Read Online Touch the Wind by Janet Dailey - Free Book Online Page B

admitted. “My married name is Sheila Rogers Townsend. We were on our honeymoon.”
    “What were you doing here?” he asked.
    “Brad was told there was a shortcut across the mountains. He was trying to find it when the car broke down.”
    “This isn’t it,” he told her.
    Without altering his position, he said something in Spanish. The familiar low voice that answered caused a murmur of dissension to ripple through the group. Sheila held her breath as she glanced at the frowning expressions of disagreement. The dispute was silenced by the firm ring of authority in the low voice.
    “You’re in luck,” the American said. “The bossbelieves your story.” Although his mouth curved upward at the corners, there was nothing warm in the smile. “You do know there are ways of finding out if your father really has any money, don’t you?”
    “I’m not lying,” Sheila responded calmly. “Did you think I would?”
    “You might,” he said, nodding, “to save that lovely neck of yours.”
    Releasing one of her hands, he turned to take a short rope from one of the riders. The action seemed to be a signal for the others to resume their looting.
    “There’s no need to tie me up,” Sheila insisted as he looped the rope around one wrist.
    “It’s just a precaution.” He tugged the rope tight and wound it around her other wrist.
    The fibrous strands bit into her tender skin, the rope’s snugness permitting little circulation to reach her fingers. Any attempt by Sheila to flex them chafed the rope against her skin.
    Her gaze slid to the man who had believed her story. Somehow she had known from the beginning that he was the leader of this band.
    As she watched, he gave an order in Spanish and the men slowly began to climb back into their saddles. Her eyes wavered to the body lying on the ground. She should feel shock or sorrow at the sight of him, Sheila thought. It was wrong not to mourn the passing of a life, especially when the man was her husband. But fear and the fierce will to survive had pushed all other emotions from Sheila’s mind.
    There was a tug on her hands to pull her forward. Sheila resisted, and the rope immediately bit into her flesh as pressure was applied to make her obey.
    “Wait,” Sheila pleaded. The American stopped, looking at her with a quizzical lift of an eyebrow. She cast a darting glance to Brad’s body. “You aren’t just going to leave him there like that, are you? Where the animals can—” Sheila couldn’t finish the sentence, unable to voice the horrible picture that flashed through her mind.
    A harsh light glittered in the blue eyes. “We justkilled him,” he reminded her, his mouth crooking cynically. “You don’t really expect that we’ll turn into Christians and give him a decent burial, do you?”
    Sheila closed her eyes at the bitter logic and opened them to stare at the lifeless figure. “It isn’t right to leave him here like that,” she repeated lowly.
    A jerk of her bound wrists sent Sheila stumbling forward. One of the riders was holding the reins of the American’s horse as she was half-dragged to the left side of the empty saddle. Before she could recover her balance, a pair of hands gripped her waist and she was lifted astride.
    Gripping the horn to steady herself, Sheila glanced at the American. His hand was resting on the leather saddle skirt near her leg. He gave her a long, hard look, then said something in Spanish to the man holding the horse.
    Without a word to Sheila, he turned and walked to the body lying in the sandy dirt. Lifting the dead weight, he heaved it over his shoulder, carrying it like a bulky sack of potatoes to the passenger door of the car.
    Magnetically, her gaze was pulled away from the scene, drawn to a pair of eyes that were as black and hard as nuggets of coal. They compelled her to look at the man, the leader of the band of renegades. Her pulse accelerated in vague alarm.
    A flurry of movement and an angry Spanish voice released