"Tell you what, I'll pass the word on for you. Let's go."
She stubbornly refused to move forward. "How? How will you pass the word on, Jake? You aren't speaking to them, remember?"
"Like everything else, you've got that wrong. They aren't speaking to me."
One golden brow arched. Neither Gail nor Little Bear had said what caused the rift between them and Jake. Amanda was too polite to ask, but that didn't mean she wasn't curious. She was. And that worried her. Because suddenly she had a deep, burning desire to know everything there was to know about Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. And she wanted Jake to tell her. "Why?"
"None of your goddamn business. Now, let's go."
"No, Goddammit! Not extending my thanks to them would be rude in the extreme."
This time, Jake's hand did make contact with her shoulder. But not in the way she'd hoped. His fingers bit through the cloak, dug into her flesh. His fingers were trembling.
"Rude? Do you think I care?" His voice was low and edgy, his grip on her shoulder painfully tight. "I told you once, Miss Lennox, that I'm not a very nice person. You should have listened. If you had, we wouldn't be in this mess."
"Miss Lennox," she sneered, giving in to a sudden burst of temper herself. The surge of anger felt good. Much better them the confusion and pain that had preceded it. "You keep calling me that. An hour ago you called me princess."
"Yeah, well, an hour ago I liked you."
"You did more than 'like' me, Jake. You made love to—"
"Move!" he barked, and started to push her forward.
"No." Amanda dropped the saddlebag and dug her feet into the hard dirt floor. Her hands shot out, her fingers curling around the roughly hewn door frame. "I won't leave until I've thanked your sister and Little Bear. I owe them that much."
"I said I'd pass the words on."
"Well, I don't trust you to do it."
His grip on her shoulder flexed, then melted away. Amanda wasn't sure which was worse: Jake Chandler's fingers biting into her, or Jake Chandler not touching her at all.
"That's the real problem, isn't it, Miss Lennox? Trust. Or, in your case, the complete lack of it." His tone dripped sarcasm.
She didn't need to face him to know his glare was stabbing into her back, she felt it. A shiver of foreboding scratched its way down her spine. "Wh-what are you saying, Jake?"
"Same thing I've been saying for the last five minutes. It's time to leave. Let go of the door, Miss Lennox."
"Not until you tell me why you're mad at me, Mr. Chandler."
Amanda heard him shift, felt him move into place beside her. His inky head dipped into view when he snatched up her saddlebag and shoved it roughly into her hands.
"You're a smart girl, figure it out," he growled. The second her arms curled around the weather-softened leather, Jake roughly shoved her through the door, and into the snowy night.
The door slammed closed behind them.
"This way. The horses are in what's left of the damn barn." His feet sunk into the four inches of newly fallen snow as he stalked around her and moved to the far corner of the house.
Amanda almost followed him. Why not? There was no point in fighting any longer. He'd proved his will and physical strength were stronger than hers. Only one thing held her back. Her attention had snagged on th
e upstairs window, and the sight she focused on rooted her feet firmly to the snow-blanketed ground.
Golden light poured through the glass, slicing a distorted rectangle over the ground, silhouetting the figure who stood rigidly framed in the window.
From the size and shape, Amanda knew it was Gail who was silently watching the scene playing out below. She couldn't see the woman's expression, and Amanda thought that was just as well. She remembered too clearly the stricken look on Gail's face the first time Jake's name had been mentioned. It was the same look the woman got every time conversation turned toward her brother.
Amanda turned her head and glanced at Jake.
He was standing exactly where she'd last seen him, only now he was statue-still. Flakes of snow danced around him, melting on contact with his head and shoulders. His sleek black hair was being whipped around his face by the bitter-cold wind.