Carol Finch (5 page)

She held her breath. “Did he show up?”

“Yes. He had taken a job scouting and riding shotgun for a stage line in Montana while I found the same kind of work in Arizona. Since then he has relocated in Colorado as a cattle detective and bounty hunter and I came back to Texas.”

Shiloh was relieved that Hawk had
one
family connection left. No one deserved to be alone and isolated. Except maybe those ruthless cutthroats that were out for her and Hawk’s blood.

“I presume the army is unfamiliar with your white name and that’s why they’ve had difficulty tracking you down.”

“That and the fact that our style of clothing and appearance has changed drastically the past decade.” Hawk drew the horses to a halt. “This is where the trail becomes even more difficult. You’ll have to dismount.”

Shiloh eased from the saddle, grateful that Hawk was there to steady her on her good leg. The other one was throbbing in rhythm with her heartbeat.

The wind had picked up again, howling and whistling around the jagged precipice. Shiloh shivered uncontrollably in her damp clothes. These were the same unnerving sounds that echoed in her ears the instant before she stumbled off balance and fell into the ravine.

Hawk must have sensed her unease because he cuddled her closer rather than prop her against a boulder for support. She was beginning to realize that he wasn’t a soulless outlaw. He might very well be an outlaw that seized every opportunity to make money, but he obviously had a smidgen of compassion and integrity.

“I’m going to take the horses over the ridge.” Hawk stepped away, leaving her feeling cold and alone again. “Don’t go wandering off while I’m gone and alert the bandits.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Shiloh glanced sideways, grateful that the darkness concealed the plunging depths of the canyon and granted her relief from her fear of height. “Please be careful. I promised to return the favor of saving your life, but I’m going to need time to recuperate. One bad leg and arm will seriously hamper my rescue skills.”

He chuckled lightly. Then, to her complete surprise, he leaned down to kiss her cold lips. As before, when
she
had impulsively kissed
him,
she got just a quick sampling. But she dared not ask for more—for fear she’d like it too much.

That was definitely taboo for a woman who had recently sworn off men and vowed to form no emotional attachments.

“Why’d you do that?” she whispered curiously.

“That’s in case the Great Spirit decides it’s my time to follow the Ghost Path to rejoin my clan.” He handed her one of his saddlebags. “If I don’t make it back, there’s enough pemmican and hoecakes to last you until your ankle heals and you can cross over to Sundance Canyon. The Ranger battalion is headquartered at an abandoned outpost eight miles from here.”

When he turned away, Shiloh clutched the collar of his shirt and pulled him back. “I know I didn’t put my best foot forward, but if we never see each other again, I’d like to die knowing that I’m not the worst possible match for a man.” She peered earnestly at him, wishing her feminine pride wasn’t pressing so hard when staying alive should be the only thought on her mind. “Even if I’m the last person you’d be interested in, Hawk, would I at least be worth consideration as a wife?”

He could hear the need for reassurance and accep
tance in her voice and he wanted to strangle that French bastard that had shattered her self-esteem. “I’m not the marrying kind, but you’d be at the top of my list,” he insisted. “You’ve got courage, spunk and spirit. Any man who doesn’t appreciate those qualities in a woman can’t be much of a man.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked, her gaze searching his hopefully.

“I really think so….”

He cursed his lack of self-restraint when he impulsively angled his head to kiss her again, as if it were his right and his privilege—which it wasn’t and it never would be.

Damn it, once he got started kissing her he couldn’t seem to stop. What the devil was the matter with him? It was out of character for him to respond so recklessly to a woman, especially when faced with the arduous task of keeping them both alive. Willfully, he dragged his mouth away from hers before he did something insanely stupid—like help himself to a long, deep taste of those dewy-soft lips and crush her luscious body against his.

“Sit tight, Shiloh,” he said, his voice raspy and disturbed—much to his dismay. “DeVol and Stiles won’t find you here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Hawk led the horses along the winding trail, chastising himself for taking another quick taste of Shiloh. Damn it, he kept breaking every hard-and-fast rule about remaining distant and detached during assignments. This had to stop right now! A moment earlier would have been even better.

Hawk forcefully tamped down the warm tingles of lusty pleasure pulsating through him. He concentrated on scaling the difficult section of the trail. Even his
mustang turned skittish when the footing became difficult. The mustang balked and nearly jerked Hawk’s arm from its socket in protest.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve asked you to stick your neck out, Dorado,” Hawk told the mustang. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if you become as contrary as Shiloh.”

The second time he tried to coax the mustang into bounding uphill, the wailing wind picked up. The jittery mare reared up then slammed into the mustang. Both animals shifted nervously beside him.

“Enough!” Hawk growled impatiently. He slapped Dorado on the rump, forcing him to bolt forward. The mare whinnied in fear when she was forced to follow the mustang. The horses collided with each other and struggled to regain their footing on the ledge above him.

Hawk muttered several salty oaths when the sky opened up and rain pounded down on him. He wondered what else could possibly go wrong with this escape from the vicious outlaws. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It might destroy what little enthusiasm he had mustered for the occasion.

In grim determination, Hawk climbed over the slabs of rock to regather the horses’ reins. Together they scaled one angular stone slab after another.

A half hour later, Hawk stood on the summit that had felt like the top of the world when he was a child. From here, he had stared into the past and into the future, wishing for a better life. But no amount of Apache training had prepared him for the near extermination of his clan. No amount of consoling platitudes could make him forget how he had hated the whites for their butchery and treachery.

Hated that part of himself that was born white.

Furthermore, he had never forgiven his father for siring two sons and then riding off with a fortune in furs to buy himself a proper wife and a place in society, much like Antoine Troudeau had sought to do when he discarded Shiloh in search of a wealthier conquest.

Hawk’s father, John Fletcher Logan, had
used
his Indian bride and his Apache connections to improve his financial status. Then he had abandoned the Apache people before the soldiers closed in around them and he never looked back.

A gust of cold wind slapped Hawk in the face, jostling him back to the present. This was not the time to dredge up hurt and resentment. It was dark. It was wet and cold and the footing was treacherous. One misstep and he’d be buzzard bait. Which would leave Shiloh alone to hobble over the stone crest, while dodging bandits intent on disposing of an eyewitness.

Gritting his teeth in anticipation of another battle with the horses, Hawk forged ahead. Sure enough, the animals set their feet stubbornly when he urged them to scrabble downhill into Sundance Canyon.

Exasperated, Hawk glanced skyward. “Can’t at least one thing come easy tonight?”

Thunder boomed in the distance. Hawk was pretty sure that translated as
no.

Shiloh didn’t realize how attuned she’d become to her surroundings until she noticed Hawk’s masculine silhouette outlined by a flash of lightning. She sagged in relief. At least she didn’t have to contend with a hungry predator or those bloodthirsty bandits on this dark and stormy night.

“Are the horses all right?” she called out as Hawk approached.

“You mean other than being perturbed at me for forcing them to become mountain goats? Yeah. They are tucked out of the rain…and now it’s your turn.”

Shiloh pushed away from the boulder and balanced on her right leg. She gasped in surprise when Hawk swooped down to pick her up. “Absolutely not!” she protested, squirming in his arms. “I can walk…well, limp at least.”

“I doubt you weigh more than a hundred pounds dripping wet,” he insisted as he carried her up the trail. “You’ll have to handle the difficult stretches of the path, but until then save your strength.”

Shiloh resented the fact that she was forced to put her life in a man’s hands. It went against the grain that she actually savored the security and comfort of being cradled against the solid wall of Hawk’s chest. She shouldn’t enjoy the feel of his sinewy arms encircling her.

Wasn’t it just last week that she’d made a pact with herself to avoid physical and emotional contact with men? And here she was, depending on this brawny Apache knight to provide for and protect her.

But this is a rare exception,
she convinced herself. She was weak and injured—in unfamiliar terrain and turbulent weather. She would have offered aid and comfort to Hawk if the situation were reversed. When she was functioning at full capacity again she would be self-reliant and independent. Until then—

“Time to prove what you’re made of, Shi,” Hawk challenged, breaking into her thoughts. He set her carefully on her feet, but wrapped his hand around her elbow for support. “I’ll hoist you up beside me after I’m standing on the overhanging ledge.”

Shiloh watched him lever himself up and over the angular slab of stone, then extend his hand to her. She reluctantly reached out to him—and broke her promise of never depending on a man again.

She grimaced as she braced herself on her injured arm and skinned knees, but she did what she had to do to drag herself onto the rough slab of rock. She drew in a fortifying breath and mentally prepared herself to repeat the process twice more. When Hawk slid one arm around her waist and the other beneath her knees, she didn’t object.

Exertion made her light-headed. Worse, the blow to her skull caused bouts of nausea at unexpected moments—like now.

When she felt Hawk’s heartbeat pounding against her shoulder she squirmed for release so he could catch his breath. “Want me to carry you awhile?” she teased.

“Yeah, don’t know why I should have to do all the work,” he said between gasping spurts of breath. “Just because your ankle is swollen twice its normal size is no excuse for slacking off.” He tossed her a wry glance. “So tell me, how long do you plan to milk my sympathy? Until I have a stroke?”

“Yes. Then I will have repaid you for scaring two dozen years off my life and getting me into this predicament.”

Shiloh was relieved to realize that, thanks to Hawk’s teasing, she was regaining her playfulness and self-assurance. But of course, this wasn’t the same as following proper protocol at a social ball. She’d felt ill equipped to play the role of a Southern aristocrat in New Orleans. Yet, here on the edge of nowhere, where only the basic rules of survival applied, she didn’t have to be anyone except herself.

Hawk wasn’t a sophisticated suitor trying to make a grand impression on her—or vice versa. He was the competent companion who accompanied her from one misadventure to the next. They didn’t have the time or the need to put on airs. They had their hands full just trying to stay alive.

“Break’s over,” Hawk said before he scooped her up again.

Several minutes later Shiloh nearly squeezed the stuffing out of him in tense anxiety because he set her on her feet on the highest peak of Ghost Ridge. The wind buffeted her, threatening to launch her from her perilous perch. Dark though it was, she could see the spooky silhouettes of boulders that created eerie formations rising from the inky-black depths of the chasm. Her fear of height broadsided her and her heart leaped into triple time, making it difficult to breathe.

“I’ve got you,” Hawk whispered against the side of her neck. As reassurance, he tightened his grip on her waist. “In daylight this is an awe-inspiring view because you can see for miles. It’s little wonder that my people believe this is where the guardian spirits congregate to oversee the world.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. “Can we get on with this before I lose what nerve I have left?”

“Just so you know, Shi, you’ve impressed the hell out of me,” he confided. “You’ve met every challenge like a trooper.”

“Not that I’ve had a choice,” she replied, begrudgingly pleased with his compliment. She forced herself to open her eyes and survey the dark precipice. “I appreciate the fact that you returned to rescue me. You’re still a man, of course, and I’ll continue to hold that
against you,” she added wryly, “But I’m willing to overlook that basic flaw. For now.”

“You’ll be cursing me in the next breath,” he foretold. He gestured toward the drop-off that had unnerved the horses earlier. “You’ll have to put faith in me and leap into my arms, Shiloh. There’s no other way since you sprained your ankle.”

Shiloh swallowed uneasily when she glanced down where he pointed. Her stomach dropped twelve feet.

“This isn’t going to be one bit of fun,” she said.

M
orton DeVol swore foully when he slipped on the slick boulder and his rifle went flying. Everett Stiles reached out to lend a hand and pulled him upright.

“How the hell did that redskin son of a bitch get those horses so far up that slope?” Morton wondered aloud. “I don’t see him or the woman anywhere. Where’d they go?”

“Dunno,” Everett muttered as he anchored himself to a scraggly tree. “But he must know a way out of this pile of rocks.”

Morton braced his feet then swooped down to retrieve his rifle. “After we get back to camp and this rain lets up we’re gonna scout around to see what’s on the west side of this canyon. That Injun ain’t gonna get away with our money and live to tell about it. Neither is that woman.”

“You’ll hear no complaints from me,” Everett mumbled as he retraced the difficult route that led nowhere. “I was hopin’ they’d both fall and save us some trouble. Guess not.”

Forty-five minutes after Shiloh worked up the nerve to jump off the ledge and allow Hawk to catch her, he halted outside the cave tucked beside a tumble of monolithic boulders and scraggly junipers. This place had been a familiar haunt for Apache warriors that sought vision quests and communication with their guiding spirits.

Hawk had been through several initiation rituals at this site. He remembered the personal pride and sense of dedication he had experienced in those early years as a warrior.

But that had changed drastically, tragically, with the arrival of the army.

Deliberately, Hawk shook off the memories that transformed from good to bad. He grabbed his pistols from one of the saddlebags and focused on the dark entrance to the cavern. “Wait here. I’ll make sure the cave isn’t occupied by unfriendly varmints.”

The moment he ducked inside the overhang, he heard a faint rustling noise that put his well-honed senses on full alert. He hunkered down so he wouldn’t provide a large target then he inched toward the north wall where he had previously stockpiled torches, matches, campfire logs and eating utensils for emergency visits. Like this one.

Hawk groped for the box of matches, kept his trusty pistol handy, and then lit the torch. On full alert, he pointed his weapon toward the spot where he’d heard an unrecognizable noise. He tensed when he noticed the sprawled form lying beside the opposite wall.

A six-shooter was aimed right between his eyes.

“Damn, Hawk, am I ever glad to see you,” came the low, panting voice. “I can’t believe my luck.”

Hawk was on his feet in a single bound, rushing toward his injured brother. “Fletch, what the hell are you doing in Texas?” He squatted down on his haunches then gestured toward the bloody wound on Fletcher’s thigh. “Did you bring this with you from Colorado or pick it up when you got here?”

Fletcher grimaced as he propped himself against the wall. “I zigzagged the wrong way when I accidentally stumbled onto a gang of bandits, while I was tracking a fugitive into Texas,” he rasped in obvious pain. “That was two days ago.”

Hawk frowned worriedly as he examined the wound that was in need of a thorough cleansing and fresh bandages. Judging by Fletch’s hollowed eyes and chalky pallor he was damn lucky to be alive.

“Hang on for a few more minutes,” he murmured as he gave his brother a comforting pat on the shoulder. “We have a guest outside. An injured one. The woman’s name is Shiloh.”

“A woman?” Fletch choked out, eyes popping. “
Your
woman? You have a woman? When did this happen?”

“She isn’t
my
woman and she is never going to be,” Hawk insisted quickly. The prospect of romantic involvement between him and Shiloh went without saying. So why had he felt the need to deny it? he wondered.

“I only met her this morning,” he elaborated. “I should warn you that some French dandy left her nursing a broken heart recently and she is intolerant and wary of all men.”

Fletch sighed heavily. “Difficult to be on my best behavior for her benefit when my leg hurts like a son of a bitch. But I’ll try not to offend her too much.”

While Fletch made an effort to rearrange the tangle of black hair that drooped in his face, Hawk spun toward the exit. He needed to get Shiloh settled in for the night and take a closer look at Fletch’s wound. If infection set in on either of his patients, it could be a long few days.

Hawk halted outside the cave to expel a long-suffering sigh. Shiloh, obviously impatient, had dismounted and balanced on her good leg. She had unfastened all the saddlebags and had them draped over her good shoulder.

“That took long enough,” she said crankily. “Did you have to wrestle a bear for ownership of the cave? I don’t think I could be any wetter than I am and my teeth are chattering to beat the band.”

“And you’re in a good mood, too, I see.” Hawk teased as he scooped her into his arms and then reversed direction.

“Sorry. The cold and dampness is settling in every sore muscle and is burning every scraped inch of skin,” she admitted. “A decent night’s sleep should do wonders for my disposition.”

Hawk carried her inside then watched his brother’s stubbled jaw drop to his chest when he got his first look at Shiloh. She gaped in astonishment when she saw Fletch propped against the rock wall.

“Shiloh, this is my brother, Fletcher Hawk.” He set her carefully on her feet. “As you might have guessed, this is where the Hawks come to roost when they’re in trouble.”

Shiloh nodded a silent greeting to the brawny man who looked to be suffering from his injury. He was about as pale as a bronze-skinned man could get and the stubble on his jaws was as thick as Hawk’s. Although the family resemblance was obvious, Fletch’s
eyes were blue. His shoulders were as broad as Hawk’s and his legs as long and muscular. He also wore a dark shirt and breeches like his brother.

“What happened to you?” she asked as she limped forward.

“I ran into a nest of outlaws.” Fletch absently rubbed his injured leg. “I took two of them down and kept them there. I winged another one, but the two survivors got away. Not before plugging me in the leg.” He frowned in annoyance as he stared at his wound. “I must be losing my touch, Hawk. Four to one odds were never a problem before.”

“You’re getting older,” Hawk taunted playfully as he dumped the saddlebags in the corner. “You have to take that into account.”

“Old? Hell…er…heck. Pardon, ma’am,” he said as he darted Shiloh a quick glance then stared at his brother. “I’m two years younger than you.”

“Yes, but you were
born
old,” Hawk teased.

Fletcher’s ashen face puckered in a mock scowl. “Don’t know why I’m so glad to see you. You always were a nuisance.”

“Don’t know why I’m glad to see you, either,
pest.
”

Shiloh smiled at the teasing exchange followed by affectionate smiles. It granted her insight into the man that had held himself at an emotional distance most of the day. Rough and tough though Hawk was, he was still capable of affection—for his brother, at least.

The interaction reminded her of the camaraderie that existed between her and her big brothers. They had delighted in tormenting her, too… Until their parents died and her brothers convinced themselves they were responsible for protecting her. It was then that they fo
cused on teaching her dignified manners and frowned on her hoydenish ways.

Then they sent her off to New Orleans with instructions to snag herself a sophisticated husband among the Southern gentry. If they hadn’t had her best interest at heart, she’d have clubbed them over the head for trying to make her a proper lady. It would never happen. She’d discovered women in proper society were denied the freedom she thrived on.

“I’ll bring in the rest of our belongings,” Hawk volunteered. “Shiloh, will you build a fire?”

She shivered from the chill. “With pleasure.”

Hawk grabbed the matchbox and an armload of logs then dropped them near the entrance. When he disappeared from sight, Shiloh stacked the logs as her brothers had taught her.

“That’s not the Apache way,” Fletch commented. “Palefaces don’t know beans about smokeless fires that don’t attract unwanted attention. Spread out the logs a bit, Shiloh, and arrange them in a circular fashion.”

“And naturally the
Apache
way is the
right
way,” she countered, tossing him an impish grin.

He returned her smile. “It is, if you don’t want the cavern to fill up with smoke and force us out into the rain.”

Shiloh took his suggestion and rearranged the logs. To her amazement the fire burned clean, giving off little smoke.

“Where are you from, Shiloh?” Fletch asked as he massaged his injured leg.

“She won’t say,” Hawk answered for her as he entered, laden down like a pack mule. “She’s afraid I’ll ferret out her last name and hold her for ransom.”

“Smart woman.” Fletch tossed her an approving
smile. “It’s nice to finally meet a female who has enough sense to keep her mouth shut occasionally.”

“She’s skeptical and cautious because she thinks I’m part of the outlaw gang I infiltrated three months ago,” Hawk elaborated. “Even when I flashed my badge she didn’t believe me. She thought I had stolen it, along with this….”

He fished into the saddlebags to retrieve the stacks of bank notes. Fletch’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“When I made off with the bandits’ loot, Shiloh presumed I took it for personal gain.”

“Considering our mixed heritage, what else would you think?” Fletch focused his resentful gaze on Shiloh.

“Now wait just a blasted minute!” Shiloh snapped as she lurched toward Fletcher. Pain and weariness made her irritable and sensitive. “As I told your brother, it isn’t his heritage that makes me wary. It’s being male. But after he saved my life a couple of times I
have
revised my low opinion of him. Somewhat, at least. But just because you’re brothers doesn’t mean I’ll take your word. I’d expect you to vouch for him.”

“Well, at least I’ve been forgiven for the nearly unpardonable sin of being born a man.” Hawk snapped out the padded bedroll, then gestured for Shiloh to make use of it.

She shook her head. “Fletcher needs the added comfort of soft bedding more than I do.”

Offended, Fletch glared at her. “And let a woman sleep on the rock floor? Hawk and I might not have been taught the polished manners of white aristocrats, but we sure as hell—heck know better than that!”

Although the thought of sleeping on bedrock made her cringe, Shiloh knew Fletch was in worse condition.
Grabbing the unlit torch to serve as her cane, Shiloh snatched up the bedroll then hobbled over to Fletcher. She shook out the padded pallet then stabbed her finger at it.

“Don’t argue with me,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “Hawk can attest that I’m a grouchy shrew. You don’t want me to harp at you the whole livelong night, I assure you.”

Hawk chuckled when she skewered her face into a witchlike scowl. “Meanest damn female I ever met,” he said, giving his brother a wink and a grin. “Almost as mean as me, in fact. Better not tick her off if you know what’s good for you.”

“Well, if you insist.” Fletch’s breath sighed out appreciatively as he settled on the soft pallet and propped his head on the saddle.

“I’d give a month’s wages for some whiskey,” Fletch murmured. “Damn outlaws stole my bottle, my rifle and my horse. The bottle and rifle can be replaced, but my horse is like a personal friend and I take serious offense to that.”

Hawk’s smile faded and he stared grimly at his ailing brother. “Did you remove the bullet?”

Fletch shook his head. “I tried, but the pain kept making me pass out before I could dig deep enough.”

Shiloh watched Hawk grab his dagger, then hold it over the campfire. He set it aside to fish out the whiskey then handed it to Fletch. Although she had been reluctantly impressed with Hawk’s skills and abilities in the wilderness, her admiration doubled while she watched him prepare to perform primitive surgery. By all indication, this wasn’t the first time he’d dug out a bullet.

Wanting to help, Shiloh limped over to sink down gingerly beside Hawk.

“Go away, woman,” Fletch demanded tersely. “You don’t need to see a grown man cry or hear him scream.”

“Nonsense, I
live
to see men in agony.” She handed him a twig to bite down on. “Get on with it, Hawk. This should be the most fun I’ve had all day.”

Fletch grabbed the whiskey and took another guzzling swallow, then he thrust the bottle at Shiloh. “Pour this over the wound and I’ll scream bloody murder. Guaran-damn-teed.”

Shiloh glanced at Hawk, who nodded grimly. When she dribbled whiskey on the angry red wound that Hawk exposed by ripping the seam of the breeches, perspiration popped out on Fletch’s forehead. The color seeped from his face. Shiloh took pity on him and offered him another drink, which he readily accepted.

“If foul language offends you, close your ears,” Hawk suggested as he tore open another portion of his brother’s breeches to grant better access to the wound. “There are no curse words in the Apache dialect. But Fletch learned plenty of them in English.”

“Curse away,” Shiloh invited as she patted Fletch’s rigid shoulder. “Whatever gets you through the surgery. My delicate sensibilities aren’t all that delicate. Compared to the genteel ladies in New Orleans I’m a hoyden.”

Although Shiloh began feeling light-headed the moment Hawk probed for the bullet, she told herself that exhaustion and her own injuries were responsible. But no matter how faint she felt, she was going to be right here to aid Hawk and console Fletch while he moaned, swore foully, and then passed out so Hawk could stitch him back together.

Sighing heavily, Hawk sank down cross-legged and watched Shiloh apply the poultice then bandage
Fletch’s leg. He gave her high marks for assisting him, even when he could tell that she had come close to passing out herself a time or two. She had also teased Fletch playfully and put him at ease before the surgery began.

This is one hell of a woman,
he mused as he watched her brush her palm over Fletch’s clammy forehead to check for fever. Hawk didn’t want to like her and admire her, but he did. He didn’t want to desire her, either, but his traitorous body reacted each time they touched.