Run Wild by Shelly Thacker Page B

hours of unaccustomed physical exertion.
    “It’s not my fault that the shackles are so tight.” She glared at the man stretched out on the ground, adding in a mutinous whisper, “And I do not have big feet.”
    “Doesn’t bloody well matter now,” he grumbled. “Short of a convenient bolt of lightning from above or a blacksmith, it looks like there’s no way for me to get free of you.” Opening his eyes, he peered at the lengthening shadows, almost as if he were measuring the sun in some way. “Two hours of daylight left. You ready to press on, Lady Bigfeet?”
    She ignored the sarcasm, every muscle in her body aching at the words
press on
. “No.” She groaned. “No, I’m not. Can’t we stop? Can’t we rest just for a—”
    “Not unless you’re eager to wind up back in gaol.” He pushed himself to a seated position. “As soon as word spreads about a pair of dangerous fugitives on the loose, two marshalmen killed, and rewards offered, every lawman and bounty hunter in the north of England will be on our trail. By morning, if not sooner. And if they use dogs...”
    He let the sentence trail off, running a weary hand over his face.
    Sam felt a surge of fear. Dogs.
Dozens
of men hunting her down. Skilled, experienced men.
    And they would know right where to start looking. The young guard Tucker would show them.
    Her throat tightened. The rogue was right. They had to keep going. Put as much distance as possible between themselves and the point where they’d disappeared into the forest.
    Yet her fear mingled with anger at his apparent nonchalance. “Didn’t you consider any of that before you decided to take a flying leap out of the cart? Didn’t you think that far ahead? Didn’t you think at all?”
    “Aye, I did,” he retorted, “but I wasn’t counting on your charming company, Lady Bigfeet. I planned to be long gone by now. You are slowing me down.” He reached up to unfasten the bandage knotted around his shoulder. “But before we go any further, you’d better take a look at this damned wound.”
    She felt like spitting in his face. One minute he was insulting her, and the next he expected her to see to his comfort? “If you think I’m going to lift one finger to help you,” she said in a low, even voice, crossing her arms over her chest, “think again.”
    He clenched his jaw, wincing as he unwrapped the blood-soaked cloth. “Listen,
angel
,” he said tightly, beads of sweat sliding down his face, into his beard, “if you think you’re in trouble now, just try to imagine what would happen to you if I pass out from loss of blood. Or if I die.”
    She had barely started to contemplate the pleasant possibilities when he demolished every single one.
    “You’d be stuck here with one hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight chained to your ankle.” His eyes pierced hers. “Helpless as a trussed-up Christmas pigeon when the authorities come looking for you. If their dogs don’t get you first, their guns will make mincemeat out of you. When dealing with fugitives who’ve killed two of their fellow lawmen, they tend to let their bullets do their talking for them.”
    The violent image stole the air from her lungs. “But I didn’t kill those marshalmen!”
    “I doubt you’ll have time to explain that.”
    They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, the truth swirling between them like one of the hot beams of light from the dying sun.
    Then he said it aloud.
    “If I die, you die,” he put it plainly, his stark words all the more powerful for their lack of embellishment. “If I live...”
    For some reason, it took him an extra moment to finish that sentence.
    “You live.”
    Mute, shaking, she tried to control the fear and resentment careening through her. He was insufferable. Cold-hearted, uncivilized, utterly self-interested.
    But he also had a point. As unavoidable as it was true. If they wanted to survive...
    They were going to have to work together.
    She returned