Now she knew, at least she thought she did, and... dear God, she wished she didn't!
You'll get your cousin back if it kills me. And I'll get...
What? What will you get, Jake?
My money. Every last cent of it.
Amanda closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. She held it until her lungs burned. She didn't realize she'd fisted handfuls of the saddlebag until she felt the worn leather crinkle in her grip.
The money. He'd found out about the money and...
She opened her eyes and glared down at the saddlebag. With trembling fingers, she rummaged through her belongings. Though she searched frantically, it took only a second for her to realize that what she was looking for wasn't there.
"Finally figured it out, did you? Took you long enough." Jake's voice was low and deadly; his ridicule cut into her as sharply as one of his knives.
Her shoulders sagged, and her head lowered until her chin rested atop her collarbone. Her voice, when it came, sounded low and defeated. "Jake, I can explain..."
"Save it. I don't want to hear any more of your lies."
Oh, that hurt! But, since she knew she deserved it, Amanda only winced inwardly. "I wasn't going to lie."
"Yeah, I'll just bet you weren't."
"I wasn't! I was going to tell you the truth. All of it."
"Uh-uh. Pity the truth according to Amanda Lennox is never the truth at all. It's just one big pack of lies. Little white lies which, I suppose when told to a stupid half-breed, don't count." His pause was short, riddled with tension. "Pack up, Miss Lennox
. Like I said, we're heading out tonight."
"But—"
"Pack!"
"No!" As tempting as it was to back down, to take the coward's way out, Amanda's conscience refused to allow it. For once in her life, she was determined to fight for something important; she was going to fight for Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. Her chin lifted a notch. Even that minute gesture made her feel braver. The difference in attitude was reflected in her tone. "I'm not going anywhere until you've given me a chance to explain why I did what I did. I have reasons, Jake. Good reasons."
When he made no reply, she glanced at him. He'd moved, his tread as silent and graceful as a cat's. He was standing a mere foot away from her. She hadn't heard him ease the door closed, but he must have done so at some point, because it was closed now. He towered over her, his size and fury dwarfing the room—dwarfing her—until everything but him faded to insignificance.
Amanda felt cornered, trapped and desperate. That surge of innate cowardice crowded in on her again, but she steadfastly pushed it aside. It was time—past time—that Jake learned the truth. Her back rigid, she clasped her hands tightly in front of her and nodded to the chair next to the window. "Have a seat, Mr. Chandler," she said, her prim Bostonian accent locked firmly in place. "This could take a while."
She expected him to argue. She expected him to spin on his heel and walk out. She expected anything, except what he did.
Jake retrieved the chair and dragged it close to the bed. Turning it backward, he straddled it so that he was sitting facing her. By accident or intent, the back of the chair acted as a shield between them.
His smokey gaze sharpened on her. A thousand times Jake told himself not to listen. A thousand times he told himself to get up and leave, to get on his horse and ride the hell out of Junction—to get as far away from Amanda Lennox as he could. To run and never, never look back.
And then his traitorous body flooded with a thousand and one soft, sweet reasons to stay. To listen. To hope that once, just once, she would trust him enough to tell him the truth. In the end, it was his body that won out.
When it came to Amanda Lennox, didn't it always?
Gritting his teeth, and calling himself all sorts of a fool, he slanted a dark brow at her. "Say it and say it quick, princess. I want to be out of this hellhole before dawn."
Amanda nodded and, before her knees could embarrass her by buckling, walked over to the side of the bed and perched on the edge of it. Jake was close—close enough to reach out and touch, close enough for her to smell the earthy tang of him in the air, interlaced with the potent fumes of liquor.
Her hand lifted from her lap, her fingertips tingling with the need to make contact with him, to draw from his seemingly bottomless well of strength and control. His gaze darkened and glared her hand back to her lap.
Amanda swallowed hard, her attention straying down to the hands she now clenched tightly in her lap. "Where do I start?"
"The beginning is always a good place." Leave, Chandler. Get up and leave, now, while you still have the chance. The advice Jake's mind dictated was sound. Pity his body refused to listen. He was glued to that chair, and nothing on heaven or earth was going to budge him until he'd heard Amanda's story. Until he had the truth.