Carol Finch (4 page)

Muttering, she grabbed modestly at the quilt to cover herself while he glanced around, trying to spot the cave she claimed was in the vicinity.

“I want my clothes,” she demanded.

“No. Where the hell is the cave?”

She glared flaming arrows at him.

He ignored her.

When she refused to reply, he said, “We can stand here
all day. Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me, Paleface. But then, I’m not the one who’s stark-bone naked and has an astronomical price on my head. If you want to risk being seen and getting shot by vigilantes, that’s your business.” He stared her down. “The warrant reads ‘dead or alive,’ you know.”

Their gazes locked and they engaged in visual battle. He refused to be the one to back down first.

Eventually she said, “You don’t have a heart, do you, Fletch? Just a chunk of rock rattling around in your chest.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not a requirement for this job.” His voice was laced with cool detachment. He glanced downhill at the group of men milling around camp. “It’s them or me. Decide who you want to spend the evening with.”

Her dark eyes flashed fire and brimstone. “The devil or one of his brothers? That’s some choice you’ve given me.”

She lurched around, gathered the quilt tightly around her and led the way through the trees. Fletch held on to the trailing hem of the blanket—just in case. He almost wished she’d make another run for it so he could feast his eyes on—

No, you don’t!
the sensible voice in his head shouted.
Don’t go looking for more trouble. Savanna Cantrell is a barrel load, so don’t push your luck.

The moment Savanna ducked inside the cavern concealed by a cedar tree, a low warning growl erupted. She instinctively grabbed for a weapon. The only one within reach was the dagger strapped to Fletch’s thigh. She lunged for his knife, but, hampered by the darkness, was slightly off the mark.

Her fingers inadvertently clenched in his crotch. Fletch sucked in his breath then shoved her hand away to retrieve the knife himself.

Another growl echoed around the stone walls. Thankfully, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. She noticed movement off to her left. “There,” she whispered.

“Probably a badger,” he whispered back. “Vicious little beasts.” He held his pistol—backward—in his left hand like a makeshift club. He clamped the knife in his right fist.

When the varmint snarled and charged, Fletch struck out with his boot, sending it rolling across the floor. Savanna ducked behind him and curled her bound hands against his hip, giving the impression that she was cowardly seeking his protection.

Let him think what he wants, she mused.

Fletch growled as ferociously as the badger, then gave it another kick when it attacked. The beast came back for more and Savanna decided this was the prime opportunity to escape. She wheeled around and took off barefooted, making a beeline toward the Appaloosa. And freedom. She hoped.

Savanna made it twenty feet before Fletch knocked her off balance and left her sprawled facedown in the grass. He landed on top of her. She gasped for breath—after he’d knocked the wind clean out of her.

“Damn it, stop trying to escape,” he muttered at the back of her head, after he’d tired of cursing her. “You’re really starting to tick me off. And thank you
so
much for the help back there.”

“You were managing fine without me,” she panted. “I thought I’d grab a breath of fresh air while you finished the fight.”

“Right.” He bounded agilely to his feet, then hauled her up beside him. “So much for your respect for the honor system. Here’s yet another example of why I don’t trust you.”

To her dismay, Fletch marched her back into the cave
and forcefully sat her in the corner. He attached the shackles to a rope that he secured to an oversize boulder that blocked a narrow tunnel leading into the bowels of the earth.

“These manacles are too tight,” she complained.

“And you’re a lot of trouble,” he retaliated. “Since you won’t behave, I’m forced to treat you like the criminal you are.”

She could hear the annoyance in his voice. But she was annoyed, too. He’d thwarted her escape attempt then anchored the cuffs to stone, so his remarks had little effect on her.

“I guess I should be grateful that you didn’t grab my pistol and shoot me while I was doing hand-to-hand combat with the badger.”

“Damn, I had my chance and I didn’t take it,” she muttered caustically. “What could I have been thinking?”

“I’m sure you’ll have another opportunity. We’re a long way from Tishomingo, after all. Better luck next time, Paleface.”

“Thanks for the encouragement. I’ll try not to botch up my next attempt.” She nodded her tousled head toward the right. “There’s a stack of logs and some torches in the corner. Old Chickasaw motto—Always Be Prepared.”

“The Apache have the same motto.” He struck a match. When the small torch flared to life, he propped it against the rock wall. “My brother and I stockpile a similar stronghold for emergencies, beneath Ghost Ridge in Sundance Canyon in Texas.”

The light flickered over his high cheekbones and emphasized his muscular physique. Entranced, Savanna watched the play of light and shadows. He was six feet four inches of powerful masculinity and it nearly took her
breath away just staring at him. His vivid blue eyes seemed out of place on his bronzed face. Their piercing intensity always caused her thoughts to detour into the wrong direction when she peered into them for too long at a time. They were so striking, so mesmerizing that a woman could get lost in them if she didn’t watch out.

A wave of fierce sexual attraction washed over her, even while she acknowledged the absurdity of it.

Dear God, Savanna, snap out of it! This man has no interest whatsoever in you as a woman. He wants to turn you over to the authorities so he can collect his reward. Of all the men on earth, this is the last one you should be attracted to. He will betray you in the blink of those incredible blue eyes. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t forget it.

She glanced toward the motionless carcass that he scooted from the cave with his booted foot. Then she peered up at him again, realizing this man was the epitome of what she had spent the past eight years trying to become. He was the personification of independence and self-reliance—completely competent in the wilds, utterly fearless and undaunted.

Fletcher Hawk possessed the skills and characteristics she strived to attain. Except that
he
had a heart of granite.
She
preferred not to become that callous and unfeeling.

When she noticed that he was gathering logs to build a fire, she gestured toward the mouth of the cave. “There’s a way to build a small fire so the vigilantes—”

“I told you that I’m half Apache,” he cut in, then sent her an exasperated look. “I know how to build an inconspicuous campfire. Hell, I was doing it while I was still in diapers, living a hand-to-mouth existence with my clan.” He stared at her darkly. “Then the army massacred men,
women and children in our village. My mother and grandfather died from their wounds.
Your
people stole our land, our freedom and made life hell for
my
people.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to hold me personally accountable for those cruel practices,” she countered. “And it’s not as if
your
kind didn’t retaliate just as cruelly against my kind…”

Her voice fizzled out when she realized she was waving her bound arms in expansive gestures instead of clamping her elbows against the quilt to hold it in place. Fletch’s gaze dropped to the cleavage she had unintentionally exposed before he surveyed the scrapes and faded bruises on her forearms.

“Compliments of Roark Draper,” she said bitterly. “You’re lucky you never knew him. Believe me, he deserves to be as deep in hell as a buzzard can fly in a month.”

When she noticed his dubious expression, she huffed out a frustrated breath. Her comments might be falling on deaf ears, but that didn’t stop her from trying to drive home her point. “It could have been self-defense,” she insisted. “I
was
fighting for my virtue and my life. I’m not the first woman Roark terrorized, either. My best friend, Willow, caught his fancy last month. Then she suddenly disappeared. I feel responsible for whatever has happened because I convinced her to come to town for a visit before we returned to the Chickasaw girl’s academy to begin our fall teaching session. Now she’s missing.”

Savanna frowned worriedly. “I wondered if perhaps she was pregnant and too ashamed to rejoin Morningstar if Roark refused to marry her. Either that or Willow was injured during one of Roark’s drunken binges. Oliver Draper might’ve ordered his hired guns to clean up after his son,” she muttered bitterly.

“You think there’s a possibility that Willow is dead?”

Savanna nodded bleakly. “I’m hoping for the best, but I fear the worst. She could be hiding to protect herself and her unborn baby, if there is one. But if Roark became angry, she could have come to harm. His father always bailed him out and covered for him when he got into trouble.

“I also think Buck Patterson doubted I’d need my horse after Roark finished with me. Roark kept threatening bodily harm and certain death to keep me quiet. Believe me, I made plenty of racket about Willow’s disappearance and his possible involvement to counter his accusations. Buck simply jumped the gun to edge out competition for ownership of my horse.”

“You do have an amazing way of spinning a tale to your advantage,” Fletch remarked as he stoked the fire he’d built by the cave entrance. “Coffee?”

“I’d rather have my clothes back.”

He shook his raven head. “Not unless your friends get so close that we have to make a run for it.”

“They are
not
my friends,” she insisted resentfully. “They are my would-be executioners. If they dispose of me, Oliver can dole out the reward money as salary to his hired guns. But I’m absolutely certain that I won’t be allowed to have my day in court.”

“I’ll see that you have your day,” he promised.

“Sure you will,” she scoffed. “I trust your honorable intentions as much as I trust the intentions of the vigilantes who are breathing down my neck.”

L
eaving Savanna secured in the cave, Fletch mounted Appy. He followed the narrow trail to introduce himself to the five men who had made camp in a meadow. His strategy was to play dumb. If anyone asked, he hadn’t seen Savanna, but he was looking for her, too.

When five rifles snapped into firing position, Fletch waved and smiled like a long lost friend. The rifle barrels angled downward, thank goodness. He wasn’t looking for a firefight. This was a fishing expedition.

There were hardened expressions in the eyes of the men who stared back at him. Fletch had seen those looks on killers’ faces often enough to recognize them for what they were. He had worn the same expression many times himself.

His profession wasn’t for the faint of heart. Kill or be killed was the name of the game—and there were no rules.

“I’m looking for a woman,” Fletch said without preamble.

“Ain’t we all?” This from the man Savanna had identified as Buck Patterson, the horse thief. Also, according to Bill Solomon’s warrants, this man and his friends were wanted for robbery and murder in Texas. Fletch preferred
to place them under arrest, but he couldn’t drag them along while he had Savanna in custody.

Fletch appraised the wiry-looking man who was a head shorter and seventy pounds lighter. Buck Patterson had buckteeth, which was probably where he got his nickname. He also had beady eyes and bristly whiskers. He reminded Fletch of a rat, especially with his pointy nose.

Fletch swung down, but used Appy as a shield of defense—in case somebody got trigger happy. “I was hired to find a woman named Savanna Cantrell. She’s wanted for murder.” As if they didn’t know. “Have you seen a misplaced female roaming around?”

“No, but we’re looking for her, too—” The peach-fuzz-faced kid shut his trap when the burly man beside him gouged his ribs, making him grunt uncomfortably. “What was that for?”

Fletch ambled around his mount and grinned wryly. “You were being warned not to divulge more information than necessary,” he told the beanpole kid who looked to be in his early twenties. “But no harm done. I’ve heard that several posses are hunting for this woman. She has dark eyes and dark hair, I’m told.”

“A real looker, too,” the kid blurted.

Fletch decided right there and then that the peach-fuzz-faced kid—who wasn’t on Solomon’s list—would make a lousy outlaw. Every thought running through his head exited through his mouth.

“Well, she is,” the kid said when the man beside him scowled in dismay. “She might be a couple of years older than me, but I wouldn’t turn down a woman who looks as good as she does. She’s got curves in all the right places.”

Fletch didn’t know why the comments offended him quite
so much. He’d heard similar remarks dozens of time. Hell, he’d made them himself a time or two. And it wasn’t as if he felt any loyalty or affection for that wily female. But still…

“Where are you men headquartered?” Fletch asked.

“We work on Oliver Draper’s ranch.” The frizzy-haired, gray-eyed older man spoke up. He thrust out his stubby hand—real friendly like—but Fletch wasn’t fooled by the pretend cordiality. “I’m Frank Holmes.” He nodded his bushy red head toward the beanpole kid. “Blabbermouth here is Willy Jefferson.”

Frank directed Fletch’s attention to the grim-faced
hombre
who seemed vaguely familiar. He suspected he’d seen the man’s sketch on a Wanted poster, besides reading the description from Solomon’s list. Outlaws had a habit of changing names frequently, altering appearance and hiding out in Indian Territory because there weren’t enough law-enforcement officers to go around.

“This is Gib Harper.”

Fletch met Gib’s soulless, green-eyed gaze head-on. Fletch and Gib sized each other up for a few moments then Frank introduced the other vigilante as Harvey Young. While Gib attempted to stare holes in Fletch, he nodded a silent greeting to the raw-boned, long-limbed man named Harvey.

“Did you say you worked at Draper Ranch?” Fletch said, pretending ignorance. “Didn’t the Cantrell woman supposedly kill a man named Draper?”

“Supposedly?”
Buck snorted. “She did it, all right. I was with Roark Draper the night it happened.”

“Roark was Oliver Draper’s son,” Frank Holmes clarified.

“Savanna shot Roark in a hotel room in Tishomingo,” Buck went on to say. “She might be a looker, but she’s as deadly as a rattlesnake, believe you me.”

“Why do you think she shot Roark?”

“My guess is a jealous fit and robbery.” Harvey Young spoke up. “Roark’s pockets were picked cleaned.”

“Jealous of whom?” Fletch asked nonchalantly.

Although the other men shrugged evasively, Willy said, “Roark had a lot of lady friends. He also had lots of money to throw around, which makes a man real popular with women. We heard Savanna was infatuated with Roark and that she got upset because he’d taken up with her close friend. Don’t know where the other woman got off to. She might’ve run off to hide. Or could be that Savanna was in such a jealous rage that she blasted both of them and nobody has come across the other woman’s remains yet.”

The other men nodded in agreement with the speculations. Then they wandered off to gather their food supplies and refill their canteens in the stream. Fletch didn’t want to believe their side of the story, but it explained Willow’s lengthy disappearance and Roark’s death.

Fletch had dealt with a similar assignment two years ago in Fort Worth. A scorned woman had gone on a killing spree and hadn’t stopped until her unfaithful lover and his new girlfriend were full of bullets. Yet, Fletch didn’t think Savanna would— He chopped off the thought immediately.
It’s not your responsibility to figure out why. Your job is to bring in fugitives and let the court system sort the truth from the lies.

Since the men had gone about their business, Fletch took his cue to leave. He rode off in the same direction the vigilantes had come and didn’t change direction until he was beyond the range of their field glasses. Then he picked his way through the tangle of underbrush and trees to scale the eastern slope of the mountain so he could return to the cavern.

The path he’d chosen took twice as long, but it allowed him time to sort through conflicting information. To hear the vigilantes tell it, Savanna was a spiteful, scorned woman who shot and robbed Roark to cover expenses while she was on the run—riding a dead man’s horse. A horse that might’ve been more accessible than her own horse since she’d fled in a flaming rush to avoid murder charges.

According to Savanna, she’d been privately investigating her friend’s disappearance and her horse had been stolen. She claimed she’d escaped disaster when Roark turned abusive. She had bruises and scrapes to lend credence to her story.

However, those scrapes and bruises might’ve come from scrabbling around in the wilderness, trying to avoid capture.

Fletch frowned speculatively, unsure what to believe. Without question, Savanna’s exceptional skills in the wilderness indicated she could defend herself adequately against a man. The drunken Roark Draper, for instance. She’d certainly outsmarted Fletch, much as it crushed his pride to admit it.

Was she guilty or innocent? Fletch didn’t know for sure. If he knew what was good for him he’d simply do his job and deliver Savanna to Bill Solomon in Tishomingo as requested.

Then he’d begin his search for Grady Mills in earnest.

A host of bad memories buffeted him when Grady’s name popped to mind. Fletch forcefully cast off the bitter thought, just as he’d done so often the past five years. Time-consuming assignments were his way of preoccupying himself so he didn’t dwell on the fateful incident continuously. Still, finding that ruthless son of a bitch was his primary mission in life.

Fletch swung down from Appy and left him to graze. An uneasy sensation prickled the hair on the back of his neck as he rounded the palisade of rocks near the cave. Savanna’s mount wasn’t where he’d tethered it. That was not a good sign.

With both guns drawn, Fletch crouched in the bushes to avoid a possible ambush. He pricked his ears, listening for sounds that might indicate trouble. He wondered if someone—like a lone bounty hunter or a small posse—might’ve stumbled on to Savanna while he’d been chitchatting with the vigilantes.

“Damn it.” Fletch scowled at himself.

He’d left her bound up, defenseless and without clothing. She wouldn’t have been able to put up much of a fight if someone had pounced on her.

Wheeling around, he skulked toward the cedar tree that concealed the cave entrance. Torchlight flickered over the empty space where he’d secured Savanna. His concern for her welfare evaporated in nothing flat and he swore profusely. The unlocked handcuffs lay in the dirt. The quilt was neatly folded and sitting on a rock. Her satchels were gone.

“How in the hell?” A raft of salty curses exploded from his lips and reverberated off the rock walls as he dug into the left pocket of his breeches in search of his key.

But there was no key. His thoughts whirled, trying to remember when he’d been close enough to that shrewd little pickpocket for her to lift his key. He slapped his forehead when he remembered battling the badger and how she’d huddled behind him, as if frightened and seeking his protection.

Savanna cowering and frightened? Not damn likely!
She’d used the situation to her advantage, damn her hide. She’d slipped her hand into his pocket while he was preoccupied with fending off the badger.

“You are an idiot!” he chided himself. “You should’ve known that little performance was out of character for her. She’s probably laughing herself silly over this one.”

Spouting another long list of epithets to Savanna’s name—and cursing
his
stupidity—Fletch snatched up the cuffs and the quilt. He stalked outside, noting the sun was making its final descent on the horizon. He was hours behind that clever female. He was also hungry, but a stick of dried beef was all he’d get in the way of nourishment if he had any plans of catching up with her anytime soon.

And to think he’d been worried about Savvy when he speculated that a bounty hunter might have swooped down to snatch her up. He had to stop measuring her against the yardstick of ordinary women because she was anything but!

“That’s the last damn time I waste sympathy on you,” he vowed as he gathered up his supplies and remounted.

Fletch charged off, following the tracks she’d left behind…and then he remembered this wasn’t an ordinary criminal. He reined Appy to an abrupt halt and stared at the broken branches and hoofprints in the dirt. This wouldn’t be the first time Savanna had led him in the wrong direction.

Pensively he surveyed the landscape, ignoring the physical evidence she’d planted for a false trail. He tried to second-guess her by asking himself why she’d ride to higher elevations when vigilantes were headed in the same direction. Furthermore, she couldn’t ride downhill without encountering the five surly men. She might as well sign her own death warrant.

Fletch glanced sideways then veered over the rocky ridge
that was guaranteed not to leave telltale prints. He spotted a few subtle signs of a rider before darkness settled in. Gut instinct convinced him that he was headed in the right direction.

Damn her, he thought sourly. Savanna was going to cause him to miss his rendezvous next week with Deputy U.S. Marshal Solomon in Tishomingo if he didn’t overtake her quickly. Fletch was going to be mad as hell if that happened because she was making him look bad—again.

“Next time I get my hands on you,” he said to the haunting image floating above him in the darkness, “I’ll stake you out like a human sacrifice.”

This woman had humiliated him repeatedly. Fletch was thankful his big brother wasn’t around to witness his mortification. Logan Hawk would laugh himself silly over this.

Savanna and Morningstar met at an isolated cave—their second rendezvous site—to spend the night. Savanna sipped the brewed tea she’d made from cottonwood tree and willow roots. She used the satchels she’d brought with her when she escaped Fletch to pad her shoulder against the rock wall.

“Gloating is not a flattering trait for a Chickasaw or a white woman,” Morningstar said when Savanna grinned impishly.

“I don’t know what it is about that lawman that brings out my mischievous tendencies, but I enjoy getting his goat.” She took another sip of tea. “I can just imagine the look on his face when he returned to find me gone.” Her smile turned upside down when a suspicious thought crossed her mind. “I wonder if he planned to turn me over to the vigilantes so he could strike off on the manhunt that originally brought him to the Territory.”

Morningstar folded up her pallet then met Savanna’s
gaze across the small cave tucked beside one of the spectacular waterfalls nestled in the Arbuckles. “I’m grateful that you’re trying to find out what has become of Willow, but I don’t want you in danger. You and Willow are all that your father and I have left.”

Yes, and her father, Willow and Morningstar were all the family Savanna had after her natural mother, Glorianna, abandoned her years earlier to rejoin polite society.

“If Willow—” Morningstar’s voice broke. It was a moment before she composed herself and continued. “You should return to your father. He has power among the whites and he can protect you until you’re allowed to tell your side of the story in white man’s court.”

Savanna inwardly grimaced. She knew her private crusade to find out if Roark or Oliver Draper was responsible for Willow’s disappearance was causing Robert Cantrell concern and embarrassment. But she speculated that it would put him in a compromising position if she sought his protection.

“I have tainted Papa’s good name and I feel terribly guilty about it. But every law officer and vigilante in the area will expect me to take refuge with Papa,” she countered. “I’m also aware that I can’t remain in the Arbuckles indefinitely without endangering you and my friends.”

Suddenly, Savanna felt as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. She’d become a woman without a home. False rumors convinced white society that she had committed murder. She was compromising the safety of every Chickasaw who had tried to hide her. She’d dared to take on one of the most powerful ranchers in the region. All she had to show for her courageous efforts were a high price on her head and dozens of bloodthirsty mercenaries dogging her footsteps.