The Rancher's Daughter. Jodi O'Donnell

gave a huff of frustration, and again she couldn’t have said with whom she was frustrated.

      “You can’t save the world, Maura,” Ash said, and it was now as if he were trying to convince her of something that meant a great deal to him.

      She wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t go there.

      “If I help rescue just one soul,” Maura said stubbornly, “it’d be worth it. I mean, don’t you feel your life has been given new purpose by saving mine?”

      He didn’t answer, only gazed at her with that same wariness.

      She rose, needing to move, and went to stand at the entrance to the passage that led to the outside. Even from several yards in, the sound of the wind was like getting up close and personal with a volcano. The worst of the fire would have passed by now, but the danger—and the fury—were not over. They would never be over, for there would always be forest fires. There would always be the suffering of the innocent. It was a law of nature.

      Panic again fought its way upward in her chest.

      Distracting herself, Maura passed a palm across the back of her neck. “Heavens, I feel grubby. I’d give anything for a nice hot shower.”

      “I’d suggest freshening up in the spring,” Ash said from behind her, “but it’s just a little spit of water, and the pool it flows into isn’t something you’d give your dog a bath in, much less yourself.”

      She turned to regard him. He had exhibited little reaction to her diatribe, except for his eyes returning to that cool silver that created enough distance between them you could have inserted the Grand Canyon with room to spare. She knew she hadn’t changed his mind a bit. Of course, she knew what he believed; he’d said it outright.

      “Just a spit of water, eh?” She elevated her chin an inch. “Not exactly my idea of clean, but better than nothing.”

      She found the bar of Ivory she always kept in her pack and took it and her helmet with her as she headed stalwartly down the tunnel. She wasn’t going to let Ash Whatever-his-last-name-was get her down.

      She gave the doe a quick check on the way by. Smokey was still glued to his mother’s side. Maura stooped to soothe a hand down the bridge of the doe’s nose. She barely responded. She seemed to be resting better, though. Maura would take the next turn bathing the burns after her own abbreviated ablution.

      The spring, she discovered, was the trifling affair Ash had warned it would be, barely a trickle down the side of one wall into a small muddy pool at the bottom. She sighed. It would have to do.

      Wedging her helmet into a crevice in the opposite wall, she removed her fire shirt, then hesitated with her hands on the hem of her T-shirt, listening. The only sounds were that of the spring echoing in the chamber. Not that Ash would peek; she knew that without asking. She drew the T-shirt over her head, reveling in the feel of fresh, albeit cold, air on her skin, and impulsively removed her bra as well. She used the red bandanna she’d had tied around her throat to catch the meager stream from the spring, soaped the dampened area and washed herself as best she could, shivering a little in the cool of the cave. Meager as it was, the bath did revive her spirit.

      She didn’t know why she cared, anyway—about what Ash thought or if he had the disposition of a badger and an outlook so gloomy it would take a trip to the far side of the sun to brighten it up a bit. But she had to wonder what had made him that way: wary, secretive, cynical.

      Something flitted past her ear, ruffling her hair. Maura knew it was a bat—she knew it—but she couldn’t stifle a startled cry.

      She gave another when barely three seconds later Ash appeared around the corner, his Pulaski gripped in his hand, his eyes wide with concern, his features taut. His stance that of knight ready to do battle.

      Except that there was nothing to do battle with. And that’s when Maura realized why, actually, his expression was so strained: Ash’s headlamp had zeroed in like a spotlight on her naked torso. She felt like Gypsy Rose Lee on stage at the burlesque.

      Maura gave yet another screech, this one of embarrassment, as she stooped, fumbling for her fire shirt to cover herself.

      Realizing where the beam of his headlamp was trained, Ash whipped his helmet off his head and shoved it under his arm with military precision, so that the light now fell in a pool at his feet.

      “Are you okay?” he asked belatedly. He had obviously been ready to come to her rescue for the second time that day. It wasn’t the fact that she was standing there virtually half-naked that a thrill of goose bumps swept over her.

      It was immediately followed by a thoroughly warming blush at the spark that leaped to his eyes, remote no more.

      “A…a bat startled me,” Maura stammered, clutching her shirt at her throat with one hand while holding it spread over her breasts with the other. “I’m fine…just embarrassed, is all. That I screamed, I mean, and made you come running. I must have scared the life out of you.”

      He finally averted his eyes, obviously nearly as embarrassed as she was.

      “I didn’t know if—or what—had happened.” He actually shuffled his feet. “You know, if you’d seen a spider or if there was some kind of animal you’d come across that was threatening you…”

      He shoved a hand through his dark hair. “Oh, hell.”

      Maura broke out into a smile. How sweet of him, just when she was about to give up on him. As much as he might pretend he was a hard case, she had a feeling Ash might be in the same league of softie as her father.

      “I’m fine,” Maura said, suddenly lighthearted, where a few moments ago she’d been ready to throw in the towel. “Really. I’m used to spiders and bats and most everything else. But thank you for coming to my rescue—again.”

      He mumbled something not quite sounding like “You’re welcome,” and stormed back down the passage without so much as a by-your-leave.

      Maura’s smile only widened. He couldn’t have seemed more uncomfortable than if she’d caught him in a lie.

      And maybe she had.

      Ash stalked—as best as one could hunched over and boot soles slip-sliding on a damp, uneven cave floor—back to the chamber where he and Maura had set up camp. Once there, he drew in half a dozen bracing breaths through clenched teeth.

      He needed to get a grip on himself. He was taking this rescue business way too far. Maura was no shrinking violet who needed him to stomp on bugs or chase away critters. That had been clear from the start. It had been the whole point of calling her a powder puff. She had a degree in forestry, for Pete’s sake, had probably spent more time braving the wilds of Montana than he had.

      But, damn, it felt good to have her look at him with those big, blue eyes as if he was her own personal hero. And damn, but seeing her standing there, her skin wet and glowing, that red braid of hair, itself alive as the fire outside, spilling over one breast—it had been like glimpsing heaven.

      A heaven he didn’t even dare dream about.

      And tonight was going to be hell, confined here in this cave with her. Ash swore, vividly and succinctly. He would almost rather have fought a thousand forest fires.

      He looked around as he heard her return to the chamber.

      “I can’t tell you how much better I feel,” she said cheerily and without a bit of her earlier embarrassment. He had to admire her gumption. But then, she hadn’t heard his next bit of news.

      “Well, if you’re done for the night, I’m thinkin’ we’d better get some sleep.” More brusquely than he meant to, he continued, “It’s best if we shut off the headlamps to conserve our batteries. Chances are we’ll make it out tomorrow, but we’ve actually got no idea how long we might have to hole up here before we can get out or someone else can get in.”

      He paused, then decided