Читать книгу Fletcher's Woman - Carol Finch, Carol Finch - Страница 10

“Looking for these, Paleface?” he teased, his gaze roaming unhindered over her exposed flesh.

Savanna shielded herself as best she could while she treaded water. She’d love to slap that smirk off his lips, but she’d enjoy outsmarting him almost as much. Morningstar and her father, the ex-army scout extraordinaire, had cautioned her never to leave all her belongings in one place. Sort of like never stashing all your eggs in one basket. She had learned to plan an alternate escape route for emergencies such as this.

“If you expect me to come out of the water, then I will need my clothes,” she called deceptively.

“Come and get ’em,” he challenged, his sky-blue eyes gleaming with devilish delight.

While he stood waiting, Savanna dived beneath the surface, reversed direction and headed for the opposite bank as fast as she could. She’d stashed an extra set of clothes and her rifle in the bushes. When she resurfaced, she was dismayed to discover that Fletch had vanished into thin air. Decidedly uneasy, she hurriedly swam toward the underbrush.

And, damn it, suddenly there he was, appearing like a phantom from the shadows of the trees, blocking her path so she couldn’t emerge from the water.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, lady. You have a whole bag of clever tricks at your disposal. Someone trained you so expertly that you do think and react like an Indian. Was it the woman who showed up to see you two days ago?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she muttered, her gaze darting anxiously from side to side, her mind working furiously in attempt to outsmart him.

She sank beneath the surface and headed for the falls, in the hope of climbing up the narrow ledge behind the misty curtain of water. Modesty be damned, she decided as she inhaled a galvanizing breath and prepared to make a run for it.

She dashed from behind the falls to retrieve the Appaloosa she had “borrowed” from Fletch.

To her chagrin, the horse wasn’t where she’d left it. But Fletch was. Damnation, he’d second-guessed her again.

Embarrassed, her face blazing with color, she ducked into the underbrush. When he headed directly toward her, she dashed, buck-naked, toward the waterfall. But Fletch pounced on her before she could dive into the pool.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he rumbled as he hooked his arm around her waist then dropped a quilt over her head.

Savanna yelped and fought futilely for freedom as he rolled her up like a mummy. Her breath came out in jarring spurts when he jogged off, carrying her jackknifed over his shoulder. Only God knew what he planned to do with her, she thought, panicked. She wormed and squirmed and kicked, hoping he’d drop her so she could dash to safety.

She grunted painfully when he flung her over a horse then tied her wrists to one stirrup and her ankles to the other.

“If you’re planning to molest me, you can expect to have a fight on your hands,” she felt compelled to tell him. “The last man who tried ended up dead.” She didn’t mention that she wasn’t the one who ensured her assailant wound up dead. Let Fletch think she’d follow through with that threat. After all, scare tactics weren’t effective if you didn’t sound convincing.

“In my book, that’s as good as a confession,” he declared as he led her and the horse away. “You’re referring to your encounter with Roark Draper, aren’t you? Guilty as charged, just as I thought.” His voice sounded like a pounding gavel.

Savanna cursed herself mightily for trying to bluff the Ranger/Deputy Marshal. She should have kept her mouth shut. The inability to do so was one of her worst faults.

“I didn’t do it,” she insisted.

“Of course not,” he said caustically.

Fletch gritted his teeth and tried to shake off the vivid picture of Savanna Cantrell stark-bone naked. But it was no use. The images of tanned skin, lush curves and swells, full, rose-tipped breasts and well-shaped legs—that went on forever—were burned on to his eyeballs.

It was a wonder he’d managed to circle the pool in time to cut her off at the pass. Then, wham! There she was, naked, and he’d stood there soaking up the exquisite sight of her. He’d been stunned and too mesmerized to react. Fortunately she’d been stunned, too. Her delayed reaction had been a half second behind his, which had given him the edge to capture her.

Now that he had her trussed up, he wasn’t going to let his guard down again. If he did, she’d find a way to elude him. His new motto was to never underestimate this wily woman. She was as cunning as a fox and he better not let himself forget that.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I really didn’t kill Roark Draper,” she mumbled from beneath the quilt. “I swear it!”

“Right. Of course I believe you,” he said mockingly. “Not a doubt in my mind, Paleface.”

“I was only trying to frighten you,” she insisted.

“Didn’t work. You don’t scare me—”

His voice dried up when he heard the clatter of hooves on the rocky path below. Fletch pulled the Appaloosa toward the cover of the trees then watched five rough-looking riders trot toward the inviting pool he had vacated earlier.

Hell of an incredible place, he mused as he surveyed the plunging falls nestled in a remote valley. It was like a little piece of heaven on earth. The Chickasaw tribe had received a spectacular site for their reservation. This must be compensation for being one of the five “civilized” tribes whose members had intermarried colonists and adapted white practices generations earlier. Still, they’d been dragged across the Trail of Tears and thousands had died along the way.

As for the Plains Indians like the Apache, they had been stuck with sand, cactus and rattlers. They had been poisoned, purposely infected with deadly diseases and slaughtered in massacres that the army chose to refer to as battles.

Come to think of it, none of the Indian tribes had fared well in their dealings with the invading white hordes. Those greedy, land-grubbing, fork-tongued bastards…

Fletch shook off the resentful thoughts and focused on the problem at hand. He wasn’t about to turn this naked firebrand over to the vigilantes, even if he was aggravated with her for being such a royal pain in the ass. Even if she had stung his male pride to the extreme, he wasn’t so cruel and spiteful as to feed her to a wolf pack and let her be molested. His conscience wouldn’t tolerate that.

“What’s going on?” she murmured curiously.

“Vigilantes. I’m going to climb aboard my horse with you, so don’t raise a ruckus that draws attention to us.”

He swung into the saddle, squirming for position behind the quilted bundle of naked female he’d captured. He was anxious to pick his way up the trail to retrieve the other horse and hide in the trees before the riders noticed them.

Fletch grabbed the spare horse’s reins and led it into the trees. He wasn’t sure where he was going to hide out, but he was going to tuck Savanna away from the heavily armed vigilantes.

“How many are there?” she asked a few minutes later.

“Five scraggly-looking riders.”

“I spotted them four days ago,” she reported. “There’s another search party of three men lurking about, too.”

Fletch wondered if they were the same three men who’d taken potshots at Bill and him after they’d disembarked from the ferry.

“If you aren’t heading northwest, then you’re making a gigantic mistake,” Savanna told him. “And could you let me up? Blood is rushing to my head. I’m about to pass out.”

“Now that’d be a shame,” he said, and smirked. “It must be as uncomfortable as having the circulation cut off to your hands and feet or being jerked upside down and clubbed on the back of the skull. Sorry, Paleface, but these are the only accommodations you’re getting right now.”

“You are a mean, horrible man, Fletcher Hawk,” she mumbled. “This is no way to treat a lady. My father is the Chickasaw agent and he’ll be outraged by this treatment!”

“There you go with those empty threats again.”

“I mean it! Papa isn’t going to be pleased when I tell him how you’ve mistreated me.”

“Like I said…”

“When he finds out that you held me captive, naked, he will have your head!”

Fletch couldn’t help but grin at her useless attempt to persuade him to unleash her. She was the mistress of threats—empty or not. He’d say one thing for her, though, she put up a tough facade. It was admirable really. Useless on him, but impressive nonetheless.

“I’ll tell your daddy how you stripped me down, tied me up and tried to have your wicked way with me,” he teased.

“I did no such thing!” she erupted in offended dignity.

“Keep your voice down, banshee,” he snapped. “This place is jumping alive with bounty hunters and vigilantes.”

She sagged against the saddle and kept her mouth shut for a good half hour. He wondered if that was some sort of record because she said, “I’ve kept quiet long enough. You should head toward the limestone peak where the rock formations look like cathedral spires. There are caves nearby that are difficult to spot unless you know exactly where to look. If we rely on your knowledge of the area, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

“Thank you so much for your invaluable guidance,” he muttered sarcastically.

But he still headed in the direction she suggested.

Fletch’s traitorous gaze strayed to the curve of Savanna’s rump draped over the saddle. He forced himself to look the other way while he followed the winding trail. He reminded himself that it was his policy to never get personally involved during an assignment. He was especially not going to get emotionally attached to this fire-breathing female who was ten times more trouble than she possibly could be worth…

Well, except for the exorbitant price on her head, he amended. Sharing her company and putting up with her sassy mouth indefinitely would require compensation. If he got Savanna to Tishomingo—without one or the other of them killing each other—he’d have earned every damned penny of the $20,000 reward!

An hour later Fletch halted in a thick grove of cottonwoods then rolled back the quilt to expose Savanna’s head so she could get her bearings. When she bowed her neck to look around, a cloud of curly auburn hair framed her flushed face. A very bewitching face, he couldn’t help but notice. Not to mention that she had a luscious body that had given him a severe case of lust.

Fletch blew out an exasperated breath and glanced the other way. This is strictly business, he told himself resolutely. It didn’t matter that Savanna was the most intriguing and attractive female he’d ever seen or met. He wanted no complications in his life. No fond attachments, either. Savanna was only a passing acquaintance. End of story.

His older brother had stumbled on to an unforgettable female while on assignment and he’d eventually married her. Fletch, however, intended to remain unattached and uninvolved. He had a long-standing debt to repay and his conscience wouldn’t allow him to shirk his duty. A pretty face and a gorgeous body—even one that inspired erotic thoughts and made his mouth water—wouldn’t sidetrack him. He had willpower and self-control that wouldn’t quit—or so he told himself.

Except that he was drooling over Savanna like some moonstruck schoolboy. Damn it, if she noticed his preoccupation, he predicted she’d use his ill-fated attraction against him. Whoever or whatever Savanna Cantrell was, she was nobody’s fool. His previous dealings with her testified that her quick mind was always at work, devising ways to outsmart her antagonists.

“See that midnight-colored gelding with two white stockings one of the vigilantes is riding?” she said, breaking into his wandering thoughts.

Fletch fished his spyglass from the saddlebag to take a closer look at the five riders who’d made camp in the clearing. Four of the men met the descriptions Bill Solomon had given him. The fifth man hadn’t been on the Wanted list.

He gave a low whistle as he appraised the sleek, muscular horse. “He’s a beauty. Long and leggy and built for speed. You planning to steal him the first chance you get?”

“No, that’s my horse. He was a gift from a close friend.”

“How close?”

“That’s none of your business, but you might be interested to know that Parmicho, or Mick, as I fondly refer to him, is the police chief of the Chickasaw Nation.”

Fletch told himself that he didn’t care if the police chief was sweet on Savanna—and vice versa. He could see why men might find her appealing. He just didn’t want to be one of them.

“That’s Buck Patterson who’s riding my horse,” she continued. “Buck stole Rambler the night Roark Draper pounced on me during one of his whiskey-fueled binges. That’s why I’m riding Roark’s horse instead of my own.”

When Fletch lowered his spyglass to stare skeptically at her, Savanna thrust out her chin. “That’s the truth. The whole truth and nothing but.”

“So you’re claiming that you killed Roark Draper in self-defense then stole his horse because Patterson stole yours?”

“I did not kill Roark,” she corrected. “I incapacitated him with a well-aimed kick to his groin. I’ll be all too happy to demonstrate the maneuver if you don’t believe me.”

Fletch grimaced. “No thanks. I can’t say that I’m surprised you’re the type who hits a man where he can be hurt the worst.”

“I was defending my virtue,” she snapped righteously.

“Right. Then what happened?”

“Then I picked up a chair and slammed it upside his head. When he collapsed, I rushed down the back steps of the hotel. My horse was nowhere to be found so I climbed aboard Roark’s.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop looking at me like I’m lying. It’s the truth.”

“Sorry, but the jury is still out.” Fletch reached over to untie her feet. “Besides, it’s not my place to pass judgment. I’m in law enforcement not sentencing.”

Having learned his lesson about dealing with this cunning woman, Fletch hooked his arm around her waist and got a good grip on her before he cut her wrists loose from the stirrup. He quickly replaced the rope with metal shackles.

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.”