Carol Finch (7 page)

“If Grady is as unscrupulous as Frank, it’s a wonder you didn’t end up with a bullet in your back,” Shiloh told Fletch as she offered him a sip of water.

“Damn near did,” Fletch muttered. “It wasn’t from Grady’s lack of trying. That traitorous bastard is going to spend a few years behind bars…or take up permanent residence at the cemetery. His choice.”

“I wonder if Frank has a connection to the gangs that are preying on folks in this part of Texas,” Shiloh remarked while Hawk smoothed the fresh poultice over Fletch’s thigh.

“You read my mind,” Hawk murmured.

She wished she could. She wanted to know if Hawk was assailed by the same kind of thrilling sensations she experienced when they touched. And, bad idea though she knew it was, she would like to have a larger sampling of his kisses—ones that lasted long enough to determine if the pleasure she sensed awaited her was real or imagined.

No, you don’t want to know that!
the sensible voice inside her head shouted.
He has heartbreak written all over him, same as Antoine does. Don’t be a glutton for punishment.

While Hawk and Fletch spoke quietly, Shiloh re
moved the juicy meat from the fire. She glanced back at the two men, exasperated that her gaze went magnetically to Hawk. When he glanced in her direction, she averted her gaze and wished she could fly home with great haste. Back to her familiar world and to her brothers. Away from this compelling attraction that was headed nowhere.

Two days later, while Hawk was hunting food, scouting for trouble and gathering more herbs for his curatives, Shiloh played nursemaid to Fletch.

“So…have you realized yet that Hawk isn’t the thieving mercenary you first thought he was?”

Shiloh stared pointedly at the stack of stolen money in the corner. The exasperating truth was that Shiloh had wanted to think the worst about Hawk because, right from the start, she found herself liking him a little too much. If that made sense. Unfortunately, it made perfect sense to her. Doubting his integrity was another method of protecting her wounded heart. After her humiliating ordeal with Antoine, the last thing she needed was to find herself intrigued by the first man who crossed her path. Unfortunately, Logan Hawk was as unattainable and wrong for her as any man could get. If she had any sense, she wouldn’t let herself forget that.

“I’m willing to concede that he probably is a Ranger,” she said belatedly.

“Damn right he is,” Fletch insisted. “I’d be a Texas Ranger, too, if not for past complications—”

“Which he told me about.” She came to her feet to balance on her improvised cane.

Fletch’s stubbled jaw dropped open and his blue eyes popped. “He told you about our past?”

She nodded. “He confided that you two sneaked from the reservation…. And I’m very sorry that you had to split up indefinitely to avoid capture.”

Fletch braced himself on his elbow then struggled to his feet to test his tender leg. “It’s been long enough now that I’m hoping to join Hawk’s battalion, no questions asked. I’m as anxious to track down the men responsible for killing our mentor and friend as Hawk is.” His troubled gaze swung to the mouth of the cave, as if he were staring through the doorway of the past. “There’s nothing left to hold me in Colorado or New Mexico now. I plan to remain in Texas indefinitely. This is our childhood home, bittersweet memories and all.”

“Well, look who finally decided to get up.”

Shiloh started at the sound of Hawk’s deep baritone voice rolling toward her. The man moved like a shadow. Which, considering his profession, was probably a good thing.

“I’m ready to test my leg and get some fresh air,” Fletcher announced. “After being cooped up for so many days, I have a severe case of cabin fever.”

Shiloh felt the same way. She was going stir-crazy and having Hawk underfoot wasn’t helping.

“I’m hoping to leave here shortly before dark,” Hawk announced as he watched his brother lean heavily on his makeshift crutch. “The outlaw gang left the east canyon and my instincts tell me that’s not a good thing. We need to get moving, but if you aren’t up for a downhill hike we can hold out until tomorrow night.”

Shiloh cringed at the thought of being chased by those vicious ruffians again. In their presence, being a woman didn’t afford her any special privileges—and she had a mending wound on her arm to prove it.

Fletch forced an enthusiastic smile that Shiloh doubted he felt. “I feel a dozen times better than I did when I dragged myself up here. I’ll be ready at dark.”

“I think I’ll take advantage of the warm springs once more before we leave,” Shiloh murmured when she realized her betraying gaze had settled on Hawk’s broad chest and horseman’s thighs—again.

Braced on her cane, Shiloh limped from the cave, resigned to the cold drizzle that settled over Sundance Canyon, battling her star-crossed infatuation for a man who, after tomorrow, she probably wouldn’t see again.

“A
penny for your thoughts, big brother.”

Hawk snapped to attention when he realized his gaze had followed Shiloh until she disappeared from sight. One more day, he silently chanted. She would be out from underfoot and he wouldn’t be fighting this constant distraction.

“Okay, a nickel,” Fletch upped the ante when Hawk didn’t respond immediately.

“I’m anxious to rejoin my company and get back to the business of tracking these outlaw factions so we can locate the clever mastermind,” Hawk replied belatedly. “Which should lead me to information that might also point me in the direction of the men responsible for killing Archie Pearson.”

A knowing smile quirked Fletch’s lips as he limped around the cave to work the kinks from his stiff body. “Not to mention the relief of getting a certain green-eyed spitfire out of sight and out of mind. Or will it be a disappointment rather than a relief to have Shiloh gone?”

Hawk scowled and said nothing as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Admit it,” Fletch challenged. “Shiloh piqued your interest. Of course, a man would have to be dead a week not to react to a woman with her beauty and spirit.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe I’ll look her up after I have two good legs under me so I can court her properly.”

“No, you won’t.” Hawk shot to his feet to halt his brother’s stiff-legged stroll around the cave. “She’s on the rebound because some silver-tongued Frenchman took advantage of her in New Orleans. She’s lost faith in men and isn’t going to trust another man until she learns to trust her own instincts again. She needs time to recover. She doesn’t need you, me, or any other man pursuing her right now.”

“Or maybe she needs a man to prove to her that some of us are more loyal and reliable than others,” Fletch countered. “Sometimes the best way for a woman to forget the treachery of one man is to snuggle up in the arms of another man. Believe it or not, I can be a very comforting soul when I try.”

Hawk was ready to go for his brother’s throat…until he noticed Fletch’s wry grin and realized he was purposely baiting him.

“It’s obvious to me that you’re attracted to her,” Fletch said as he detoured around Hawk. “I think you’re both trying a little
too
hard to ignore the sparks you set off in each other. Stop fighting the feeling.”

“Stop trying to put stupid ideas in my head,” Hawk grumbled. “We don’t have a damn thing in common and society would frown on any connection between us.” He stared meaningfully at his brother. “Do I need to remind you that most whites have an aversion to our mixed heritage?”

The wry smile on Fletch’s weather-beaten features
turned upside down. Hawk wasn’t sure, but he suspected his brother had faced a similar situation in the recent past.

“Who was she, Fletch?” Hawk questioned perceptively.

It was Fletch’s turn to scowl and glance the other way. “Doesn’t matter anymore. Elaina and I were doomed from the onset. She died trying to protect me from Grady’s treachery. That’s the reason I want that bastard swinging from a rope.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hawk commiserated.

“Like you said, some lines aren’t meant to be crossed. You’re probably wise to keep your distance from Shiloh. Nothing can come of it.”

Even when Fletch verbalized what Hawk knew to be true, a part of him yearned to throw caution to the wind and pursue his unprecedented feelings for Shiloh.

Very bad idea,
he told himself as he strode off to replace the supplies he kept in the cavern for the kind of unseen emergencies that brought him to Sundance Canyon on occasion.

A quarter of an hour before the scheduled departure from the cave, the clouds parted, providing a spectacular view of Sundance Canyon, with its lush green valley, wild tumble of rocks and wildflowers waving in the breeze. Shiloh could almost visualize Hawk and Fletch practicing their survival skills in the Apache camp and bounding around the intriguing rock formations that inspired the imagination.

After the threesome crossed an overhanging ledge that towered above a winding creek on foot, Hawk assisted Shiloh onto his mustang. She tensed when he swung up behind her. The feel of his muscled chest and
thighs pressed familiarly against her sent her heart into rapid staccato.

Shiloh gnashed her teeth. It wasn’t a bit fair that she was so aware of him, so fascinated by him—while he seemed to have no difficulty controlling unwanted feelings for her. Shiloh nearly leaped out of her skin when he leaned in closer to ask if she was holding up all right during their winding downhill jaunt. His warm breath caused gooseflesh to pebble on her neck and then stream down her spine. Her body burned each place they touched and his appealing scent kept clogging her senses. She was so frustrated with her traitorous body’s reaction to him that she wanted to scream.

“Is there some reason why we need to be riding double?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Because I don’t trust your skittish mare at night,” he murmured against her neck. “She’s been dodging shadows since I forced her up and over Ghost Ridge.”

Forbidden desire sizzled through her as his touch and scent overwhelmed her. She cursed herself soundly for entertaining the impulsive urge to turn in his arms and kiss the breath clean out of him.

“We’ll reach the Ranger camp by midnight,” he reported.

“Good. I’ll be ready to give my injured arm and ankle a rest,” she said, her voice a little on the unsteady side.

Shiloh half collapsed in relief when he straightened away from her and granted her more breathing space. She glanced heavenward, watching a canopy of stars wink to life, grateful for the reprieve….

And suddenly gunfire erupted to the north and the peaceful evening shattered like glass.

“Get down!” Hawk commanded as he leaned pro
tectively over Shiloh. “Fletch! Are you up to a firefight?”

Fletch’s reply was the rapid-fire eruption of his pistol that found its mark on one of the five riders thundering after them. Hawk fired directly at the spark and trickle of smoke that rose from one of the distant pistols. He heard a yelp before the second silhouette tumbled from a galloping horse.

To his relief, the last three riders veered sideways, giving up the chase. He suspected the bushwhackers were the gang he’d infiltrated. It was just like Morton DeVol to retreat when he risked becoming the casualty of a shoot-out. The only life that cutthroat valued was his own.

Les Figgins glanced over at his boss, Morton DeVol, then stared at his fallen cohorts. “We need to bury Joey and Hank properly,” he insisted.

“You wanna bury ’em? Go ahead,” Everett Stiles snorted. “I ain’t wastin’ my energy.”

Les looked to Morton for support and found none forthcoming. He made the crucial mistake of saying, “Maybe you’d be more helpful if I tracked down those Rangers that have been dogging our trail for months and tell them—”

Les Figgins’s voice fizzled out when the pistol blast hit him from close range. He stared incredulously at the smoldering flames on his vest and felt the icy chill of death settle over him.

“Never had no tolerance for a snitch.” Morton holstered his pistol and watched Figgins keel off his horse to join his fallen comrades. “Never did like a devious redskin, either,” he added, staring at the riders that disappeared into the night.

“We’ll find that thievin’ Injun eventually,” Everett said as he reined back in the direction they’d come. “I ain’t chasing him now that he’s picked up reinforcements. Whoever his sidekick is, he’s as accurate with a six-shooter as that damn redskin.”

Biding his time, Morton DeVol turned back toward camp. He’d catch up with that bastard and cut him to pieces, he promised himself. That wicked thought put a smile on his lips and then he reminded himself that he’d have to send word to the ringleader to report that his band of five men had been reduced to two.

Forty-five minutes later, Hawk drew his mustang to a halt to signal the guard posted a mile from headquarters. When he walked the horses into camp several bushy heads popped up from the pallets spread around the campfire. It was probably because Shiloh’s auburn hair caught flame in the flickering light, he surmised. Every man in camp was vividly aware that a shapely female was riding double with him.

When Hawk dismounted, the seven Rangers that had bedded down for the night shot to their feet and raked their hands through their ruffled hair to make themselves more presentable. It was a damn good thing his coworkers slept in their breeches. Otherwise, they would have embarrassed themselves when they surged toward Shiloh like high tide.

Hawk rolled his eyes at the doting attention Shiloh received the instant she set foot in camp.

“What the devil did you expect?” Fletch asked in Apache dialect. “That your friends wouldn’t notice what you and I have had trouble ignoring? Beautiful women always attract attention. It’s a fact of life, Hawk.”

Hawk stared disapprovingly at the Rangers then focused on his brother. “My cohorts don’t have to be so
obvious,
do they?” he replied in Apache. “I’m surprised they haven’t slipped in the pool of their own drool. How can men that don’t bat an eye at riding into a hellish firefight turn into mush when a woman shows up? Where’s their self-restraint?”

Fletcher barked a laugh. “Did I just hear the pot call the kettle black? You’ve ogled her plenty yourself.”

Hawk shot his taunting brother the evil eye. “I never did like you much, you know. Pain in the ass since the day you could walk and talk. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since.”

“Never liked you much, either,” Fletch teased right back. “Always bossing me around…. Now help me off this horse. My leg is throbbing something fierce and I need to lie down before I fall down.”

While the Rangers lined up for introductions to Shiloh, Hawk helped Fletch dismount. He grabbed the bedroll, anxious to get Fletch off his injured leg. In the distance Hawk could hear the murmur of Shiloh’s voice, which was followed by the eruption of male laughter. He looked at Fletch then sighed in dismay. “These besotted Rangers are giving all men everywhere a bad name. I expected more from them.”

“Maybe all this preferential treatment Shiloh is receiving from your friends will restore her faith in men,” Fletch remarked.

“Doubt it,” said Hawk. “I don’t think her man-hating days are over yet.”

By the time Hawk had Fletch resting comfortably and applied a fresh poultice to the wound, one of the Rangers had lifted Shiloh from the saddle. Hawk watched Cameron Armstrong and Abram Ballard half
carry her to the campfire so she wouldn’t have to put pressure on her tender ankle.

Alien sensations twisted through his belly. Was it jealousy? Possessiveness? What in the hell was wrong with him? These Rangers were his trusted comrades in arms, who guarded his back as often as he guarded theirs. Why should he be annoyed if they stumbled all over themselves trying to make a good first impression on Shiloh?

He shouldn’t be, he told himself. It was their business how they responded to the unexpected arrival of a woman.

Grinning, Commander Ben Tipton ambled up to Hawk. “When we asked Shiloh how you two met she said you dropped out of the sky and tried to drown her. Then you left her as an open target for the outlaw gang. Which is how she got her arm injured.” Ben snickered. “She has quite an imagination, doesn’t she? What’s the real story?”

“Unfortunately, she isn’t kidding.” Hawk watched the men help her settle onto one of the pallets then deliver coffee and hoecakes for her midnight snack.

Ben’s fuzzy gray eyebrows shot up. “You nearly
drowned
her?” he chirped, appalled.

“Well, not on purpose.” Hawk gave Ben the condensed version of his departure from the outlaw’s hideout and his unexpected encounter with Shiloh.

Ben stroked his bristly mustache. “Quite the eventful few days you’ve had.” His curious gaze slid to Fletcher. “By his looks and the style of his clothes I’d say the man is a relative of yours. Yes?”

“My brother, Fletch,” Hawk affirmed. “He’s been in Colorado tracking hard-core cutthroats for bounty and working as a detective for the railroad, stage lines and
ranchers. Fletch’s partner betrayed him while working a case. He tracked the man to Texas. Unfortunately, Fletch stumbled onto one of the gangs we’re trying to apprehend. He disposed of two bandits, winged the third and he can identify the ones that made off with his Appaloosa horse.”

Ben’s thick brows rose another notch. “And that’s how he got shot?”

“Yeah, but since we look alike, I’m wondering if the two survivors of the gang he encountered might think we are one and the same. No doubt, they plan to rejoin the other bands and swap information about a certain ‘gun-toting half-breed.’”

Ben nodded pensively. “Which means you and your brother will become marked men. These elusive highwaymen might even decide to lie low and let things cool down around here.” Ben blew out a frustrated breath. “We’re having one hell of a time locating the bandits. These crime factions are too well coordinated to be working independently.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hawk replied.

“Did you have any luck figuring out how these gangs contact each other and who is coordinating their raids?”

Hawk shook his head. “I was accepted into the gang with wary caution and offered no privileged information. No outsiders entered camp to parley. Morton DeVol, the outlaws’ ringleader, occasionally struck off alone. He’d return to announce ‘the boss’ had decided precisely where and when the next raid would take place. It was impossible for me to track DeVol because the rest of the men kept close tabs on me.”

“We need a stroke of luck to break this case wide-open,” Ben grumbled. “Seems like we’ve been chas
ing our tails for four months with nothing to show for it. I’ve instructed the men not to answer too many questions when we ride into Cerrogordo to restock supplies, for fear we might tip someone off. We always seem to be a step behind the robbers and damn if I can figure out why. We’re missing a key clue.”

“Shiloh reminded me of the trouble we had with Frank Mills, the rancher that allegedly hired a gunman to pose as a Ranger,” Hawk commented. “Then Fletch told me that he’d been partnered with a man named Grady Mills who double-crossed him before clearing out. Probably headed to Texas.”