Wildfire in His Arms by Johanna Lindsey Read Free Book Online Page B

Turning the animal around in the small cave where it was hidden would waste too much time. He was simply running down the hill for freedom, zigzagging through the trees, probably hoping Degan would lose sight of him so he could hide, then double back for his mount. It might have worked. There were enough trees to hide behind. But the kid was short and Degan’s legs were long.
    He got a handful of the long doeskin coat that was flapping behind the boy and yanked on it. That should have stopped him, but Dawson slipped his arms out of it, leaving the coat in Degan’s hand while he kept on running. Degan tossed it aside and closed the distance between them again. He got his hand on Dawson’s vest this time, but damned if the kid didn’t do it again, slipping his arms out of it so Degan was left with just the stiff leather—and the sound of the kid’s laughter floating back at him. So Dawson had planned that one, unbuttoning the garment as he ran? Incredible! This was starting to feel like a joke with Degan as the punch line.
    He hadn’t chased anyone like this since he was a child playing with his younger siblings. Since coming West, he’d never encountered a situation where he had to chase anyone. And his gun could put a stop to this nonsense, but he still didn’t draw it. But he wasn’t falling for Dawson’s tactics again when the kid was probably already unbuttoning his shirt for a third slip.
    â€œGive it up, fancy man!” Max yelled without looking back. “You ain’t catching me!”
    Degan tackled the boy to the ground. It probably knocked the breath out of him, considering their weight difference. The kid was so still now it might even have knocked him out. Or was he thinking up some other trick? Degan was done playing children’s games.
    Dawson’s tan hat had rolled farther down the hill when they’d hit the ground. Degan got off the boy, grabbing a handful of spiky blond hair, pulling Max to his feet. The kid came up swinging his fists. Degan shoved him back to the ground and, getting down on one knee, held him there at arm’s length while he searched for the knife the kid had used to cut the ropes. The boy was resisting with fists and knees now. The fists couldn’t reach Degan’s face and he barely felt them as they struck his chest, but the knees jabbing him in his side were getting annoying. Then Max changed tactics and just tried to get Degan’s hand off his belly, but that didn’t work either.
    â€œI could have slit your throat while you slept but I didn’t!” Max snarled at him.
    â€œTwo points for you, kid.”
    â€œFor your life? That’s a hundred damn points if you ask me!”
    â€œI’m not asking.”
    The knife wasn’t in the boy’s belt, so it was probably in one of his boots. Degan figured he could either knock the kid out and carry him back to the shack to find it, or risk getting a boot to his face if he removed the boots here. For the trouble Dawson had caused him, he opted for the knockout, and he was in a good position to deliver the blow with one hand still holding Dawson down.
    But Max saw the punch coming and used all he had left to avoid it, trying to turn on his side and covering his head with both arms. With the sudden movement, Degan’s palm slid up a few inches and touched something soft.
    That brought him to his feet fast. “What the . . . ?”
    The kid was still cowering on the ground—like a girl. Oh, hell no. There had to be a money pouch or something else strapped to Dawson’s chest that would account for what he’d felt. He was not dealing with a damn girl.
    â€œGet up,” Degan growled.
    The kid did with a wary look. Degan clamped his fingers around the back of Max’s neck and, keeping him at arm’s length in front of him, walked him back up the hill. Degan didn’t collect the discarded garments they passed on