate-looking mule, she stuck out her hand. Far too efficiently, he snapped the cuffs into place. “Feel better?” she asked nastily.

      “Sure do.” He walked over to the mule. When she didn’t follow, he raised his hand and beckoned her with his index finger. “We’ve got snow moving in, Blondie. Let’s move.”

      Abby wasn’t sure how she was going to get out of this. Evidently, Cowboy Cop was a by-the-book guy and took his job way too seriously. Well, she’d just have to keep her eyes open and hope for an opportunity. If one didn’t arise, she’d just have to make her own. She didn’t relish the idea of spending a cold, wet night out in the snow, but knew the weather might turn out to be an advantage.

      She followed him over to the mule.

      “On the count of three, I want you to put your left foot in the stirrup, your hands on the horn and hoist yourself into the saddle.”

      “I know how to get on.” She lifted her hands and set them on the leather-covered horn. She’d only ridden a couple of times in her life. Back on Grams’s farm, Mr. Smith had owned several Shetland ponies. Abby had liked them just fine with their long manes and pink noses, but she’d never gotten the hang of how to stay on their backs. She’d spent a lot of time that summer dusting off her behind.

      “One-two-three.”

      Abby hoisted herself up, lifting her right leg over the mule’s back.

      “You’re a natural,” Cowboy Cop said.

      “Careful, my head’s going to swell.” She stuck her tongue out at him when he turned his back.

      Taking the lead attached to the mule’s halter, he lashed it to his saddle. “You’d be wise to stay alert and pay attention to me and your mount.”

      “Like that’s going to make any difference to me as you lead me to my death.”

      He shot her a frown over his shoulder.

      “And we’re going to get wet,” she said.

      “Welcome to Colorado in November.” Gathering the reins, he vaulted onto the big, spotted horse with the ease of a man who rode often and well. “We would have been on board a nice warm chopper by now if you hadn’t chucked the radio.”

      “I’ll take my chances with the weather.”

      His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

      “Not by choice.”

      “You’ve got a twang.”

      “I do not have a twang.”

      “You’ve definitely got a twang. I’d say you’re from Tennessee.”

      “It’s not a twang, and I’m not from Tennessee.” When he only continued to stare at her, she added, “I’m from Kentucky.”

      Twisting in his saddle, Cowboy Cop reached into a large leather bag slung across the back of the saddle and retrieved a rolled-up bundle. He removed the tie and shook it. Abby was surprised to see a long, all-weather duster materialize. She wasn’t sure why, but the fact that he was thoughtful enough to think of her physical comfort—especially when she’d given him the mother of all shiners and trashed his beloved radio—touched her.

      Turning his horse, he pulled up beside her mule, so close their legs brushed. “It’ll keep you from getting wet, and keep the wind off you.” He reached around her and fastened the button at her throat.

      It had been a long time since Abby had been close to a man—especially a man who looked as good as this one. Her heart did a weird little dip, then tapped against her ribs like a brass knocker. He smelled of leather, the out-of-doors, and healthy man. He was so close she could see the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, smell the tang of mint on his breath.

      Her mule chose that moment to shift. Cowboy’s knee bumped against hers. The touch jolted her. She hadn’t intended to make eye contact with him. But one moment she was trying to avoid looking at him, the next she was staring into steel-gray eyes that were a tad too cool and a million times too discerning. His face was less than a foot away from hers and for a moment, they were eye-to-eye. His gaze never faltered as he secured the duster at her throat. She thought she saw a flash of heat in the cold depths of his gaze, but it happened too quickly for her to be sure.

      And at that moment Abby clearly saw this man’s only vulnerability—and suddenly realized what she was going to have to do to escape him.

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