Prey Read online

  So her options were that she could lie there and kind of enjoy feeling an erection poking at her even if she wasn’t the cause of it, or she could sort of casually shift away as if she hadn’t even noticed, pretend she was just waking up herself.

  “Hey, don’t mind me,” he growled. “I’m just the guy with the hard-on poking at you, not somebody you really need to answer.”

  And just like that her good intentions fell away, because nobody else had ever been able to jerk her chain the way Dare Callahan did. “Oh, is that what that is?” she cooed. “I thought it was a tube of Chapstick.”

  He made a smothered kind of sound that might have been amusement, if he’d been the type of man who laughed. His big hand closed on her shoulder and he gently tugged her onto her back as he shifted to the side and propped himself on his elbow. Before she had an inkling what he might do, he gripped her hand and pressed it to the thick, hard ridge in his jeans. “Chapstick, my ass,” he said. There was a faint curve to his mouth that said he really might have laughed.

  Angie froze, her mind going blank with shock at what he’d done, at suddenly finding herself in such uncharted territory she had no idea which way to go, or how she’d even got there. She turned as red as any teenager and jerked her hand away, stammering, “Wh-what’re you doing?” God, had he thought she was flirting? She didn’t know how to flirt. She sucked at it, so she never tried.

  “Correcting a misconception,” he said, as if her question actually needed an answer. “Two, as a matter of fact.”

  If she hadn’t been so at sea, she wouldn’t have responded, wouldn’t have let curiosity get the better of her. “Two?” she blurted, completely off balance and almost panicked by the lightning speed with which the situation had altered.

  “The first one, you can figure out on your own.” He actually gave a real smile, one that crinkled the corners of those vivid blue eyes, and if she’d been standing her knees would have gotten wobbly. Oh, thank God he didn’t smile all that often, she thought fervently, because the effect was lethal. “The second one, I’ll tell you about later.”

  “Why not now?” Damn it! What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she just leave well enough alone, keep her mouth shut, and let the subject drop? Dare Callahan had just put her hand on his penis and she needed to stop thinking about him, divert him from thinking about it, and in general pretend it had never happened. She waved her hand as if to erase the words. “Never mind. It isn’t important.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion, but it can wait.” He yawned and sat up, rotated his neck from side to side, stretched his arms over his head and rolled his shoulders, grimacing as ligaments popped. Getting her here had to have been a terrible effort for him, she thought guiltily. She had thanked him, but there was no way any words could repay him for what he’d done.

  “Do you need to make another trip outside?” he asked as he twisted his neck from side to side, which made more popping noises.

  “No, I’m good.” She made a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For nearly crippling you. You sound like Rice Krispies when you move.”

  “Snap, crackle, pop? Hell, I sound like that every morning when I get up.”

  “I had to have made things worse.”

  “The mud was the hardest part. Carrying someone conscious isn’t that tough. Dead weight’s a bitch, though.” He said it with the slightly absentminded manner of someone who was well acquainted with carrying dead weight, then rolled to his feet with a litheness that belied any sore muscles or stiffness. “I’m starving. You have any preferences for supper? We’re okay for food. I always have some supplies up here, plus I brought more when I came up. We have jerky or power bars if easy’s what you want, or I can heat some water and we’ll have hot soup or stew—”

  “Stew,” she said, sitting up as the thought made her mouth water. She was starving, which wasn’t surprising considering how many calories they had both burned during the night, without anything to eat in almost twenty-four hours except the sugar water he’d made for them, and a power bar each. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Tidy up what you can reach,” he replied. “I kind of left the area in a mess this morning.”

  She was absurdly gratified that he didn’t dismiss her offer. No, she wasn’t very mobile and couldn’t do much, but she could definitely crawl around the small space and pick up the dirty, soggy clothing that had been scattered helter-skelter. Their muddy boots had been left where they’d fallen, her mud-encrusted rifle and scabbard were propped in a corner, though Dare’s rifle was within easy reach. The cups they’d used that morning were on the floor, as well as the power bar wrappers.

  Dare was a military man; for him not to police his area told her more than words could on how exhausted he had been when he’d carried her up the ladder early that morning.

  She tidied as much as she could, putting the trash in a plastic trash bag, folding their wet clothing into a neat pile so he could take them down and hang them over the stalls to dry. While she was doing that, Dare moved the camp stove into their small area, set it down, and lit it. She appreciated the notion behind not wasting any heat. She wasn’t cold now, thank goodness, but the cabin was definitely chilly.

  “This is an interesting design,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the cabin. “You built it yourself?”

  “I designed it. Hired someone else to build it. I was too busy to take care of it myself, plus I hate hammering shit together.” He paused in the act of pouring bottled water into the percolator, and glanced up at her, blue eyes glittering. “Guess that wasn’t the most diplomatic thing to say.”

  “Which part? The one that pointed out your business was booming while mine was withering away, or the interesting mental image of hammering shit?”

  Her tone was wry. To her own surprise, she couldn’t muster even a little anger at her career downturn. It had happened, she was in the process of dealing with it, and she’d make things work out in the end. On the other hand, she was definitely amused at his turn of phrase.

  “The first part.”

  He didn’t back away from trouble, she noted, just met it head on and dealt with it. For now, though, there was no trouble. She couldn’t say there wouldn’t be later, but as far as she was concerned last night he’d bought himself a lot of leeway. There was no way to tell where that leeway might run out, but she knew for certain it wasn’t right here, right now.

  “It’s okay. Anyway, I like that you designed it so the horses are completely safe and enclosed.”

  He set the percolator on the flame. “I’d rather use four-wheelers; they’re faster and aren’t as much trouble, but a lot of clients prefer to do the whole roughing-in routine with horses so I had to take that into account. This way, either four-wheelers or horses can be secured below.”

  “Bear proof.” Just saying the words made the bottom drop out of her stomach as a vivid memory flashed in her mind. Bile rose in her throat, almost choking her. She would never forget, never get those images out of her mind.

  “Yeah.” He gave her a sharp look that told her he’d noted her change of expression, or maybe there had been something in her voice that gave her away. “Exactly what happened last night? Start at the beginning.”

  Using her left foot, she levered herself back so she could lean against the wall and stretch her legs out in front of her. “I’m not sure where the beginning is. There was probably trouble between my two clients before they got here. There had to have been.”

  “They were arguing?”

  “No, but they weren’t friends, either. Their names are Chad Krugman and Mitchell Davis. I’ve guided Krugman before. He isn’t much of an outdoorsman, but last year he came with a client of his and when he booked again this year I figured it was the same setup, that he was doing it for business reasons.”

  Dare dumped stew mix into two disposable bowls, then scooted back to sit propped against the wall beside her. His hard trice