Carol Finch (2 page)

Hawk wasn’t surprised by the woman’s hostility or her desperate attempt to escape when they reached the clearing. After all, he and his horse had come dangerously close to landing on top of her when they swan-dived off the cliff to elude the outlaws. Plus, she didn’t have the slightest idea who he was and what was going on.

But what befuddled Hawk to no end was why this dainty-looking female, dressed in skimpy wet undergarments, was swimming in an area that was ten miles from the nearest town and seven miles from the string of ranches that lined the north fork of Echo River.

When Hawk thrust out his hand to grab the woman by the arm, his eyes nearly popped from their sockets. To his disbelief
she
slid to the opposite side of the horse like a trick rider in a Wild West show. Worse, he became completely distracted when her breasts nearly spilled from the scooped neckline and one leg—bare all the way to her hip—lay draped over the saddle.

Hawk already knew how this woman’s supple body felt while meshed intimately against him because they had rolled through the grass to dodge bullets. But this was even worse. The sight of her alluring feminine assets were burning into his brain like a searing brand.

He did not need to become sidetracked while trying to overtake this woman before she got hurt again. He had enough trouble dodging the pack of vengeful outlaws that were out for his blood because he’d stolen
their loot. One look at the stream of blood trailing down the woman’s arm was another reminder that she’d been frightened and injured because of her ill-timed association with him. She’d suddenly become his responsibility. Inconvenient or not, he had to protect her.

Hawk cast off his rambling thoughts and lunged for the reins to the woman’s horse. He might not be able to get hold of her, but he sure as hell could take control of her mount!

He bit back a grin when the woman cursed him up one side and down the other for leading her mount in the direction she didn’t want to go. This female might look like a bewitching young lady, but she was a spitfire through and through.

And he wasn’t going to make the mistake of taking her for granted again.

“Let me go!” she snapped as she pulled herself back into the saddle, while they galloped toward the rocky canyon that had once been Hawk’s stomping ground.

“You stick with me, sister, and you’ll be fine.” He hitched his thumb toward the riders that burst from the clump of trees to fire off their pistols ineffectively. “If they catch up with you things will be a lot worse.”

“Being kidnapped by you doesn’t seem much better,” she sniped as she tried to wrest the reins from his hands.

When a rifle shot rang out, Hawk reached over to shove the woman forward on her horse, then plastered himself against his mount. The bullet whizzed past them, too close for comfort. Hawk spared a quick backward glance as he veered left abruptly, headed for the old Apache trail that zigzagged between the boulders and scrub trees on the steep incline.

Thunder boomed overhead. Hawk sent a prayer to both Indian and white deities for rain—an abundance of it. To his amazement the sky opened up, allowing him to make his way up the winding trail, washing away the prints as he went. He glanced around the scraggly juniper that was presently concealing him from view and watched the outlaws split up in an attempt to locate their prey in the sudden downpour.

He noticed that the woman gave him the strangest look as he led her horse to higher elevations.

“Are you some sort of Indian wizard?” She glanced skyward, then peered curiously at him.

“Grandson of an Apache medicine man,” he said, laying it on thick. “Heap big magic. I know all the tricks of the trade. If you cross me, paleface, I’ll place a curse on you.”

He was surprised that she clamped her mouth shut and didn’t say another word while he followed the steep trail. When pea-size hail pattered around them, Hawk hunched his shoulders and ducked his head. They should be at the cave in less than a quarter of an hour so he could tend the bloody wound the woman had sustained—because of her unfortunate association with him.

The unpleasant thought pricked his conscience again.

Hawk glanced sideways—and got lost in the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. She was staring straight at him with wary curiosity, resentment and a fair amount of fear. Her face was pale, he noticed. She’d lost a considerable amount of blood during the strenuous ride and she definitely needed medical attention.

Her dazed expression worried him. As a precaution, Hawk urged her horse closer, just in case she
fainted. The last thing he wanted was for this displaced female to tumble off her horse and crack open her head on a sharp boulder.

“It won’t be much farther.” He gestured toward the overhanging ledge twenty yards above them. “We’ll…oh, hell.”

Hawk’s arm shot out the instant he saw the woman’s eyes roll back in her head and her body slump sideways on the saddle. He caught her the split second before she tumbled to the ground. Scooping her off her horse, he situated her limp body into a jackknifed position across his lap so he could keep a firm grip on her.

Hawk shook his head and sighed heavily. When he awakened this morning, planning to elude the outlaws and rejoin his company of Rangers, he never expected to be dodging bullets and dragging an auburn-haired, emerald-eyed female, dressed in flimsy, revealing unmentionables, along with him.

Despite his noble attempt not to look down, his traitorous gaze settled on the damp fabric that clung to her shapely derriere like a coat of paint. His attention shifted to her bare legs and a jolt of pure lust bombarded him.

“Enough of that,” he admonished himself as he set his sights on the cave tucked into the rocky ledge above him.

Just because the most beguiling female he’d ever encountered had landed in his lap—literally—he wasn’t going to be distracted from his personal and professional crusade. He damn well intended to avenge his mentor’s death and see justice served…just as soon as he patched up this misplaced female, eluded the vicious hombres breathing down his neck and reported to his Ranger battalion.

S
hiloh regained consciousness, grimacing at the fiery pain shooting down her left arm. “Ouch!” Dazed, she tried to free her arm from whatever was holding it down.

“Sorry about that,” came the deep baritone voice that belonged to the rough-edged renegade. “I was hoping I’d have your wound cleaned and packed before you came to. Guess you weren’t that lucky.”

“Bad luck seems to be the only kind I’ve had lately,” she mumbled as she pried her eyes open to appraise her captor.

The first thing that registered in her foggy senses was the firelight that flickered across his rugged bronzed features. A beaded headband encircled his raven hair. Thick braids brushed across his noticeably broad shoulders. He looked as wild and tough and untamed as the mustang pony he had been riding earlier.

Frowning, Shiloh surveyed her surroundings. They were tucked inside a cave, protected from the pursuing gunmen and inclement weather. She was
stuck
with this man, she realized uneasily. She was unsure of his
intentions toward her, but she had the unshakable feeling that they weren’t honorable. She had every reason to be wary of him.

“Brace up, sister,” he said as he hovered over her. “I’m going to cleanse the wound again before I bandage it.”

Shiloh bit back a shriek and panted for breath when he dribbled whiskey on her upper arm. She instinctively tried to snatch her arm away from him again, but he held it fast.

“Looks worse than it is,” he assured her. “Your arm will be stiff and sore for a few days, but we’ll keep a close eye on it so it doesn’t get infected.”

Shiloh blinked, bemused. It suddenly hit her like a rockslide that this man, who looked every bit the renegade in full regalia and spoke an Indian dialect, also had an impressive command of English. Earlier, she’d been too busy fighting for her life to register that fact. Getting shot had demanded most of her attention.

She frowned warily as he pulled a tin of ointment from one of the saddlebags. “Who
are
you?”

“Logan Hawk.” He smoothed the salve on her pulsing arm.

Shiloh sighed as a cool, numbing sensation overrode the fiery pain. “What is that stuff? It works incredibly well.”

“Old Indian remedy.” He fished out several strips of fabric to wrap around her arm. “So, what’s your name, sister?”

Shiloh refused to trust this man, even if he was tending her wound. Furthermore, she was never going to trust
any
man, with the exception of her brothers—unless they tried to marry her off again. But if her captor thought that being civil and helpful would gain her
confidence then he thought wrong. She wasn’t about to give her real name so he could hold her for ransom, after he ravished her repeatedly, while keeping her hostage in this isolated cavern.

“Bernice Colbert,” she lied, borrowing her cousin’s name.

She averted her gaze to watch him bandage her arm. For a man who looked rough and tough she was astonished by his gentleness. He was an intriguing contradiction….

No, he isn’t!
When she felt herself softening toward the ruggedly handsome stranger, she redoubled her defenses. She had recently discovered that she was a lousy judge of men. She had a broken heart to show for it. Plus, she had been carrying around this heaping load of demoralizing shame. This unexpected encounter with this puzzling renegade wasn’t going to deter her from holding all men everywhere in low regard.

Logan Hawk eyed her for a long pensive moment, nodded approvingly then said, “Smart lady. Never divulge your real name to a stranger. You aren’t Bernice, are you?”

The man seemed to be a mental step ahead of her. That wasn’t good because she was in a vulnerable situation. She suspected Logan Hawk was a wily con artist who had perfected the tricks of his trade. He made all the right noises in his attempt to gain her trust so she’d lower her guard.

But she wasn’t falling into that trap again—ever.

“Look, Mr. Hawk—”

“Just
Hawk
will be fine,” he inserted.

“If that’s who
you
really are,” she said suspiciously. And if she was quick to assume an alias then he might be doing the same thing. “Why don’t you save us both
the trouble and tell me exactly what expectations you have here.”

He frowned, befuddled. “Expectations?”

She stared pointedly at her carpetbag that lay atop several leather saddlebags. “By now you have rummaged through my belongings to see that I’m not carrying much cash and no identification and a single-shot derringer, which I’m sure you confiscated.” She watched a wry smile purse his full lips—and she resented the way his amused expression affected her. “So you aren’t sure how much profit you can make from our unexpected encounter. Until you figure it out you’re putting on your party manners to try to earn my trust. But you might as well know right off that it won’t work.”

He sank down cross-legged beside her. A hint of a smile still quirked his lips. “So my limited amount of charm isn’t going to win you over, is that what you’re saying?”

She nodded her wet head. “That’s precisely what I’m saying, Mr. Hawk.”

“I see.” He stroked his stubbled chin pensively. “So you think I should save myself the trouble and just dispose of you so you won’t slow me down while I’m making my fast getaway from the desperadoes.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” she grumbled, and then fidgeted apprehensively.

“I didn’t think so.” He hitched his thumb toward the mouth of the cave where rain poured down in torrents, forming a curtain of water that sealed them off from the outside world. She noticed his dark eyes dancing with devilry as he stared down at her. “But if I
do
decide to give you a shove off the ledge because you’re more trouble than you’re worth no one will be the
wiser. Whoever happens onto your battered body will think this nasty weather caused your fall.”

Shiloh swallowed uneasily as she followed his gaze to the opening of the cavern. Maybe putting ideas in his head wasn’t the best approach. But simpering, whining and begging weren’t her forte. Raised by two older brothers, she had taught herself to be mentally tough and to stand up to them. She never kowtowed to men and she wasn’t about to start now.

She suddenly became aware that Hawk had seen to her comfort by placing her on the padded bedroll. He’d covered her up with the quilt that had been strapped to her horse.

Damn it, why was it taking so long for thoughts and observations to register in her mind? Obviously the incident that had thrust them together—and had left her in uncertain danger—rattled her.

He thrust a piece of pemmican at her. “You’re probably hungry. This is all I have to offer,
Bernice,
” he said with a knowing grin. “If you’ll do me the courtesy of turning sideways I’d like to shed these wet buckskins.”

Her eyes flew wide open in alarm. “You are going to disrobe in front of me?” she squawked, her voice two octaves higher than normal.

He rose to his feet with the graceful ease of a mountain cat then shrugged casually. “I planned to undress behind your back, but that’s really up to you. If you want to watch—”

“I certainly do
not
want to watch!” she loudly objected.

Shiloh glared at her taunting captor when he jerked the soggy fringed shirt over his head. The sight of his rippling muscles and his washboard belly had her struggling to breathe normally. Damn the man, he
knew exactly how physically appealing he was. She cursed her feminine curiosity for conspiring against her, making her appraise every masculine inch of exposed skin.

Scowling at the ornery devil, Shiloh rolled onto her side and presented her back. She definitely disliked Logan Hawk. No matter what his secret agenda, he was comfortable with his masculinity. He also seemed to delight in ruffling her feathers for sport.

Blast it, she couldn’t figure out this man. One moment he seemed a dangerous threat and the next instant he was playfully teasing her. His unpredictability made it impossible to guess what he planned to do next.

“You can look now,” Hawk prompted a few minutes later.

She twisted around and blinked in surprise as she surveyed his dark breeches, shirt and vest. He had unbraided his long hair and tied it at the nape of his neck. But this more civilized veneer didn’t fool Shiloh one bit. She had witnessed Hawk’s daredevil escape from the desperadoes. She presumed he was at least
part
Indian, judging by his bronzed skin, high cheekbones, onyx eyes and raven-black hair. He was also an exceptionally skilled rider and capable frontiersman—as well as being about as far from a refined gentleman as he could get. Oddly enough, that was a point in Hawk’s favor—after her disappointing dealings with Antoine Troudeau.

He was responsible for her loss of humor, her faith in men and her self-confidence. She also questioned her desirability and appeal as a woman now. Shiloh had his duplicity and deceit to thank for that, damn him!

“Not that I mind you parading around in your skimpy garb,” he remarked, “but I recommend that
you get dressed, too. This cave is cool and damp. You don’t need to catch a chill while nursing a bullet wound. By the way, I’m sorry you got in the way of a shot that was meant for me.”

He smiled apologetically and she hated that she was enormously affected by the expression that crinkled his eyes and cut dimples in his stubbled cheeks. She needed to remain on constant alert because men were untrustworthy scoundrels—especially one who took her captive. Yet, there was something about his matter-of-fact manner and sometimes impersonal demeanor that put her at ease. He was nothing like the pretentious aristocrats she’d met in New Orleans.

When he presented his back so she could dress, she reached into her carpetbag for the one and only set of dry clothes she had with her. She darted a wary glance at Hawk at irregular intervals while she shed her chemise then fastened herself into her blouse and riding breeches.

The fact that he made no attempt to pounce while she was dressing was another point in his favor. But Shiloh reminded herself that, given their unconventional introduction and this potentially dangerous situation, the jury was still out on Logan Hawk.

Friend or foe, she didn’t know. She wasn’t going to let her guard down for a single moment until she knew for certain.

Her thoughts scattered and suspicion settled solidly in her mind when she accidentally knocked one of the saddlebags sideways. It toppled from the pile and several banded stacks of bank notes tumbled onto the stone floor.

Her eyes rounded, realizing he was a
thief!
One who was obviously very good with disguises and imperson
ations. He was a shyster and scoundrel and she was a fool if she lowered her guard around him.

“You stole this stolen money from your cohorts,” she accused harshly. “Is that why they were shooting at you?” She cursed sourly as she gestured toward her left arm. “It is unfortunate that
I
was wounded when
your
vindictive friends were trying to fill you full of lead.”

Self-preservation demanded that she bolt to her feet and dart to safety. But the abrupt movement caused her head to spin and she swayed on her feet. When he tried to steady her, she hatchet-chopped his wrist until he let loose.

“If you plan to dispose of me eventually, then I’m not leaving the how and when up to you,” she snapped as she stamped forward. “If you’re going to shoot me then you might as well do it now.”

“Hold up, Bernice,” he called after her. “You’ve got the wrong idea here.” When she continued toward the mouth of the cave he scowled then came after her. “I know this looks bad—”

“I’ll say it does.” Again, she jerked her arm from his restraining grasp. “You’re a bandit and you’re no better than those men who were shooting at us.”

Hawk hooked his arm around her waist before she could burst through the curtain of rain. He gestured toward the pallet. “Go sit down and I’ll make us some coffee before I explain what’s going on.”

She tilted her chin rebelliously and squirmed for release. “I’m not thirsty. You can explain here and now.”

He bit back a grin when she flashed him one of those this-better-be-good glares. He set her to her feet, and—keeping a firm hold on her so she didn’t do something rash—he heeled-and-toed out of his left boot.
When he showed her the badge concealed inside the hollow heel, she gaped at him. He extended the silver star for closer inspection.

Her luminous green eyes popped, then narrowed doubtfully. “A Texas Ranger?” She scoffed caustically. “Of course, you are. That’s why your friends are after you for stealing their loot. I’d hate to venture a guess as to what happened to the unfortunate lawman that you stole this badge from.”

When she tried to dart past him again on her way into the downpour, Hawk jerked her back beside him. “You aren’t going anywhere until I know for certain that the bandits aren’t out there, waiting to pick us off. If you want to get yourself killed—and obviously you do because you were paddling around alone in the river, miles from the protection of civilization—then that’s your business, lady. But I’m on assignment.” He tapped his chest. “I’m not about to jeopardize my mission because you don’t believe I’m who and what I say I am.”

He made a stabbing gesture toward the pallet. “Now…sit…down…damn it,” he said slowly and succinctly. “I’m going to make coffee.” He turned her toward the interior of the cave. “You won’t accomplish a damn thing by going outside, except getting wet again and maybe exposing our whereabouts to those cutthroats.”

Although she stamped over and sat down, her expression indicated she was none too happy about being ordered around. Well, too bad, he thought. He’d put forward his best manners for her benefit, but she was still being contrary and hostile. Nevertheless, she was going to do as he said and that was that.

“Are you still sticking with the name Bernice?” he
asked as he scooped up the pot to brew coffee over the small campfire he had positioned near the cave entrance.

“Are you still sticking with the name Logan Hawk?”