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Authors: Janet Dailey
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must survive.
Chapter 5
Sheila faced her attackers boldly. “I know how you can get a lot more money,” she said calmly. “Do you understand?
Mucho dinero.”
Her statement was met with silence. They were all looking at her, their expressions unchanged. The two men had halted their approach. Sheila knew she had their attention.
“Mucho dinero,”
she repeated.
The two men started toward her again. One was tall, his face shadowed by the wide brim of his hat. The other was short and stocky, a leering smile on his mouth.
“My name is Sheila Rogers,” she began again, ignoring the fact that her name had been legally changed to Townsend. “My father is very rich. He would pay someone a lot of money if I am returned to him
unharmed.”
Sheila emphasized the last word. “He would pay a lot of money.”
No one seemed impressed by her words. Her gaze swept the riders, ricocheting away from the hard, leanfeatures of one, the dark rider. Instinct said he was the most dangerous of the lot.
“One of you here must understand what I’m saying.” An angry, desperate ring entered her voice. “My father would pay a great deal of money to have me back.”
Sheila was struck by the irony of her plight. She was here in this godforsaken stretch of land, married, and now a widow because of Brad’s lust for her money. Now, perhaps her only chance of surviving was hinged on that money.
A low voice said something in Spanish, breaking her train of thought. Her gaze swiftly sought the owner of the quiet tone. It belonged to the lean, dark rider, who was watching her with a hooded look, his horse restlessly stamping the ground.
A second voice jerked Sheila’s head around. “How much?”
It came from the tall, broad-shouldered man approaching her. Sheila found herself staring into a pair of clear blue eyes, emotionless and cool. The accent had been unmistakably American.
“You’re American,” Sheila almost gasped.
He ignored her observation. “How much will your father pay?”
“Thousands,” she assured him. “Enough for all of you as long as you don’t hurt me in any way.”
Without taking his eyes from her, he directed a few sentences in Spanish over his shoulder to those behind him. It was obviously a translation of her answer. Her gaze slid to the compelling rider who had spoken first to see what effect the words had on him. His chiseled features were an impenetrable mask. He spoke again in that same low voice and Sheila’s attention returned to the American.
“Who is your father, and where does he live?” he asked flatly.
“His name is Elliot Rogers, and he lives in Austin, Texas,” she answered simply, knowing there was no point in elaborating.
“Never heard of him,” was the indifferent reply.
“I doubt if you were ever invited to the same parties.” Her cat-gold eyes made a pointed sweep of the marauding band. “You don’t travel in the same circles.”
The man chuckled softly and didn’t translate what she had said. He walked toward her. Sheila steeled herself not to flinch as he reached out and fingered the material of her blouse. He smelled of dust, sweat, and horse.
At closer quarters, Sheila could see a trace of boyish good looks behind the stubble of beard and the sun-hardened features. She tried to judge his age, but the lines of experience made it difficult. He could be in his thirties, yet Sheila had the feeling he was even younger.
His blue eyes ran over the length of her, missing nothing, yet Sheila didn’t feel disturbed by his thorough and knowing inspection.
“Those are expensive clothes,” he observed.
“That’s what my father thought when he paid for them,” Sheila answered to enforce her position as an heiress.
Smiling slightly, he released the material of her blouse and took hold of her hands, lifting them up where he could see them. His attention focused on the gold wedding band.
“Him?” His head bobbed sideways to indicate Brad’s body.
“Yes,” Sheila
Chapter 5
Sheila faced her attackers boldly. “I know how you can get a lot more money,” she said calmly. “Do you understand?
Mucho dinero.”
Her statement was met with silence. They were all looking at her, their expressions unchanged. The two men had halted their approach. Sheila knew she had their attention.
“Mucho dinero,”
she repeated.
The two men started toward her again. One was tall, his face shadowed by the wide brim of his hat. The other was short and stocky, a leering smile on his mouth.
“My name is Sheila Rogers,” she began again, ignoring the fact that her name had been legally changed to Townsend. “My father is very rich. He would pay someone a lot of money if I am returned to him
unharmed.”
Sheila emphasized the last word. “He would pay a lot of money.”
No one seemed impressed by her words. Her gaze swept the riders, ricocheting away from the hard, leanfeatures of one, the dark rider. Instinct said he was the most dangerous of the lot.
“One of you here must understand what I’m saying.” An angry, desperate ring entered her voice. “My father would pay a great deal of money to have me back.”
Sheila was struck by the irony of her plight. She was here in this godforsaken stretch of land, married, and now a widow because of Brad’s lust for her money. Now, perhaps her only chance of surviving was hinged on that money.
A low voice said something in Spanish, breaking her train of thought. Her gaze swiftly sought the owner of the quiet tone. It belonged to the lean, dark rider, who was watching her with a hooded look, his horse restlessly stamping the ground.
A second voice jerked Sheila’s head around. “How much?”
It came from the tall, broad-shouldered man approaching her. Sheila found herself staring into a pair of clear blue eyes, emotionless and cool. The accent had been unmistakably American.
“You’re American,” Sheila almost gasped.
He ignored her observation. “How much will your father pay?”
“Thousands,” she assured him. “Enough for all of you as long as you don’t hurt me in any way.”
Without taking his eyes from her, he directed a few sentences in Spanish over his shoulder to those behind him. It was obviously a translation of her answer. Her gaze slid to the compelling rider who had spoken first to see what effect the words had on him. His chiseled features were an impenetrable mask. He spoke again in that same low voice and Sheila’s attention returned to the American.
“Who is your father, and where does he live?” he asked flatly.
“His name is Elliot Rogers, and he lives in Austin, Texas,” she answered simply, knowing there was no point in elaborating.
“Never heard of him,” was the indifferent reply.
“I doubt if you were ever invited to the same parties.” Her cat-gold eyes made a pointed sweep of the marauding band. “You don’t travel in the same circles.”
The man chuckled softly and didn’t translate what she had said. He walked toward her. Sheila steeled herself not to flinch as he reached out and fingered the material of her blouse. He smelled of dust, sweat, and horse.
At closer quarters, Sheila could see a trace of boyish good looks behind the stubble of beard and the sun-hardened features. She tried to judge his age, but the lines of experience made it difficult. He could be in his thirties, yet Sheila had the feeling he was even younger.
His blue eyes ran over the length of her, missing nothing, yet Sheila didn’t feel disturbed by his thorough and knowing inspection.
“Those are expensive clothes,” he observed.
“That’s what my father thought when he paid for them,” Sheila answered to enforce her position as an heiress.
Smiling slightly, he released the material of her blouse and took hold of her hands, lifting them up where he could see them. His attention focused on the gold wedding band.
“Him?” His head bobbed sideways to indicate Brad’s body.
“Yes,” Sheila
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