Hot Ice

and pushed from a train. And it had cost her thousands of dollars to date. How dare he talk to her as though she were a simpering, empty-headed debutante? He wouldn’t get away with it.
    Briefly, she thought of simply going on herself, leaving him to his cave like any bad-tempered bear. Oh no. She took a long, deep breath as she stared at the opening in the rock. No, that was just what he’d like. He’d be rid of her and have the treasure all to himself. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. If she killed herself in the process, she was sticking with him until she got every dime he owed her. And a lot more.
    A hell of a lot more, she added as she gritted her teeth. Getting down on her hands and knees, Whitney started into the cave.
    Pure anger carried her the first couple of feet. Then the cold sweat of fear broke out and riveted her to the spot. As her breath began to hitch, she couldn’t move forward, she couldn’t move back. It was a box, airless, dark. The lid was already closed to suffocate her.
    She felt the walls, the dark, damp walls closing in, squeezing the air out of her. Laying her head down on the hard dirt, she fought back hysteria.
    No, she wouldn’t give in to it. Couldn’t. He was just ahead, just ahead. If she whimpered, he’d hear. Pride was every bit as strong as fear. She wouldn’t have his scorn. Gasping for air, she inched forward. He’d said the cave opened up. She’d be able to breathe if she could just crawl in a few more feet.
    Oh God, she needed light. And room. And air. Balling her hands into fists, she fought off the need to scream. No, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself in front of him. She wouldn’t be his entertainment.
    While she lay prone, waging her own war, she caught a glimpse of a flicker of light. Staying perfectly still, she concentrated on the sound of crackling wood, the light smell of pine smoke. He’d started the fire. It wouldn’t be dark. She had only to pull herself a few more feet and it wouldn’t be dark.
    It took all her strength, and more courage than she’d known she had. Inch by inch, Whitney worked her way in until the light played over her face and the walls spread out around her. Drained, she lay for a moment, just breathing.
    “So you decided to join me.” With his back to her, Doug drew out one of the clever folding pans to heat water. The thought of hot, strong coffee had kept him going the last five miles. “Dinner’s Dutch treat, sugar. Fruit, rice, and coffee. I’ll handle the coffee. Let’s see what you can do with the rice.”
    Though she was still shaking, Whitney brought herself into a sitting position. It would pass, she told herself. In moments, the nausea, the light-headedness would pass. Then somehow, she’d make him pay.
    “Too bad we didn’t pick up a little white wine, but…” When he turned to her, he trailed off. Was it a trick of the light, or was her face gray? Frowning, he set the water on to heat, then went to her. No trick of the light, he decided. She looked as though she’d dissolve if he touched her. Unsure of himself, Doug crouched down. “What’s wrong?”
    Her eyes were hot and hard when she looked at him. “Nothing.”
    “Whitney.” Reaching out, he touched her hand. “Jesus, you’re like ice. Come on over to the fire.”
    “I’m fine.” Furious, she snatched her hand away. “Just leave me alone.”
    “Hold on.” Before she could spring to her feet, he had her by the shoulders. He could feel her tremble under his palms. She wasn’t supposed to look so young, so defenseless. Women with blue-chip stocks and watery diamonds had all the defense they needed. “I’ll get you some water,” he murmured. In silence, he reached for the canteen and opened it for her. “It’s a little warm, take it slow.”
    She sipped. It was indeed warm and tasted like iron. She sipped again. “I’m all right.” Her voice was tense, fretful. He wasn’t supposed to be kind.
    “Just rest a minute. If you’re sick—”
    “I’m not sick.” She thrust the canteen back in his hands. “I have a little problem with closed-in places, okay? I’m in now and I’ll be just fine.”
    Not a little problem, he realized as he took her hand again. It was damp, cold, and trembling. Guilt hit him, and he hated it. He hadn’t given her a break since they’d started. Hadn’t wanted to. Once she made him soften, made him care, he’d lose his edge. It had happened before. But she was trembling.
    “Whitney, you