“Just stay put and I'll do the looking,” he said, waving her back down.
He switched sides, digging through more bins. He lifted a couple of thick heavy-looking parcels out of one. “Well, here's the parachutes they obviously didn't get to use.”
“A lot of good those will do,” she groused.
He set them aside. “More good than you think, actually. They'll make quite a snug bed for us tonight.”
Dakoda sipped a little more tequila. More warmth spread through her, delivering a contented glow. “Good idea,” she nodded. “Looks like that Indian sense is beginning to kick in.”
Jesse moved to another set of bins. “Last set.” He opened them up and shined the light inside. “I wish I could say things were looking up for us.”
Dakoda craned her neck to see. “What is it?”
Frowning deeply, he reached inside. “Unfortunately it isn't anything we can eat.” He pulled out a small carton, shining the light across its face: .9
MM LUGER AMMUNITION
. “Looks like our drug dealers came prepared for trouble.”
Dakoda closed her eyes in dismay. Through the last few hours she'd been feeling woozy, trying to ignore the growls and rumbling deep in her stomach. Knowing Jesse was probably just as hungry, she hadn't complained. They'd been denied further meals as punishment for not performing for Kamai. A hungry animal, he'd said, would perform better.
She pressed a hand against her stomach to stay the growl deep inside her gut. “Any guns there?”
Jesse pulled out a couple of leather pouches. “I'm going to guess this is the firepower.” He unzipped one of the pouches and took the weapon out. “Just what I thought.” He made a quick check of the magazine and slide with the confidence of one used to handling a firearm. “Loaded and ready for action,” he announced.
Dakoda cocked a brow. “You seem to know what you're doing.”
Jesse returned the gun to its pouch. “I can handle myself,” he said. “If it comes to them killing me or me killing them, you can be pretty much assured I will pull the trigger first.”
She nodded. “In this case, I would have to agree.” In the back of her mind she was sure she could shoot Skeeter Barnett down without hesitation and smile as she did it.
Jesse did a quick rundown. “So we've got our drugs, our booze, and our guns. Pretty much everything you'd expect a smuggler to carry.”
“Nothing else?” Dakoda asked plaintively.
He shined the penlight into the bin again. The small beam was losing its bright, cutting edge. The batteries clearly wouldn't last much longer.
Jesse showed her the white box marked with a big red plus sign. “And here's where you believe there is a God after all. What every good drug dealer needs to have on hand. A first-aid kit.”
Dakoda grinned despite herself. “That's better than nothing.”
“Don't forget, we have something nice and warm to wrap ourselves in,” Jesse reminded. “Just give me a minute and I'll get us all settled in.”
J
esse set to work, rearranging the belly of the plane into a campsite. Restacking some of the marijuana bales, he hollowed out a good-sized space in the center of the shipment, leaving a single layer as padding against the bare floor. Ripping open the parachutes, he unfurled the nylon material, spreading it out to form a layer of bedding.
Hands on his hips, Jesse surveyed his efforts with satisfaction. “Your castle awaits, my lady.”
Tequila clutched in one hand, Dakoda slid over the waist-high bales and lowered herself into the space. Though half the size of the cell they'd earlier occupied, it was a hell of a lot cozier. Giving a little sigh of relief, she sank down on the bale-padded floor. “Oh, man. This is the first time I've felt safe since all this shit began.”
A particularly strong gust of wind hit the plane, giving the wreckage a good shove. “At least we're out of the storm,” Jesse said, climbing in with the first-aid kit. “Just a minute and I'll take a look at your ankle. Still bothering you?”
“Yeah, in the worst of ways.” Bending a leg, Dakoda clawed at the laces of her boots. The water had swollen them tight and thick, making them difficult to handle. “I'd like to get these off,” she groused. “My foot is killing me.”
“Let me.” Clenching the penlight between his teeth, Jesse used the tip of his stolen pocketknife to pry the laces apart. Untying them, he eased the boot off Dakoda's foot, and then her wet sock. His fingers gently probed her ankle, swollen to twice its normal size.
Stretching and wiggling her cramped toes, Dakoda leaned back against the bales. “Is it broken?”
Manipulating the area, Jesse shook his head. His touch heated her skin, causing the hair at the nape of her neck to rise with pleasant anticipation. “I didn't make it to med school, but I don't think so. You twisted it pretty bad, though. Best thing for it now is to stay off it.” Reaching for the first-aid kit, he snapped it open. “Let's see here⦔ He pawed past a roll of sterile gauze for an elastic bandage and adhesive tape. “This ought to stabilize your ankle.” He handed over the light. “Keep it steady so I can see what I'm doing.”
Holding the penlight for him, Dakoda watched him unroll the elastic, then carefully circle it around her swollen ankle. As he bent closer, his scent assailed her senses, lush and wildly exotic. He smelled of the storm and his own musky heat. Knowing how he tasted, how his hard muscled body felt on top of hers, sent a tremor up her spine.
No time to be thinking about that, she warned herself. With a roof over her head and a belly full of intoxicating tequila, her mind was beginning to drift toward other things. A curiously familiar numbness was spreading through her body. She was more than a little tipsy. It was easy to imagine making slow, sweet sensuous love to him atop the silken material.
Pushing the forbidden thoughts away, she cleared her throat and tried to remember what the subject was before she'd veered off track.
“Looks like you've had some medical training,” she commented, noting he took care to make sure the circulation wasn't cut off. As a junior ranger she'd taken several courses on wilderness survival. She had a rough idea which plants were edible, which were poisonous, and how to stay hydrated when drinkable water wasn't readily available. Stumbling onto the wreckage was a stroke of luck.
“Actually, I have,” he said.
“Oh?” Braced by the stretchy material, her foot instantly felt a hundred percent better. Another swig of tequila helped even more.
Jesse used a few strips of tape to secure the bandage. “I worked as a lifeguard at the college pool.” He shrugged. “Went through a couple of training courses. For a while I thought I might switch and study to become a paramedic.”
Her brow wrinkled. “I thought you were studying to be an accountant.”
“
Was
is the key word,” he reminded. “I never graduated.”
She shook her head. “Somehow I don't see you as a bean counter.”
“Honestly I don't either.” A low laugh broke from his lips. “Thanks to my uncle, I had a job on the reservation, working in the casino after I graduated. Nice salary, good benefits. I'd have been set for life.”
“Do you regret leaving all that behind?” Dakoda asked.
Jesse thought a moment. “On good days, I like living in these mountains, being wild and free. On bad daysâlike nowâI miss the conveniences of a normal life.”
Dakoda nodded. “I guess there are advantages to both.”
Jesse sighed. “Our tribe would have more advantages if the wheels of the federal government didn't grind so exceedingly slow. I am sure the powers-that-be think we're just a bunch of crazy Indians out here running wild with the big cats.”
Dakoda stifled a giggle behind her hand. “All the while not knowing you
are
the big cats.”
He reached for the bottle of tequila. “And not many of us left at all,” he said, after taking a quick sip. “It's really an ability that's dying out. Somehow our tribe held on to the old knowledge, but I don't know how much longer we'll have it. The elders are dying off, and the next generation has been seduced by modern technology and beliefs.”
“I can see where it would be difficult to hang on to such an ability in today's world. Who could believe such a thing without seeing it with their own eyes?”
Jesse took another thoughtful sip, grimacing as the strong alcohol hit his stomach. “No one would, and that's the point. We've got to manage to hang on to our fading heritage without letting the outside world know we exist. Can you imagine the media frenzy if something like this got out?”
Dakoda winced. “I wouldn't even want to imagine it,” she said.
“Neither would I.” Jesse patted her foot, then helped her take off her other boot. He sat them up on the edge of the bales. “That's taken care of. Now let's see if we can't do something to take the edge off the pain.” Looking in the first-aid kit again, he dug through some antiseptic wipes and antibiotic cream, finally coming up with a plastic container of plain old aspirin. He shined the light on its label. “It's expired.” He tossed it back in the box. “No good.”
Dakoda lifted the tequila bottle. “Guess this will have to do.”
He watched as she took another stiff drink. “Is it helping?”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don't know, but I don't care.” Her voice was more than a little slurred.
“Better slow down,” he cautioned. “Don't want to wake up with a nasty hangover tomorrow.”
Hunger was getting the better of her. She finally had to open up and spit it out. “I don't suppose there's something to eat in that damn kit,” she asked. “I hate to complain, but I think I'm about to pass out.”
Jesse shook his head. “Medical supplies, yes. Food, no. We're shit out of luck on that count.”
She pressed a hand to her woozy forehead. “Guess I will have to pass out then.” Unconsciousness might be more merciful at this point.
Jesse grinned. “Not so fast. Help might yet be on the way.”
“What are you going to do,” she groused. “Go out and catch us something to eat?”
“If it weren't storming, that would be an option,” he said. “I'm a pretty good hunter on four paws. In this case, however, I think we'll have to thank our old friend Rusty for our snacks.”
She brightened. “Snacks?” She gave him a suspicious look. “You been holding out on me, Jesse?”
“You had the coat while I was gone. For all I know you gobbled up everything.” Standing up, he reached for the outlaw's overcoat.
Dakoda perked up. She'd been too busy trying to stay warm to think about riffling through the coat for something to eat. It simply hadn't occurred to her to look. “What are you saying?”
Jesse flipped open the coat, showing her its inner pockets. “Turns out old Rusty is a true mountain man. He's stuffed every pocket with items you'd need in a pinch.” He pulled out a handful of foil-wrapped packets. “Dehydrated, high-calorie food bars.”
Dakoda had to restrain herself from making a grab for the precious items. “I don't care what it is, as long as you can eat it.”
He laughed and handed over a couple of the bars. “You can. It says on the side of the wrapper they're edible for five years.”
Dakoda tore through the plain silver wrapping. The food bar inside was dry and hard. She took an experimental nibble, breaking off a bite between her teeth. Chewing slowly, she cautiously swallowed down the mass. “Not real good,” she commented, taking another bite. “But not real bad. Tastes like one of those Danish butter cookies, except without the flavor.”
Jesse tore off a chunk of his. “A really dry butter cookie,” he agreed, washing his bite down with a sip of tequila. He eyed the worm floating at the bottom of the bottle. “I may yet consider that dessert.”
Shoving another bite in her mouth, Dakoda squinched up her face. “Oh, yuck. I think I'll pass on the insect.” She chewed slowly, careful not to rush and gulp down her food. The last thing she needed was a bellyache.
He laughed and winked. “A half hour ago you were ready to wrestle me to get it.”
Finished with her first bar, Dakoda ripped open another packet. “That was before I got my hands on these. I'm pretending they're biscotti and that I have a nice hot cup of coffee with extra cream and sugar to dip them in.” She devoured the second bar, which tasted vaguely like apples and cinnamon. By the time she'd swallowed the last bite, the hungries had begun to subside, leaving her with a warm, contented feeling. Her head still swam pleasantly from the alcohol she'd consumed, just enough to blunt the unpleasantness of their present dilemma.
Tomorrow the pressing problems of escape and survival would return. But for now those things were temporarily put aside. By some grace they'd managed to stumble into a safe haven, however temporary.
Thank the drug dealers for that
. No telling how long had passed since the plane went down. Out in the middle of nowhere, most wreckage took years to discover, if it was found at all.
“Missing the comforts of home?” Jesse asked, jarring her out of her thoughts.
She blinked, startled by the question. He had an uncanny way of homing in on what she was thinking. “Honestly? I am. I'd give my eyeteeth for a hot shower. I don't think I'll ever be completely warm again.”
Finished with his meal, Jesse leaned back against the stacked bales. “I wonder if this shit's any good.”
Dakoda's brows rose. “You mean, smoke it?”
He poked his pocketknife through the plastic covering. “Smells decent.” He reached for the breast pocket of his borrowed shirt, producing a roll of cigarette papers. “And our man Rusty liked to make his own.” Picking out some of the marijuana, he expertly rolled himself a thick joint.
Dakoda frowned. “You've got some experience there,” she noted dryly.
Jesse beamed and lit up with his borrowed cigarette lighter. The end flared red when he took his first puff. “College, man. The parties, the chicks, the keggers. Shit, those were the days.” He inhaled deeply, then sent out a stream of smoke.
The cloyingly sweet odor of the marijuana singed Dakoda's nostrils. She waved a hand in front of her face, chasing the tendrils of white smoke away. “That does bring back memories.” She frowned. Unfortunately they weren't very good ones.
“You toke a few?” he asked, offering her the joint.
Dakoda shook her head, declining. “I used to have a little problem with the stuff,” she admitted honestly. “I did more than my share and then some.”
His brows rose in surprise. “You don't strike me as the party hearty type.”
She allowed a dry laugh. “I was the type through most of my teenage years. You could say I was a chip off my mother's block, following in her footsteps.”
He considered the joint he'd rolled, letting it burn. “Did your mom do a lot of drugs?” His question delivered a hard jolt.
Dakoda's mouth thinned, the beginning of a snarling comeback. Somehow she held the impulse in check, swallowing back the bitterness. His question was entirely reasonable. She didn't have to give him a detailed history. A short, sweet answer would suffice. “Let's just say my mother wasn't going to win any parent of the year awards. The only time she was clean was when she was in jail, and even then she managed to get things smuggled in. Saying she had a bad drug problem doesn't even begin to describe my mother's addictions.”
Jesse must have sensed her tension and discomfort in the presence of a drug she'd once indulged in with little regard for the damages it would do to her mind, or her status as a juvenile delinquent. Licking his thumb and forefinger, he extinguished his smoke.
He flicked the butt away. “You said a few things earlier, about your mom and the fact you didn't know your father. Sounds like things were rough when you were a kid.” His voice had lost the playful tone, becoming serious.