Savage Heat by Nan Ryan

and close intimacy of his tall frame. She did immediately, and felt the floor coming up to meet her.
    She was hauled up into his arms before she completely crumpled. The sudden movement had left her dizzy, and she felt as though she might faint. Reluctantly allowing her forehead to fall onto his chest, she tried desperately to gather her wits, to renew her spent energy.
    Feeling that even to lift her head was more than she could manage, Martay proudly did just that. She looked again into those cold black eyes and foolishly spoke exactly what was on her mind. “You’re going to rape me and then kill me, I know you are, you filthy beast!”
    His black eyes narrowed. “A Sioux warrior does not make war on women and children.”
    “Then put me down this instant and let me go!” she demanded weakly.
    “You’ll be gone in twenty-four hours,” he said noncommittally as he looked directly into her eyes.
    More terrified of his intense gaze than of the strong arms that bound her, Martay lowered her eyes to the level of his dark throat, noting the strong pulse throbbing there beneath the sweat-slick bronzed skin. “Why have you captured me? What do you intend to do with me? How did you get me? I don’t … I …”
    He gave no answers to her barrage of questions. Instead, he carried her to the cot and sat her down, then took a seat beside her. Martay shook her head in confusion, trying to recall what had happened.
    The last thing she remembered was standing alone on the back veranda at the Darlington party. Waiting for Larry Berton to bring her punch. How did she get from there to here? And just where was here? How could a wild Indian have snatched her right from that moonlit veranda? Hugging her arms to her ribs, she tried to stop the trembling of her cold, tired body. And she tried to recall exactly what had happened.
    And through her mind flashed the memory of all those premonitions she’d had for the past several weeks. That feeling that someone was watching her, that something bad was about to happen to her.
    “What do you want with me?” she asked, her voice faltering.
    He said nothing.
    Martay turned and looked again at the chisel-faced man sitting beside her. Silently he drew a cigar from inside his saddlebags and lit it, slowly puffing it to life.
    In a voice gone high and shrill, she said, “Why me? Why have you brought me here?” No reply. Total silence. He didn’t bother to look at her. Angrily, she said, “Answer me, damn you!”
    The dark head did not turn. Staring straight ahead, he pulled smoke deep down into his lungs, then leisurely released it. Finally, he spoke. “It doesn’t matter. This time tomorrow you won’t be here.”
    Martay swallowed hard.
    All day and all night alone in the wilds with a forceful, hostile Indian! What might happen in that length of time? True, he spoke perfect English and he had bragged that Sioux warriors didn’t make war on women, but could she believe him? No. Her father said the Sioux were the meanest of all the Plains Indians, that they raided and robbed and killed for the sport of it. You couldn’t trust them as far as you could throw them. They were sneaky and dangerous.
    “Please”—she heard her weak voice take on a begging tone—“please let me go and I’ll never tell anyone about this.” He made no reply, just leaned back against the wall, stretched his long legs out before him, and smoked quietly, his hooded eyes fixed on some point across the room.
    “I have money.” She tried another tack. “I’m quite rich; very rich in fact. I own gold mines all over northern California and Nevada. You’ll have more money than you’ve ever seen in your life if you’ll release me.”
    His black eyes came back to her. “I don’t want money.”
    “But you must. Everyone wants money.” She shoved her tangled hair from her eyes and pointed out, “With money you could buy all kinds of pretty things at the trading post.” She thought she detected a look of