Lone Rider by B.J. Daniels Page A

he was worried that her family would be searching for her. What would her father do if someone from the foundation called?
    She knew what everyone would think. That she’d run away. How long, though, before her father would send someone up to find her? Or would he wait, assuring himself that eventually she would have to come out of the mountains and face things?
    Days, she thought as Ray handed her the pot and spoon. She ate a few bites, knowing she needed to keep up her strength. Ray had made it clear he would be dragging her farther back into the mountains today.
    She couldn’t bear the thought. Her legs and feet still ached from yesterday’s hike—not to mention her wrists, which were raw and painful. Last night, he’d tied the rope on her wrists looser, but still the rough sisal had rubbed against her raw skin every time she moved.
    Tears blurred her eyes at the thought of another day of torture, and all the while he would be watching her, waiting. Anything could set him off. She took a few more bites of the beans and handed back the pot and spoon. “I’m not sure I can walk as far as I did yesterday,” she said in a small voice, trying hard not to cry. She feared tears would trigger his anger. Or his lust. As she raised her gaze to his, for a moment she thought he might hit her—or worse.
    But he just dumped the beans into the fire and stepped to the creek to rinse the pot and the spoon. His back was to her as he squatted by the stream. She glanced over and saw her socks and boots.
    Desperately she wanted to run, to go screaming through the forest. Her gaze fell on the crude circle of rocks around the fire pit. Her hands itched to pick up one of the rocks and charge him, slamming the rock down on his head as he crouched over the water.
    He wants you to try to get away. He’s waiting for you to do it so he can hurt you.
    Bo chocked back a sob as she crawled closer to the fire pit. She glanced toward him. Saw him freeze. He was listening. Expecting it. She busied herself by putting out the fire. Slowly she began to scoop up dirt and dump it on the last of the coals as her chest ached with unshed tears and smoke curled up from the dying fire.
    Ray rose slowly next to the creek and walked back to her. He glanced at her as she put more dirt on the embers. Smothered, the fire sputtered out, the smoke thinning into a narrow ribbon as it wound up into Montana’s clear blue big sky.
    He handed her the pot full of icy-cold creek water. “Here, wash yer hands.” She did, drying them on her jeans as he reached over and picked up her socks and her boots. “Put these on.” He took the pot from her, trading her for her socks and boots.
    She watched him pack up everything, knowing he was watching her, as well. Somehow she’d stilled the need to do something risky that would only make her situation worse. She felt stronger, more capable this morning after having lived through the night. But how could she continue with this unbearable situation much longer?
    Bo knew that Ray would eventually rape her. She’d seen the hunger in his eyes after weeks alone in these mountains. The man hadn’t become an escaped criminal because he could control his impulses. It was only a matter of time.
    Her mind whirled as she plotted. She would get him to trust her. Then she would find her chance to escape, and she would take it.
    She realized she could never outrun him. If she was lucky enough to get on her horse... But she couldn’t depend on that. He would expect her to go for the horse. He would make sure she didn’t get the chance.
    No, she thought. She would have to disable him. That thought turned her stomach. She’d never hurt anyone—at least not physically, she thought, reminded of Jace Calder. Disabling such a large man would take a great deal of force. A great deal of violence. And even that might not be enough.
    Could she kill Ray?
    She finished pulling on