The Marshal's Hostage - By Delores Fossen Page 0,7

he had those answers, he could figure out a way to stop her from pressing charges against him.

Dream on.

Once the effects of the drug wore off, she’d be one riled woman.

Even over Joelle’s mumbles, Dallas heard Owen’s shouts and the rushing water of Butcher Creek just ahead. He didn’t go in that direction. Owen would expect it. Instead, Dallas headed west where the woods were thick, and the fallen leaves and lack of sun would make it harder for them to be tracked.

Joelle quit squirming, quit mumbling, and this time Dallas did stop so he could make sure she was still breathing. She was, thank goodness. But she was pale and practically unconscious.

Hell.

He needed to get her to the doctor.

But it wouldn’t be easy. He had to cut through the woods and head to the old cabin that Declan kept when he needed to get away. There was a four-wheeler parked there. It wouldn’t be ideal transportation for an unconscious woman in a bathrobe, but it would have to do. Plus, it would probably turn out to be faster than going back to Owen for help.

Dallas didn’t think Owen would be in a helping mood.

The temperature dropped when they reached the thick part of the woods where there was no sunlight at all. So he wrapped his arms around Joelle’s legs. Maybe that and his body heat would keep her warm.

“Are you taking me to bed?” she mumbled.

Even groggy, she’d asked a question that brought back those blasted bad memories. Or good ones, depending on his mood. Right now, his mood sucked, and he didn’t want to think of the times he had indeed hauled her off to bed.

But he did.

He thought about it.

And cursed himself.

“Dallas?” he heard Owen call out.

Owen yelled something else that Dallas couldn’t make out. Something bad, no doubt. Joelle had been right about her fiancé having a vile temper. When they’d lived at the orphanage, Dallas had not only witnessed it, he’d been on the receiving end of it—often while trying to run interference for the younger boys who would later become his foster brothers.

He thought of his brothers as he ran. Also thought of his father. Kirby wasn’t going to approve of this, but his brothers would stand with him. They would understand, and if they’d had the chance to save Kirby, any one of them would do the exact same thing.

Dallas kept running, the minutes ticking off in his head, still not taking a direct route to the cabin. He meandered through the woods, trying to leave as few signs as possible so that Owen and his henchmen couldn’t easily track them.

He finally spotted the cabin just ahead. Good thing, too, because his legs were about to give out. He checked the shed first and saw the four-wheeler parked inside before he carried Joelle onto the porch. He located the key that Declan kept in a goofy frog planter, and he let himself in.

“Where are we?” Joelle mumbled.

“The place belongs to Declan.”

The cabin wasn’t much, just one room and a bath with sparse furnishings. He eased Joelle onto the sofa sleeper and went in search of a jacket for her and the keys to the four-wheeler.

When Dallas turned around, Joelle was sitting up. Or, rather, she was trying to. She was wobbly, but she finally got herself upright.

She stared at him, dragged her tongue over her bottom lip and added a groan. “You really screwed up this time.”

Dallas grabbed a ratty-looking jacket from a hook on the wall. “Well, I’m not alone. Your fiancé just had you drugged, and you’re scared to death of him.”

She didn’t deny either of those things.

And that meant he had more questions for the nonanswers she’d just given.

Joelle shivered, pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged herself.

Oh, man.

There it was. That punch of sympathy. As long as Joelle was defiant and lying through her teeth, he could hold on to the anger over that blasted report of her inquiry. But seeing her weak and trembling wasn’t good for his resolve of wanting to wring her neck.

Dallas huffed, took the jacket to her and draped it over her shoulders. Even though they needed to get out of there, he sat down beside her. “Why did Owen drug you?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, shook her head. “Long story.”

“We have time,” he lied.

Her gaze came to his, and he saw the tears. Yep, tears. He would have had to be a heartless SOB to be immune to