rested her head against his shoulder again, too tired to think clearly or plot her escape. "What do I call you?"
"Ethan Stone." For the first time in hours he smiled. "It sits better on the tongue than Amoral Bastard."
"So you say."
"I think I better have a name for you," Ethan said when she didn't offer hers.
"Mary Michael Dennehy."
"Dennehy," he repeated softly. God, he had wracked his brain trying to remember her last name. "Irish?"
"On my mother's side. County Clare."
"Catholic?"
"Could Mary Michael be anything else?"
"Well, Mary Michael, I think we'd-"
"It's just Michael. No one calls me Mary."
Ethan's lip curled to one side. "It figures."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He didn't answer her. "I think we'd better put our story together before we get questioned separately and come up with sixes and sevens."
"You make it up. I haven't decided if I'm going along with anything you're doing."
Ethan reined in his mount sharply, nearly dislodging Michael from the saddle. One gloved hand slipped around her throat and drew her back where he could look at her face clearly. His lightly colored blue-gray eyes reflected the cool wash of star shine. "You can't possibly be more stupid than I already think, can you? There isn't any choice of going along or not, not if you want to see the sun rise. Tell me now that you're going to fight me every step of the way and I'll break your neck right here and leave you for carrion."
Michael shivered as much from the whiskey-whispered promise of his tone as the flinty hardness of his eyes.
"Is there anything you don't understand?" he demanded, searching her face.
She replied with a small negative shake of her head.
"Good." He released her throat. "You'd do well to keep in mind that your life doesn't mean half as much to me as my own."
"I'll remember," she said, her voice so small he had to strain to hear it.
"Then you just may come out of this alive." Ethan nudged his horse forward. He opened a few buttons on his leather and sheep's wool coat. "Slip your arms inside. Your hands must be like ice by now."
They were numb with cold but Michael wasn't certain she wanted to be that close to Ethan. Her hesitation was a clear signal.
Ethan shrugged and began to button up again. "Suit yourself."
"No... wait. I am cold. Nearly stiff with it actually."
She didn't feel stiff, Ethan thought as she slid her arms under his coat and around his back. Her movement wedged Michael tighter against him and he was miserably aware of the curve and pliancy of her flesh.
He comforted himself that any female this close to him, practically molded to him, would elicit the same response. It wasn't possible that his body was stirring in reaction to her. He needed to think about something else. Quickly.
"Any loose teeth?" he asked.
Michael had already run her tongue across her teeth several times to assure herself they were intact. She did so again. "Nothing loose."
He tried not to sound relieved. "I clipped you pretty hard."
"Mm-hmm."
"I'll have Detra tend to your face once we get where we're going."
"Detra?"
"She looks after us."
Michael wondered if she might find a sympathetic ally in the other woman. "Who are 'us'?" she asked.
"Try to keep your reporter's curiosity in check," he cautioned. "Everything in good time." Ahead of him he saw Happy McAllister approaching. He gave Michael a warning squeeze. "Happy's coming this way. What ever comes up, follow my lead." He felt her cheek brush his chest as she nodded her agreement.
"Something wrong, Happy?" he asked.
"Can't think of a thing," the older man said. He leaned his wiry body forward in the saddle. "'Cept for that bit of sass you got in your arms, I'd say we done ourselves as planned. Trust a female to muck up the works."
Ethan's sentiments exactly. "Michael has that way about her." He felt her stiffen in his arms. Did she think he was going to defend her?
"Michael," Happy said, scratching his stubbly cheek thoughtfully. "Odd moniker
"Ethan Stone." For the first time in hours he smiled. "It sits better on the tongue than Amoral Bastard."
"So you say."
"I think I better have a name for you," Ethan said when she didn't offer hers.
"Mary Michael Dennehy."
"Dennehy," he repeated softly. God, he had wracked his brain trying to remember her last name. "Irish?"
"On my mother's side. County Clare."
"Catholic?"
"Could Mary Michael be anything else?"
"Well, Mary Michael, I think we'd-"
"It's just Michael. No one calls me Mary."
Ethan's lip curled to one side. "It figures."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He didn't answer her. "I think we'd better put our story together before we get questioned separately and come up with sixes and sevens."
"You make it up. I haven't decided if I'm going along with anything you're doing."
Ethan reined in his mount sharply, nearly dislodging Michael from the saddle. One gloved hand slipped around her throat and drew her back where he could look at her face clearly. His lightly colored blue-gray eyes reflected the cool wash of star shine. "You can't possibly be more stupid than I already think, can you? There isn't any choice of going along or not, not if you want to see the sun rise. Tell me now that you're going to fight me every step of the way and I'll break your neck right here and leave you for carrion."
Michael shivered as much from the whiskey-whispered promise of his tone as the flinty hardness of his eyes.
"Is there anything you don't understand?" he demanded, searching her face.
She replied with a small negative shake of her head.
"Good." He released her throat. "You'd do well to keep in mind that your life doesn't mean half as much to me as my own."
"I'll remember," she said, her voice so small he had to strain to hear it.
"Then you just may come out of this alive." Ethan nudged his horse forward. He opened a few buttons on his leather and sheep's wool coat. "Slip your arms inside. Your hands must be like ice by now."
They were numb with cold but Michael wasn't certain she wanted to be that close to Ethan. Her hesitation was a clear signal.
Ethan shrugged and began to button up again. "Suit yourself."
"No... wait. I am cold. Nearly stiff with it actually."
She didn't feel stiff, Ethan thought as she slid her arms under his coat and around his back. Her movement wedged Michael tighter against him and he was miserably aware of the curve and pliancy of her flesh.
He comforted himself that any female this close to him, practically molded to him, would elicit the same response. It wasn't possible that his body was stirring in reaction to her. He needed to think about something else. Quickly.
"Any loose teeth?" he asked.
Michael had already run her tongue across her teeth several times to assure herself they were intact. She did so again. "Nothing loose."
He tried not to sound relieved. "I clipped you pretty hard."
"Mm-hmm."
"I'll have Detra tend to your face once we get where we're going."
"Detra?"
"She looks after us."
Michael wondered if she might find a sympathetic ally in the other woman. "Who are 'us'?" she asked.
"Try to keep your reporter's curiosity in check," he cautioned. "Everything in good time." Ahead of him he saw Happy McAllister approaching. He gave Michael a warning squeeze. "Happy's coming this way. What ever comes up, follow my lead." He felt her cheek brush his chest as she nodded her agreement.
"Something wrong, Happy?" he asked.
"Can't think of a thing," the older man said. He leaned his wiry body forward in the saddle. "'Cept for that bit of sass you got in your arms, I'd say we done ourselves as planned. Trust a female to muck up the works."
Ethan's sentiments exactly. "Michael has that way about her." He felt her stiffen in his arms. Did she think he was going to defend her?
"Michael," Happy said, scratching his stubbly cheek thoughtfully. "Odd moniker
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