Doug pulled a small hatchet out of his pack and un-snapped the leather sheath. “After about five feet, the place opens up. I can stand.” Moving to a scrawny pine, he began hacking at a branch. “Ever go spelunking?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Cave exploring,” he explained, grinning. “I knew this geology major once. Her daddy owned a bank.” As he recalled, he’d never been able to soak her for much more than a couple of memorable nights in a cave.
“I’ve always found better things to explore than holes in the ground.”
“Then you’ve missed a lot, sugar. This might not be a tourist attraction, but it has some first-class stalactites and stalagmites.”
“How exciting,” she said dryly. When she looked toward the cave, all she saw was a very small, very dark hole in the rock. Just looking made the sweat bead cold on her forehead.
Annoyed, Doug began to chop a respectable pile of firewood. “Yeah, I guess a woman like you wouldn’t find rock formations very exciting. Unless you could wear them.” They were the same, women who wore French dresses and Italian shoes. That’s why for pleasure he’d go for a fan dancer or a pro. You got honesty there, and some spine.
Whitney stopped staring at the opening long enough to narrow her eyes at him. “Just what do you mean, a woman like me?”
“Spoiled,” he said, bringing his hatchet down with a thwack. “Shallow.”
“Shallow?” She rose from the rock. Accepting the spoiled wasn’t a problem. Whitney figured truth was truth. “Shallow?” she repeated. “You’ve a hell of a nerve calling me shallow, Douglas. I didn’t steal my way to easy street.”
“You didn’t have to.” He tilted his head so that their eyes met. His cool, hers hot. “That’s about all that separates us, duchess. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. I was born to take it out and hock it.” Tucking the firewood under his arm, he walked back to the cave. “You wanna eat, lady, then get your high-class buns inside. You won’t get any room service here.” Agile and quick, he grabbed his pack by the straps, crawled inside, and disappeared.
How dare he! With her hands on her hips, Whitney stared at the cave. How dare he speak to her that way after she’d walked miles and miles? Since she’d met him, she’d been shot at, threatened, chased, and pushed from a train. And it had cost her thousands of dollars to date. How dare he talk to her as though she were a simpering, empty-headed debutante? He wouldn’t get away with it.
Briefly, she thought of simply going on herself, leaving him to his cave like any bad-tempered bear. Oh no. She took a long, deep breath as she stared at the opening in the rock. No, that was just what he’d like. He’d be rid of her and have the treasure all to himself. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. If she killed herself in the process, she was sticking with him until she got every dime he owed her. And a lot more.
A hell of a lot more, she added as she gritted her teeth. Getting down on her hands and knees, Whitney started into the cave.
Pure anger carried her the first couple of feet. Then the cold sweat of fear broke out and riveted her to the spot. As her breath began to hitch, she couldn’t move forward, she couldn’t move back. It was a box, airless, dark. The lid was already closed to suffocate her.
She felt the walls, the dark, damp walls closing in, squeezing the air out of her. Laying her head down on the hard dirt, she fought back hysteria.
No, she wouldn’t give in to it. Couldn’t. He was just ahead, just ahead. If she whimpered, he’d hear. Pride was every bit as strong as fear. She wouldn’t have his scorn. Gasping for air, she inched forward. He’d said the cave opened up. She’d be able to breathe if she could just crawl in a few more feet.
Oh God, she needed light. And room. And air. Balling her hands into fists, she fought off the need to scream. No, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself in front of him. She wouldn’t be his entertainment.
While she lay prone, waging her own war, she caught a glimpse of a flicker of light. Staying perfectly still, she concentrated on the sound of crackling wood, the light smell of pine smoke. He’d started the fire. It