what he was thinking, he brought his troublesome ramblings to a halt. He was comparing her to Sheila again. He’d been doing that for a while now. It was unfair to this woman, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He forced his eyes in another direction, but he had to admit Miranda Maddox showed more strength than Sheila had ever possessed. She must have been in a lot of pain—the knots in her legs were like goose eggs—yet she’d never said a word. Never complained. Never shed a tear. Yeah, she had strength. He had no idea why that pleased him so much, because he knew damn well that the sooner he got her back to her father the better.
The steady tattoo of the rain enclosed them in a comfortable silence. Now that the pain had eased, Miranda let the soothing sound of it calm her nerves. She didn’t want to think about the dangers that lay in wait outside the cave.
Pulling his hat low over his eyes, he tried to relax, but with Miranda Maddox a few feet away, that wasn’t easy. Damn the woman, he thought. He didn’t care about her, or her story, or why she was in this mess. That was what he told himself, over and over, but despite that, he found he was becoming increasingly curious.
Damn the woman.
He was empty inside. He had nothing to give anyone. Yet she was stirring up those basic primal emotions a man feels toward a woman. Maybe it wasn’t possible to destroy all feeling. Maybe some things were natural, God-given, and he had to accept that. Even if he didn’t like it much.
The rhythmic beat of the rain became louder. Miranda glanced toward the entrance. It was sleeting. She could see tiny icicles forming on the bushes. That reminded her of Christmas—how long had it been since Christmas? Barely three weeks. It seemed a lifetime since the whole family had gathered at the ranch to celebrate. Kevin had surprised her with a beautiful engagement ring. She was happy. Or so she’d believed until—
“We’d better eat and then try to get some sleep.” The hermit’s words interrupted her thoughts. He opened the backpack and pulled out a towel. Inside was a big loaf of bread and something Miranda didn’t recognize.
“Deer jerky,” he said, almost as if he could read her mind.
Deer jerky? What in the world was that? She frowned at the dark strips of meat.
“It’s dried venison—deer meat,” he told her. “Quite tasty, especially if you’re hungry.”
Slipping the knife from the sheath around his waist, he sliced the bread into big chunks and handed her a piece.
She nibbled on the bread and watched as he chewed a piece of dried meat. Not wanting him to think she was one of those finicky females, she picked up a strip of meat and began to chew.
It wasn’t bad, especially if you were hungry, like he’d said, but the bread was exceptional. “This is delicious bread. Where do you get it?”
“I bake it,” he replied in a dry tone.
“Oh,” she murmured, licking her fingers and feeling chastised. None of her friends or acquaintances baked anything, so how was she to know? “I should have guessed you were a regular Renaissance man,” she said to take the scowl from his face.
The scowl only deepened as he took a drink from the canteen.
She didn’t want him to think she’d insulted him, so she hastened to add, “A Renaissance man is a person with lots of skills, who can do anything. It comes from—”
“I know that.” Slowly lowering the canteen, his dark eyes impaled her. “I’m not stupid.”
Feeling chastised again, she decided to give up. Clearly she was never going to say anything that pleased him.
As she finished the jerky, he passed her the canteen. Their fingers touched, but he didn’t instantly draw back as he had before. Their eyes met, and there was a tiny, a very tiny, glimmer in his eyes. It was there. She could see it before he looked away. He wasn’t as dead inside as he wanted her to believe.
“Drink up,” he said, and cleared his throat.
As she drank, he pulled a brown blanket from the backpack and tossed it on her lap.
“Try to get some sleep,” he said, taking the canteen from her.
She unfolded the wool blanket and wrapped it around her.
He sat with his legs out in front of him, his back against the wall, his head tilted back.
“Where’s your blanket?” she asked, thinking he must be cold.
“Don’t need one. I’m used to the weather,” he replied, and pulled his hat lower over his eyes.
Didn’t need one? He was lying. He’d given her his only blanket, and he couldn’t make her believe otherwise.
Bandit settled down beside him. The hermit’s hand went out and rested on the dog’s back. Two complete and total friends, she thought, dealing with life in their own unique way.
Curling her feet beneath her, she huddled under the blanket. It was so cold, but she managed to be comfortable. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she heard a rustling sound. She was immediately awake. Another rat? Oh, no! It was probably seeking shelter from the cold and rain.
Why wasn’t Bandit jumping up and catching it? But he just lay there, sleeping. Maybe he was full after eating the first one and saw no point in getting up. Okay. She inhaled deeply. She could handle this.
She heard the sound again—it was closer. So close she could almost feel the rat touching her skin. That was all it took. She scrambled to her feet, jumped across the narrow space and landed beside the hermit and Bandit. Bandit let out a yelp and the hermit growled, “What the hell?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “but I heard another rat, and I’m scared of them. Please, let me sit here.”
She was scared of rats. The woman had walked miles in excruciating pain, but the thought of a rat had her falling to pieces.
“If there was a rat in here, Bandit would catch it,” he told her.
“Maybe he’s not hungry anymore,” she countered logically.
“Bandit is always hungry.”
“I’d feel better sitting over here with you.”
“And I’d feel better if you went back to your own place.”
She ignored the irritated tone of his voice. “We can share the blanket and stay warmer. See,” she said, and quickly spread the blanket over both of them.
“Lady…”
Bandit whined.
“Shut up,” the hermit snapped.
Miranda jerked her head in surprise. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just go to sleep.”
Miranda curled into his side, her soft body against his. He took a shuddering breath. He didn’t need this. Oh, God, he didn’t need this.
Bandit scurried onto the blanket and crawled into her lap.
“Traitor,” he whispered to himself as he watched her hand stroking Bandit’s head.
Miranda sat by his side watching his jaw tighten with each passing second, but she wasn’t moving. She liked it here. She felt safe and warm.
His full beard caught her attention. He had a rugged outdoor persona and she’d bet he was very handsome without all the hair. What did it feel like to kiss someone with a beard? She never had, and suddenly the temptation was oh, so great. What would he do if she reached over and kissed him? Her fantasy came to an abrupt stop. What in the world was she thinking? Had fear warped her brain? Her eyes grew heavy, but she couldn’t prevent the tantalizing thought from dancing in her head.
He knew he wasn’t going to sleep, but it didn’t matter. Sleep was something that eluded him on most nights.