leading his captive away like a dog on a leash.
Going inside, Dean checked over the house. It was small, with just one room and a single door, no windows. Perfect. Closing and locking the door, he sighed in relief. “Okay, this buys us some time,” he said. “Wish I could help your people more, but I’ve been treadingwater with these bastards for a while, and they still don’t completely trust me yet.”
Silently, the woman stared at him, not sure what to do.
“Come on, scream,” Dean ordered, taking a chair and sitting. “If somebody passes by, it has to sound like you’re fighting for your bastard life, or we both get aced. Savvy?”
“You…a roughrider?” she asked hesitantly, clutching the front of her ripped shirt.
Though he’d never heard the slang word before, Dean could make an educated guess to the meaning. “No, I like women in my bed,” he said honestly, and then for some unknown reason felt compelled to add, “Not that I’ve had that many.”
That comment caught her totally by surprise. Suddenly, she decided to trust the handsome stranger.
Taking in a deep breath, she cut loose with a blood-curdling shriek.
Startled, Dean blinked from the sheer ferocity of the cry, then smiled as he heard a couple of coldhearts laugh outside, and somebody thump the locked door.
“Not so hard, Tiger!” a voice called. “Let her breathe some, unless you like riding the peach off a corpse!”
“Shut up, I’m busy!” Dean shouted back, punctuating each word with a grunt.
Chuckling, the coldhearts walked away, singing and firing their blasters.
“I’m Althea,” she said. “Althea Stone.”
“Dean Cawdor.”
“Tiger?”
“Just a nickname,” he said with a scowl.
“What should we do?” Althea asked, sitting on the bed.
“Better rip those clothes some,” Dean replied, pulling out a knife and tossing it over. “Then cut me on the cheek. Gotta make this look real.”
Making the catch, Althea tested the balance of the blade, then slashed out, her hand a blur.
Caught completely off guard, Dean jerked at the stinging touch of steel, then used fingertips to check his face. There was a shallow cut along his jawline. Damn, she was quick!
Flipping the knife over, Althea slashed at her clothing, then added a few cuts to her legs. Dean was impressed. The blood would make folks think he had been her first, which would prevent most of the other coldhearts from bothering her, acknowledging an unspoken rule that she was his. He would have to keep a watch out for Hannigan. Someday soon, he would have to chill the man.
Finished, Althea threw the knife back. It thudded onto the floorboards between his boots. “Can’t let them find me with a weapon,” she said, starting to remove her clothing.
“Hey now, that’s not necessary,” Dean said, raising a palm.
“Gotta make this look real if somebody checks,” she replied, letting the tattered garment flutter to the floor.
As she finished disrobing, Dean said nothing, transfixed by the unbelievable beauty of the young woman. She had scars, of course—everybody alive did—but her skin was beautiful anyway, glowing with health.Her breasts were pert and firm, her stomach flat, and the delta between her legs was completely hairless.
“You shave down there?” he asked, his throat oddly tight.
“Never had no hair there,” Althea replied, sitting on the bed, which squeaked slightly. “Guess mebbe I got a little mutie blood in me. Most of the people in this ville do. We had a former baron who… Well, to say that he was crazy as a shithouse rat wouldn’t half load the blaster on that story.”
“Reckon so,” Dean said, crossing his legs. The little cabin felt uncomfortably warm.
“Now what?” she asked, pulling a blanket to cover herself. She wondered how it was possible that she was feeling an attraction to the coldheart. He had a kind face and intelligent eyes, but he was still an invader destroying her home and everybody she loved. Yet
Going inside, Dean checked over the house. It was small, with just one room and a single door, no windows. Perfect. Closing and locking the door, he sighed in relief. “Okay, this buys us some time,” he said. “Wish I could help your people more, but I’ve been treadingwater with these bastards for a while, and they still don’t completely trust me yet.”
Silently, the woman stared at him, not sure what to do.
“Come on, scream,” Dean ordered, taking a chair and sitting. “If somebody passes by, it has to sound like you’re fighting for your bastard life, or we both get aced. Savvy?”
“You…a roughrider?” she asked hesitantly, clutching the front of her ripped shirt.
Though he’d never heard the slang word before, Dean could make an educated guess to the meaning. “No, I like women in my bed,” he said honestly, and then for some unknown reason felt compelled to add, “Not that I’ve had that many.”
That comment caught her totally by surprise. Suddenly, she decided to trust the handsome stranger.
Taking in a deep breath, she cut loose with a blood-curdling shriek.
Startled, Dean blinked from the sheer ferocity of the cry, then smiled as he heard a couple of coldhearts laugh outside, and somebody thump the locked door.
“Not so hard, Tiger!” a voice called. “Let her breathe some, unless you like riding the peach off a corpse!”
“Shut up, I’m busy!” Dean shouted back, punctuating each word with a grunt.
Chuckling, the coldhearts walked away, singing and firing their blasters.
“I’m Althea,” she said. “Althea Stone.”
“Dean Cawdor.”
“Tiger?”
“Just a nickname,” he said with a scowl.
“What should we do?” Althea asked, sitting on the bed.
“Better rip those clothes some,” Dean replied, pulling out a knife and tossing it over. “Then cut me on the cheek. Gotta make this look real.”
Making the catch, Althea tested the balance of the blade, then slashed out, her hand a blur.
Caught completely off guard, Dean jerked at the stinging touch of steel, then used fingertips to check his face. There was a shallow cut along his jawline. Damn, she was quick!
Flipping the knife over, Althea slashed at her clothing, then added a few cuts to her legs. Dean was impressed. The blood would make folks think he had been her first, which would prevent most of the other coldhearts from bothering her, acknowledging an unspoken rule that she was his. He would have to keep a watch out for Hannigan. Someday soon, he would have to chill the man.
Finished, Althea threw the knife back. It thudded onto the floorboards between his boots. “Can’t let them find me with a weapon,” she said, starting to remove her clothing.
“Hey now, that’s not necessary,” Dean said, raising a palm.
“Gotta make this look real if somebody checks,” she replied, letting the tattered garment flutter to the floor.
As she finished disrobing, Dean said nothing, transfixed by the unbelievable beauty of the young woman. She had scars, of course—everybody alive did—but her skin was beautiful anyway, glowing with health.Her breasts were pert and firm, her stomach flat, and the delta between her legs was completely hairless.
“You shave down there?” he asked, his throat oddly tight.
“Never had no hair there,” Althea replied, sitting on the bed, which squeaked slightly. “Guess mebbe I got a little mutie blood in me. Most of the people in this ville do. We had a former baron who… Well, to say that he was crazy as a shithouse rat wouldn’t half load the blaster on that story.”
“Reckon so,” Dean said, crossing his legs. The little cabin felt uncomfortably warm.
“Now what?” she asked, pulling a blanket to cover herself. She wondered how it was possible that she was feeling an attraction to the coldheart. He had a kind face and intelligent eyes, but he was still an invader destroying her home and everybody she loved. Yet
Similar Books
