Cowboy Resurrected. Elle James
Standing to the side of the door, Thorn balanced his rifle against his hip, grabbed the doorknob, shoved open the door and darted out of range.
An explosion erupted from inside the cabin and wood splintered from the door frame, bouncing off Thorn’s face. He ducked low, rolled through the doorway and came up in a crouch, aiming his rifle in the direction from which the last bullet had come.
“Vaya, o disparo!” Another shot blasted a hole in the wall near Thorn’s shoulder.
He threw himself forward in a somersault, coming up on his haunches. The rifle lay across the cot, pointed at the side of the shooter’s head.
“Por favor, no disparar!” a shaky female voice called out. “Don’t shoot!” Slim hands rose above the other side of the cot.
“¿Hablas Inglés?” Thorn asked.
“Sí. Yes. I speak English. Please, don’t shoot.”
“Place your weapon on the floor and push it toward the door.”
The thunk of metal hitting wood was followed by the rasp of it sliding across the floor.
Thorn hooked the gun with a foot and slid it toward himself. “Now you. Stand and walk toward the door.”
She hesitated. “Do you promise not to shoot?”
“I’m not going to shoot, as long as you don’t do something stupid.”
A slim figure emerged from the shadows, rising above the cot. Long, straight hair hung down around her shoulders, swaying slightly as she moved toward the door, picking her way carefully. For a second, she stood silhouetted in the light filtering in from the moon, the curve of her hips and breasts in sharp contrast to her narrow waist.
She glanced toward him, moonlight glinting off her eyes.
Thorn stared, transfixed.
Then, before he could guess her intentions, she flung herself outside, slamming the door shut behind her.
Thorn shot to his feet, ripped the door open and ran outside. He turned left, thinking she’d go for the motorcycle under the lean-to.
Just as he rounded the corner of the house, he realized his mistake.
Little Joe whinnied, then galloped by with the woman on him.
Thorn tore out after them, catching up before Little Joe could get up to speed.
He grabbed the woman around the waist and yanked her out of the saddle, the force of her weight sending them both to the ground.
The wind knocked out of him, Thorn held on to his prize, refusing to let go, a dozen questions spinning through his mind. Who was she? What was she doing on the Raging Bull? And why did her soft curves feel so good against his body?
Chapter Two
When Sophia landed on the man, the fall forced the air from her lungs. She lay there for a moment, gathering her wits and her breath. Then she fought to free herself of the steel vise clinched around her waist. “Let go of me.” She scratched and clawed at his arm.
“No way,” the deep voice said into her ear, his breath stirring the hairs at the back of her neck. “You almost killed me twice and tried to steal my horse.”
She jabbed her elbow into his gut and jerked to the side.
The man grunted and refused to loosen his grip.
Lightning flickered across the sky and a crash of thunder sounded so close, Sophia stopped fighting for a second.
The horse, standing a few feet away, reared and took off, probably racing for the barn as the sky lit again, this time with a thousand fingers of lightning.
Wind whipped Sophia’s hair into her eyes, and the first drops of rain peppered her skin.
The cowboy gripped her wrist and rolled her off him onto her stomach.
He came down on top of her, straddling her hips, his pressing into the small of her back. “I’ll let you up if you promise to behave.”
She snorted and spit to the side. “And I should trust you?”
He chuckled. “You don’t have much of a choice.”
Sophia squirmed beneath him, trying to free her wrist from his ironlike grasp. “Let go. I’ll leave and you will never see me again.”
Thunder boomed so loud it shook the ground.
“Sorry, sweetheart, you’re not going anywhere in this storm.”
As if to emphasize her captor’s point, the water droplets grew thicker, the wind blasting them against her skin.
The dry dust kicked up, stinging her eyes and choking her breath. “Okay.” She coughed. “I’ll behave.”
The man’s weight left her body and he jerked her to her feet.
As soon as she stood, the storm unleashed its full power in a deluge so thick she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
“Get in the cabin!” her captor yelled over the roar.
Water streamed down her face, blinding her.
A shove from behind sent her stumbling toward the open door. Her heart hammered against her ribs; fear of the storm nothing compared to fear of being trapped with this strong, dangerous stranger inside the small confines of the cabin.
He stepped around her and dragged her along behind him.
Sophia planted her heels in the mud and jerked hard.
The rain allowed her to slip free of his grip, but she hadn’t accounted for how easily. She teetered backward and landed hard on the ground, mud sluicing over her clothes, soaking her all the way to her skin.
The cowboy stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. “If you’re not struck by lightning, the flash floods will get you!” he yelled.
“I’ll take my chances.” Sophia scrambled to her feet, slipped, almost fell and steadied herself.
The cowboy’s lips quirked, and he shook his head. “Stubborn woman.”
Sophia’s chin tipped upward. Before she could think of a scathing reply, the cowboy moved, leaving the protection of the cabin to scoop her up. He tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of onions and spun back toward the cabin.
The wind again knocked out of her, Sophia bounced along with every one of his huge steps until they entered the cabin.
The brute of a man kicked the door shut behind him and set Sophia on her feet in the dark.
The temperature had plummeted with the rainfall, cooling her body. She shook, her teeth clattering against each other. “Don’t try anything or I’ll...I’ll...” She strained her eyes to search the room for a weapon, the darkness hampering her efforts and only flashes of lightning giving limited relief.
Finally she straightened, holding her head high, not that he could see her. She’d come too far to fall victim to yet another man who wanted to use her. Sophia dropped her tone to one she hoped sounded tough and menacing. “I’ll kill you.” Too bad a shiver shook her as she said the words, making them sound weak and quivery.
“Sweetheart, I have no intention of ‘trying’ anything with you. You look like a drowned rat and you’re covered in mud. You’re about as appealing as a pig. Less so. I could at least eat a pig.” He shuffled around the cabin, bumping into things.
Sophia stood close to the door, debating how to make her escape. The bellow of thunder and the rain pounding the roof intensified, making her think again.
Something rattled to her left, then a scraping sound rasped in the darkness and a match flared. The cowboy held it up and stared at the potbellied stove. “Here, make yourself