Lone Rider by B.J. Daniels

and for Angelina. Then he prayed for his own soul.
    Mostly, he prayed for guidance. While he’d taken a short hiatus, now he needed to get back to Washington, back on the campaign trail. But he couldn’t leave until he knew Bo was safe.
    Since he’d begun running for president, he’d felt cursed. Was this how his father had felt? Was this why he’d backed out of the presidential race?
    He knew it was foolish to pray for a sign from God as to what he should do, but he prayed for it anyway, terrified the curse that had destroyed his father was now on him—and his family.
    * * *
    B O WOKE TO the sounds and smells of a crackling fire. She opened her eyes and blinked. For a moment, she thought she was still camped in the woods alone. But then she felt the rope biting into her ankles and wrists, and remembered. Her stomach twisted, and she thought she might throw up as her gaze went to the man hunched over the fire. Her skin broke out in a cold sweat. She gulped down breaths to keep from sobbing hysterically again.
He wants to keep me for a mate.
    As he started to turn in her direction, she hurriedly closed her eyes tight and bit back a cry of desolation. Maybe if he thought she was still asleep...
    The kick to her thigh was anything but gentle. “Daylight’s burnin’,” he said. “Hafta get movin’. I cooked ya somethin’.”
    She opened her eyes, pretending that his kick had awakened her. She tried to sit up. Her muscles ached. It was all she could do not to groan in pain. But he’d seemed to like it when he thought she was tougher than she looked, so she held silent.
    She had to play along.
He wants to win me over. If I agree too quickly...
Well, she knew how that could go. But if she fought him...
    He bent down to untie the rope at her ankles, his gaze stealing to hers every few seconds. She could tell he was trying to gauge how she was feeling about him this morning. He’d opened up to her last night, telling her a lot about himself and about his life with his father. Did he now regret being that vulnerable with her?
    She tried hard to keep her expression pleasant. “What did you cook?”
    â€œBeans. That’s all we got, so no complainin’. I’ll kill somethin’ in a day or two, once we get settled farther in where no one’ll hear the gunshot.”
    Bo nodded, realizing that he planned to make her hike miles and miles back into the mountains as far from civilization as the Crazies went.
    He untied her wrists. “I s’pose ya gotta go.”
    At first she didn’t understand.
    â€œCan’t let ya go by yerself,” he said, pulling her up by one arm. She was still barefoot. As she looked around for her socks and boots, he shook his head. “No shoes. Not ’til I kin trust ya.” He made it sound as if he planned to keep her barefoot for a very long time.
    Again she nodded, and she let him lead her away from camp to a stand of thick pines. She limped across the dried pine needles and twigs that hurt the soles of her bare feet, but again she did everything possible not to react to the pain.
    â€œIn there,” he said and handed her a small roll of toilet paper. “I’ll be right here. If I hear ya try to run—”
    â€œI won’t,” she said, taking the paper and limping into the center of the cluster of trees.
    She’d had so little to eat that all she had to do was pee, but she left enough of the toilet paper that she thought someone might see it and at least know she’d been here. She’d thought about trying to leave a message, but she knew Ray was listening, half expecting her to do something to lose his trust.
    â€œYa done?” he asked when she came out and handed him the rest of the roll. He seemed a little surprised and maybe pleased that she hadn’t given him any trouble as he led her back to the campfire. The fire he’d built was small, making her wonder if