“You are going to disrobe in front of me?” Shiloh squawked, her voice two octaves higher than normal.

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

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

Shiloh glared at her taunting captor when he jerked the soggy-fringed shirt over his head. The sight of his rippling muscles and washboard belly had her struggling to breathe normally.

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

Praise for Carol Finch

“Carol Finch is known for her lightning-fast,

roller-coaster-ride adventure romances that are

brimming over with a large cast of characters

and dozens of perilous escapades.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

Praise for previous novels

The Ranger’s Woman

“Finch delivers her signature humor, along with a

big dose of colorful Texas history, in a love

and laughter romp.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

Lone Wolf’s Woman

“As always, Finch provides frying-pan-into-the-fire

action that keeps the pages flying, then spices up

her story with not one, but two romances,

sensuality and strong emotions.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

The Ranger
Carol Finch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my husband Ed and our

children, Christie, Jill, Kurt, Jeff, Jon, and Shawnna.

And to our grandchildren, Brooklynn,

Kennedy, Blake, and Livia,

With much love.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

West Central Texas, 1870s

L ogan Hawk glanced this way and that, calculating his chances of stealing the stolen money and making a fast getaway. Five bandits were sprawled beside him on their bedrolls, and if they woke up, they’d blast him out of the saddle. As dawn filtered across the rugged landscape, Hawk eased to his side then came silently to his feet.

Although he’d infiltrated this outlaw gang three months earlier to gather information for the Texas Rangers, he decided to get out while the getting was still good. He had posed as an Apache renegade, who scouted for the bandits, in exchange for a share of the loot. But he had yet to figure out who was mysteriously orchestrating the operations of this band of brigands—as well as the other three outlaw factions that were wreaking havoc in West Central Texas. Someone had taken meticulous care to make sure the bandit gangs were working in tandem like a well-oiled machine.

In addition, Hawk hadn’t picked up any leads about who had killed his mentor and friend eight months ago.

Casting another cautious glance at the sleeping men, Hawk noted the bank of roiling clouds that forewarned of a spring thunderstorm. If he didn’t get moving, the crackle of lightning and the rumble of thunder would rouse these hombres.

Hawk hadn’t unsaddled his black mustang pony before last night’s raucous celebration so he could make a quick exit this morning. Neither had he bothered to undress. He hoped to be to hell and gone before the gang members roused from their drunken stupor and noticed he was missing.

Hawk skulked toward the stash of stolen money. Kneeling behind the scrub bush, he scooped up the saddlebags. He spared the scraggly-looking thieves one last glance as he circled the stand of cottonwood trees to retrieve his horse.

With the saddlebags tied in place, Hawk swung onto his mount. He breathed a long-suffering sigh of relief as he walked his horse through the grove of trees. Rubbing shoulders with these outlaws and pretending to be one of them left a sour taste in his mouth. He was more than ready to associate with someone who had more respect for humanity than these cutthroats. Like the other scoundrels he’d encountered during his seven-year stint with the Texas Rangers, these men had no consciences whatsoever. Their souls were as black as the devil’s.

Of course, he hadn’t needed to spend three months with this particular pack of ruffians to figure that out. One day had been plenty….

His thoughts scattered when thunder boomed overhead. A shout of alarm and a call to arms rose behind him. Hawk cursed sourly. Well, so much for his uneventful departure from the bandit camp with the confiscated loot in hand. He glanced back to see banditos staggering clumsily to their feet to mount up and give chase. Although he’d released the other horses, they hadn’t wandered far so it didn’t take long to regather them. Damn the luck! The desperadoes were hot on his trail in nothing flat. Hawk nudged his pony into a faster pace to take a shortcut that would provide him with a better head start.

And he was going to need one because the furious hombres were bellowing threats about which of his body parts they were going to chop off for stealing their stolen money.

Shiloh Drummond backstroked across the river, enjoying her early-morning swim. The nearby cove, flanked by a thirty-foot limestone cliff, provided protection, seclusion and a sense of peace. And what she really needed right now was a sense of peace so she could get a firm grip on her composure. The events of the past week had shattered her emotions and crushed her feminine pride in one fell swoop.

She needed this time alone before rejoining her older brothers at their family ranch. She needed time to gather her poise and bolster her bruised pride before she had to explain why she’d returned from New Orleans unexpectedly. She’d been humiliated beyond words, but she refused to let her brothers see her fall to pieces while confiding the events that had sent her running home prematurely.

She inhaled a fortifying breath and conjured up the image of the dashing Southern gentleman who had charmed her—and then had broken her heart. She muttered under her breath when tears filled her eyes, as they had so often this past week.

How was it possible to think you loved someone so completely…and suddenly despise him so thoroughly? Shiloh didn’t know, but she had learned a hard lesson about the illusion of love. She wasn’t going to risk her heart again—ever. The pain and humiliation weren’t worth the trouble.

Shiloh Drummond had officially sworn off men forevermore. And her brothers had better not plan any future matchmaking, either, or she would make them dreadfully sorry for trying to arrange her life! If they hadn’t ganged up on her and sent her to Louisiana to experience so-called “proper society” none of this would have happened.

Shiloh’s bitter thoughts trailed off when she heard a rumbling sound overhead. She glanced toward the bank of dark clouds that piled on the western horizon like dozens of angry fists raised in threat.

Angry. She could certainly identify with that. After her hellish week she wanted to strike out at something or someone—namely Antoine Troudeau—to relieve the fury and hurt boiling inside her.

Shiloh frowned, bemused, when the rumbling sound intensified. Alarm shot through her when she heard unidentified shouts in the distance. Gunshots rang out, destroying what little serenity she had salvaged from her early-morning swim. Her survival instincts kicked in, sending her surging away from the base of the stony ridge to paddle across the river. She needed to retrieve the clothing she’d recently washed so she could conceal herself in the boyish garments and hat that served as her disguise.

More gunshots filled the air and Shiloh realized the pounding of horses’ hooves, not the distant growl of thunder, caused the rumbling noise. Afraid of being spotted, while she thrashed around in nothing but her wet chemise, Shiloh swam toward her horse. She flinched when the gunfire seemed to come from directly above her.

When she glanced over her shoulder a gasp of astonishment exploded from her lips. It looked as if a renegade Indian, riding a coal-black, wild-eyed mustang, was falling from the sky—and was about to land right smack-dab on top of her!

“Oh, God!” Shiloh sucked in a quick breath and swam sideways to get clear before the mustang’s flailing hooves collided with her head.

“What in the hell?” came a surprised male voice that was much too close for Shiloh’s comfort.

Horse and rider splashed down, swamping Shiloh and causing her to choke on a wave of water while trying to grab a quick breath. Her hair hung over her face like a mop, making it impossible to see where she was going. Worse, the renegade commenced muttering in an Indian dialect and she couldn’t translate. When he grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, she didn’t have time to cough and draw air into her lungs before he dragged her beneath the surface.

Panic set in when she realized her deprived lungs were about to burst. Shiloh instinctively clamped herself around the renegade, desperate to climb up his body to inhale a precious breath. His arm came around her, pushing her upward so she could replenish her starved lungs. Her relief was short-lived because he dragged her beneath the surface again.

Anxious though she was to escape and to plant her feet on solid ground, the pop and splatter of gunshots incited another jolt of panic. She surfaced long enough to glance up at the rocky ridge where five bearded, heavily armed riders were firing at her because she had the misfortune of crossing paths with the renegade that had his arm clamped around her.

Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time! Shiloh thought as the renegade shoved her underwater again.

Although she tried to wrest free, the brawny warrior held firm. He tugged her alongside him as he swam downstream—away from the hail of gunfire pounding down on them. Desperate for another breath, Shiloh floundered upward to drag in much-needed air. To her everlasting relief the Indian didn’t try to yank her beneath the surface again, forcing her to swallow another gallon of water. He did, however, jerk her toward the clump of reeds that lined the river.

“Keep your head down,” he demanded gruffly. “I’ll fetch your horse.”

Shiloh didn’t trust him not to take her horse and make a fast getaway. His horse, she noted had come ashore upstream—too far away for her to latch on to it without risking being shot full of bullets.

“Oh, no you don’t!” She snaked out her hand to anchor herself to the leather holster that hung low on his hips. “That’s my horse and you aren’t going to…!”

Her voice transformed into a howl of pain. Fire shot through her left arm. Bewilderedly, she glanced down to see blood seeping from the gash on her arm.

“Damn it, if you’d stayed put that wouldn’t have happened,” he scolded as he hooked his arm around her waist, clamped her body against his and rolled across the creek bank toward her horse.

Offended though Shiloh was at having her barely clad body molded to the hombre’s muscled torso she didn’t object. There were more serious problems with which to contend—like bullets thudding in the sand and splattering in the reeds. And vile curses raining down that promised the tortures of hell.

For a fleeting moment Shiloh thought the renegade had rolled on top of her to shield her from another gunshot wound. But then he gathered himself so quickly to bound to his feet so he could catch her horse that she decided she was probably giving him credit for chivalry where credit wasn’t due.

“Sneaky damn Injun!” one of the men on the cliff bellowed hatefully. “You’ll pay dearly for this! And you sure as hell haven’t seen the last of us, you red-skinned bastard!”

That said, the scraggly-haired hooligan and his cohorts opened fire again. Bullets pinged off the rocks and trees while Shiloh and her captor headed for cover.

Once on solid footing, Shiloh tried to lurch away from the dark-eyed hombre who was dressed from head to toe in wet buckskin. Her escape attempt failed miserably. Her captor did, however, snatch up the tattered boys’ clothes she had been using as a protective disguise. He thrust them at her as he half carried, half dragged her to her horse.

“What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere all by yourself?” he demanded as he shoved the heel of his hand against her rump to hoist her onto the horse.

“What the hell are you doing dropping from the sky with a bunch of unkempt ruffians breathing down your neck? I was managing just fine until you interrupted my swim and ruined everything!” she snapped right back at him, fear and anger combining to make her voice razor sharp.

Despite the distant gunfire, he cocked his head to appraise her momentarily before he bounded up behind her. Shiloh wasn’t sure what to make of the expression on his bronzed face or the twinkle in his ebony eyes.

He actually seemed amused by her snippy retort. Well, she was not amused. Maybe she had been too reckless by striking off from town alone. But she’d had her pride trampled for the first time in her life, had her feelings shredded to bits and her heart broken. She had desperately needed time alone. She was familiar with this area, knew how to ride and shoot expertly and felt reasonably safe and secure…until this renegade showed up and brought hell with him!

Now her arm was oozing blood and pulsing with pain. Plus, being shot at repeatedly rattled her. Fear and indignation had her quivering uncontrollably. She’d had a nightmarish week and it didn’t show any signs of improvement. In addition, she had sworn off men less than a week ago because they were nothing but trouble. And poof, this wild renegade dropped from the sky, accompanied by five trigger-happy demons, to remind her why men were the curse of a woman’s life.

Shiloh’s thoughts were still reeling when her captor burst out with a loud whistle that threatened to blow holes in her eardrums. She recoiled reflexively, then glanced sideways to see the black mustang, laden down with several saddlebags, perk up its ears. Like a well-trained dog coming to heel, the muscular pony trotted after his master who dug his heels into her horse and took off hell-bent-for-leather.

Shiloh became uncomfortably aware of the man’s powerful body plastered against her. His chin dug into her shoulder and his arm was like a vice around her waist while they zigzagged through the willows and pecan trees that lined the river. Her damp chemise—that clung to her breasts and rode immodestly high on her thighs—left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. She squirmed self-consciously as they raced through the underbrush to put a greater distance between them and the ruffians that had been shooting at them.

“Don’t even think what you’re thinking,” the renegade growled in her ear.

Shiloh stiffened, amazed the man had all but read her mind. She was indeed contemplating the possibility of vaulting off the horse and taking her chances alone.

“Be patient,” he added as he glanced over his shoulder. “When we’re in the clear I’ll climb on my own horse and leave you to yours…. Well, damn.”

Shiloh glanced back to see what had annoyed him. To her dismay, she saw the five burly hombres picking their way down the narrow trail to give chase.

“Sit tight,” the renegade instructed as he loosened his grasp on her waist.

He crouched on the rump of her horse like a trick rider then sprang onto the mustang that now loped alongside them. Shiloh saw her chance to veer away—and she took it. She nudged her mount in the flanks, urging it into a swifter pace as they emerged from the gnarl of trees and underbrush. She took off across the open meadow, relying on equestrian skills she had mastered as a child.

“Come back here, damn it!” the renegade yelled at her. “If those outlaws catch up with you then you’re as good as dead…or worse!”

The way Shiloh had it figured she was as good as dead…or worse…if she didn’t elude her captor right now. She had heard the horrifying tales of what Indians did to women and she wouldn’t put anything past the rugged-looking renegade that glowered at her and raced after her in fast pursuit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The unpleasant thought pricked his conscience again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look, Mr. Hawk—”

“Just Hawk will be fine,” he inserted.

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

He frowned, befuddled. “Expectations?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep, it’s my name. I’m half Apache,” he confided. “My father, John Fletcher Logan, was a white trapper and trader who came and went from our clan’s camp. My mother was the daughter of Gray Hawk, a medicine man, who decided that marrying his daughter to a white man, so that he could learn English and understand the way the white man thought, was good magic. My grandfather chose his totem as my totem because the hawk is known to be swift and fierce.”

He spread his arms wide. “Logan Hawk. Half white man’s name. Half Apache.”

He glanced over his shoulder, noting that she was still regarding him skeptically. He didn’t know what caused her to be so mistrusting, but he supposed he really couldn’t blame her. He had always been one to err on the side of caution, too.

“Now, would you mind telling me what the devil you were doing in the wilds without a bodyguard or chaperone?” he asked while the coffee boiled on the fire.

She crossed her arms over her chest and thrust out her chin. “Yes, I do mind. It’s none of your business.”

His lips twitched as he cast his feisty companion another glance. She might look alluring and feminine, but she was definitely a hellion at heart. He liked that about her—in an exasperated kind of way. He also liked the way she looked and felt when she was pressed familiarly against him….

Hawk squelched the titillating thought immediately. He expected better of himself. This wasn’t the time or the place. He avoided emotional attachments to females. His tumbleweed lifestyle and his lack of acceptance in white society taught him to expect little of nothing from anyone.

The less complications the better was his motto.

When the coffee was hot, he poured two cups. As he handed a cup to her, he noticed she still regarded him warily. She also refused to take a sip until he did. She was so mistrusting that she suspected he might drug or poison her.

Cautious didn’t begin to describe this woman. He drank his coffee and wondered who had made her so suspicious.

“Last year a Texas Ranger showed up in this neck of the woods,” she said between sips of steaming coffee. “He claimed that he had been sent to evict the Mexican sheepherders who were nesting on property that belonged to a local rancher named Frank Mills. Two men died and their wives headed for the hills, overcome with grief and fear.

“Although there wasn’t enough evidence to convict Frank of hiring that bloodthirsty gunslinger to impersonate a Ranger, we suspected he was responsible.” She stared him squarely in the eye. “So don’t expect me to take your word as gospel, Hawk. I only believe half of what I see and even less of what a man tells me.”

Hawk was aware of the incident she mentioned because he had been sent to apprehend the murdering imposter. His Apache upbringing always put him at the top of the list for tracking elusive, high-profile outlaws.

“Just so you know, the imposter paid the consequences,” he assured her solemnly.

Her delicately arched brows shot up. “Did he? You know that for a fact?”

He nodded grimly. “I saw to it that he never hurt another living soul, but he didn’t confess. There was no evidence to convict Frank Mills of conspiracy. A damn shame that.”

She looked as if she wanted to believe him, but he could see her withdrawing emotionally. He wondered if his mixed heritage and unconventional appearance contributed to her distrust. It did where most folks were concerned.

Whites had a tendency to judge him by his bronzed skin, dark eyes and jet-black hair. Not to mention the damage done by the white man’s one-sided bad publicity against Indian tribes. Most white folks didn’t care who he was on the inside. He was an Indian; therefore, he must be the enemy.

The Rangers battalion was one of the few exceptions. His band of brothers judged him on merit, not skin color.

Hawk discarded the unproductive thought and reminded himself that he was also guilty of holding a grudge against whites because of their unfair treatment of his people.

And his people were the Apache. Just because he was half-white didn’t change that fact.

“So…what do you intend to do with me?” she questioned.

“Take you home when the rain lets up,” he replied. “Just where is home, hmm?”

She scoffed at his subtle attempt to gain information. “Nice try, Hawk. Now tell me again why you have several bags of money and five unhappy banditos dogging your heels? Oh, yes, I’m supposed to believe that you’re one of the good guys and I’m supposed to place unfaltering faith and trust in your willingness to see me home safely. Right?” She glared at him. “Well, you’re wrong about that. I’m going to need more than your word that you aren’t a threat.”

Hawk scowled, nearly at the end of his patience with this prickly female. “Are you always this contrary, Bernice?”

“No, this is one of my good days.” A mischievous smile surfaced before she could bite it back. “I’m usually worse.”

“I’m starting to believe it,” he mumbled.

Chapter Three

H awk stood watch at the mouth of the cave, relieved to note that the rain had let up—temporarily at least. He wanted to be on his way. Being confined to this small space with this maddening but alluring female tempted him to do something foolish and reckless—like yielding to the outrageous urge of kissing her to see if she tasted even half as good as she looked. Staring at her lush, Cupid’s bow mouth for more than a moment at a time was sensual torment.

Forcing himself to get his mind back to the business at hand, he poked his head outside. “Well, damn,” he grumbled.

When she walked up behind him, he cautiously glanced back at her. He half expected her to approach him, toting a log for the campfire as her makeshift weapon. He braced himself, in case she decided to pound him on the head.

Fortunately she wasn’t armed, just curious.

He pointed in the direction of the men who were riding through the valley. “They aren’t giving up the search,” he grumbled. “But then, I did confiscate a lot of stolen money.” He waited a beat then said, “I’m sorry you ended up in the middle of this. The outlaw gang I infiltrated three months ago won’t want you to walk away, either. Not when you can identify them. This gang doesn’t leave eyewitnesses behind.”

Shiloh gulped uneasily as she watched the five men weave around the boulders and trees at lower elevations. “Where are our horses? What if the outlaws spot them?”

“They won’t,” he assured her. “I stashed them in another cave. One of the advantages of these rocky hillsides that my people always favored, when this land was part of the Apacheria, is that you can come and go like a fleeting specter. If you know your way around this valley you can be visible one minute and vanish into thin air the next.”

He called her attention to the battered stone precipice looming above them. “When the wind blows in from the southwest, swirling and dipping around that peak, you can almost swear there are whispering voices on Ghost Ridge. Which is why this is sacred ground to the Apache. According to the legend, the spirits congregate here, ready to guide us if we are wise enough to listen.”

He sounded convincing and believable, Shiloh mused as she scanned the towering peak. But it would be a cold day in hell before she took a man at his word again. She had no way of knowing for certain that he wasn’t making up the legend to prey on her gullibility and gain her allegiance. Furthermore, she couldn’t swear that he wasn’t trying to double-cross his cohorts who were out for his blood—and hers—because she could identify the group of ruffians.

Shiloh glanced down at the rain-drenched riders in the valley below then shifted her attention to the man beside her. “Nothing like having to settle for the lesser of two evils,” she grumbled, exasperated. “You or them. Tough call.”

Her comment inspired his rumbling chuckle. “At least there’s only one of me compared to five of them. And one of these days you’ll apologize for mistrusting me, just because I’m half Apache.”

Shiloh tipped her head back to compensate for the difference in their height. He had to be at least six feet three, and an impressive male specimen—much as she was reluctant to admit it. “I don’t hold your heritage against you,” she corrected. “It’s being a man that I object to. Your gender has so many flaws and so few saving graces.”

He continued to monitor the search party in the distance. “A man-hater, are you? Is anyone in particular responsible for souring you on the rest of the male gender?”

“That’s none of your business, either.” She lurched around to pace the shadowy confines of the cavern. Thinking of Antoine’s deceit always caused her emotions to roil in frustration.

“At least tell me the scoundrel’s name,” Hawk requested. “I might decide to look him up and shoot him down for you after I finish this assignment.”

Shiloh glanced over at him, jolted again by his arresting profile and the hint of amusement in that deep baritone voice. This man couldn’t be all bad…could he? He had offered to avenge the hurt and humiliation she had suffered recently. He had patched her injured arm and found refuge from the rain and from the gunmen who were chasing them.

The moment she felt herself weakening, wanting to believe he was on the side of law, order and honor, he ruined it all by saying, “Unless of course you deserved what you got. You didn’t have it coming, did you?”

Well, so much for actually starting to like Hawk, she thought in annoyance. Shiloh stiffened her spine, elevated her chin and rapped out, “No, I most certainly did not have it coming! I was manipulated and misled and entirely too naive and trusting. But that won’t happen again. I guarantee it!”

He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders as he stared over the valley. “I guess we all have to learn a few lessons the hard way, Bernie,” he said, adopting a shortened version of her alias. “It’s my job to ask the hard, and sometimes offensive questions. Since we’re stuck here together, at least until nightfall, I thought this might be our chance to get to know a little more about each other.”

“We already know each other better than I prefer,” she muttered resentfully.

Shiloh well remembered the feel of their bodies meshed together, while rolling across the ground to avoid gunfire. Also, they had been pressed tightly together while galloping off on her horse, while she’d been garbed in nothing but her wet chemise. Yet, despite her vulnerability he hadn’t made even one attempt to…

The thought caused Shiloh to halt in her tracks. “Well, no wonder.”

Hawk glanced sideways and frowned. “No wonder what?”

She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist then went back to pacing. Maybe it was her fault that she had been jilted. Maybe there was something unlovable and undesirable about her. Obviously she didn’t inspire many lusty or romantic ideas in men.

Which was why this supposed Texas Ranger—who’d had ample opportunity to take advantage of her during their isolation—hadn’t touched her in a sexual way. He hadn’t made even one improper advance, despite the situation that had left her nearly naked in his arms several times. Why was that?

Because he was completely honorable and trustworthy? Doubtful, thought she. It was because she lacked feminine appeal, personality and charm. Which was why Antoine had disregarded her feelings for him and broken her heart by turning his attention and affection to someone else.

It was demoralizing to have to accept the fact that she possessed very little sex appeal and no alluring charm. The deflating realization caused her shoulders to slump. If she couldn’t attract or intrigue this rough-edged frontiersman, she couldn’t beguile a man she’d fallen in love with, either.

“Well, hell,” Hawk muttered, his deep voice echoing through the dimly lit chamber.

When she noticed his profound concentration on the goings-on outside the cave Shiloh went to join him. She scowled sourly, too, when she noted that two men had dismounted near the mouth of the box canyon and looked to be setting up camp to outwait them. Three men rode back in the direction they had come.

“Morton DeVol and Everett Stiles are guarding the escape route while the other outlaws gather the provisions from their hideout,” Hawk speculated. “I was hoping they’d give up so we don’t have to rely on the treacherous trail that leads over Ghost Ridge to the canyon beyond.”

Shiloh stared anxiously at the towering summit of jagged rock. “We have to climb over that?” She had the unmistakable feeling that her aversion to height was going to make the trek an unnerving challenge.

“That’s right, Bernie,” he confirmed. “In the rain…in the dark. Lucky for you that I’ve used that winding path several times before.”

“Well, that makes me feel so much better. Can’t wait to get started,” she said unenthusiastically.

At twilight, in the drizzling rain, Hawk grasped Shiloh’s hand and led her outside. Waddling like ducks, they made their way beneath and around the protruding rock barriers. They were careful not to expose their whereabouts to the relentless outlaws who had pitched a tent in the valley below.

Shiloh made the mistake of looking over the ledge—and felt her stomach drop a quick twenty feet. She must have squeezed Hawk’s hand apprehensively because he halted on the narrow path to glance curiously at her.

“What’s the problem?” he whispered.

Shiloh gulped down her apprehension and struggled for hard-won composure. “This might be a good time to let you know that heights make me a little dizzy and uneasy.”

“How dizzy? How uneasy?” His dark-eyed gaze sharpened and he stared grimly at her. “You aren’t going to go hysterical on me while we’re scrabbling up the peak with our horses, which are going to have their own problems with footing, are you?”

Shiloh glanced over the cliff, drew a shaky breath and smiled with bravado. “I’ll try to remain calm….”

Her voice dried up when he cupped her chin in his hand, demanding her undivided attention. “There will be no trying to pull yourself together when the time comes,” he insisted harshly. “You’ll do what you have to do, understand?”

Annoyed with his insensitive attitude, she slapped his hand away then squared her shoulders. “Understood. Now lead the way, Chief Tough-As-Nails. Heaven forbid that I should freeze up or fall to my death on Ghost Ridge. Never mind about me,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “After all, I’m just the inconvenience you nearly landed on in midstream this morning and then decided to drag along with you. I don’t know why you didn’t leave me behind. It’s obvious that I’m only slowing you down.”

Hawk couldn’t help but smile at her spunk and sass. He didn’t like learning that heights rattled her, knowing she would be testing herself to the limit of her abilities when they scaled the lofty peak. But the sparkle of determination he saw in her cedar-tree green eyes assured him that she wasn’t a fainthearted shrinking violet. She would do her best to scratch and claw her way up and over the ridge—or die trying. He would be right beside her every step of the way to make sure it didn’t come to that.

Hawk led the way to the larger cave where he had sheltered the horses. Shiloh waited outside. Her attention fixated on the craggy peak that posed an intimidating personal challenge. She couldn’t imagine how she and the horses were going to make the nearly impossible trek, especially at night, especially during a misty rain.

Her anxious thoughts trailed off when Hawk reappeared to hand her the reins to her horse. “I’ll let you lead your mount until we get to the most difficult part of the trail, then I’ll take control of it.”

“I’ll manage that, too,” Shiloh insisted, holding her head high as she surged off.

“Wrong way,” Hawk called out, a smile in his voice.

Shiloh sighed heavily as Hawk walked off in the direction they had come, then veered around an oversize boulder to follow an inconspicuous trail that led up the steep incline. Obviously he knew this canyon like the back of his hand. She envied his knowledge and skill. But at least she wasn’t floundering around in unfamiliar territory with some greenhorn that could get them lost or injured as fast as she could.

“This is one of those places where it’s not a good idea to look down,” Hawk cautioned.

Shiloh braced herself when the trail narrowed to such extremes that Hawk’s mustang, which was directly in front of her, didn’t have enough space to walk without scraping its side on the jagged stone wall. There was nothing but a fifty-foot gorge on the other side. Shiloh grabbed a quick breath and prayed that her horse didn’t stumble and jerk her over the edge before she could release the reins.

To make the difficult trek worse, thunder rumbled overhead, the earth shook and the sky opened up again. Shiloh found herself soaked to the bone in less than five minutes. To compound the problem, there was barely enough light for her to see where she was going. Fear pounded in rhythm with her accelerated pulse. The voice inside her head kept chanting that her next step might be her last.

“This escape route has disaster written all over it,” she said fatalistically.

“It’s a damn sight better than trying to shoot our way past the crack-shot gunmen that are blocking the canyon exit,” Hawk countered.

“I’m not sure one route is better or worse than the other…. Dear God…”

The eerie sounds that Hawk had mentioned this morning suddenly demanded her attention. It did indeed sound as if haunting voices from beyond the grave were howling in the wind. A chill—and not from the soaking rain—slithered down her spine. Shiloh didn’t consider herself superstitious, but this treacherous trek after sunset, with a stiff breeze and stinging raindrops constantly slapping her in the face, was working on her jumpy nerves.

She did not need disembodied voices and tormented wails undermining her composure and preying on her fear of height.

She nearly jumped out of her own skin when Hawk’s hand folded unexpectedly around her ice-cold fingers. She’d been so distracted by the otherworldly sounds that she hadn’t heard him ease up beside her.

“This is where the path becomes slick and hazardous.”

“Well, shoot, and it’s been such a piece of cake thus far,” she quipped.

His white teeth flashed in the gathering darkness. “Sarcasm must be your way of dealing with difficulty,” he noted. “A woman after my own heart.”

She stared at the nearly impossible path ahead of them then spared him a glance. “I’m not after your heart, Hawk. I’ve sworn off men with good reason. I just want to get out of here alive so my two bro—” She slammed her mouth shut so fast that she nearly clipped off her tongue. “Well, damn it all.”

“So you have two brothers. So what?” he said, seemingly disinterested. “It’s not the end of the world if I’m privy to that information. I already told you that I’m not holding you for ransom. My objective is to rejoin my company and report my findings. Then I’ll have one of my compatriots take you home.”

“Right. You’re honorable, noble and heroic. Don’t know why I ever doubted your intentions.” She stared pointedly at the saddlebags of money strapped to his horse. With an audible sigh she turned her attention to the winding trail above them. “I really wish you did have wings, like your namesake, Hawk. Flying looks to be the only safe way to scale this embankment to reach that rain-slick peak.”

“Change of plans,” Hawk suddenly declared as he pulled the reins from her hand. “I’ll take you up first, then come back for the horses.”

“That’s not necessa—”

Her voice evaporated when she stepped forward to reclaim the reins—and slipped in the mud and loose rock. Hawk snaked out an arm and hooked it around her waist before she fell on her face. He kept a firm grasp on her as he propelled her between the jutting boulders.

“Footing here is tricky on a good day. In pouring rain it’s downright perilous. Take shorter steps and widen your stance,” he instructed.

They went about twenty-five yards before he halted beside the eroded crevice that gaped in front of them. Leaving her braced against the boulder, Hawk backed up a step then launched himself through the air to avoid the space where the trail had given way to forty feet of nothingness.

He held out his hand to her. “Now it’s your turn.”

There was just enough daylight left for him to note the color had seeped from her face. But to her credit she gritted her teeth and marshaled her resolve. His respect for her elevated another notch as she crouched in preparation for leaping toward him. He had seen this woman during several telling moments today and he admired her gumption and determination.

Whoever Bernice Colbert really was, she was one spirited, independent and courageous woman.

Hawk braced himself when she hurtled toward him. Since she wasn’t as long-legged as he was, she didn’t quite make it over to solid ground. When she shrieked and lost her balance, his hand shot out to grab her wrist. Thankfully, she was only airborne for a few moments before he hauled her against him.

To his surprise she threw her arms around his neck and practically hugged the stuffing out of him. Hawk was sorry to say that his male body responded instantaneously to having her supple curves and swells pressed familiarly against him. He reminded himself repeatedly that this was definitely the wrong time and wrong place for a lust attack.

Damn it, what was there about this defensive, elusive, hostile woman that kept getting to him? He’d dealt with several female victims during his years with the Rangers, but not one had affected him the way this one did.

“You can let go of me now,” he murmured as he accidentally brushed his lips against the side of her neck.

And it was an accident, he tried to convince himself. He was only nuzzling against her because she needed comfort and reassurance after her near brush with calamity.

Shiloh tried to loosen her fierce grasp on his neck, tried not to burrow her head against his sturdy shoulder. But for those few unnerving seconds, when it felt as if the earth had dropped out from under her, panic had overwhelmed her. She had grabbed hold of Hawk and clung to him for dear life. She savored his solid strength, enjoyed the feel of his warm breath against her cold skin.

Arousing sensations flooded through her, thoroughly baffling her. How could she possibly be attracted to this man? She still wasn’t sure if she trusted or even liked him. But he sparked the same kind of sensations that she had experienced when Antoine had taken her in his arms while they danced at parties in the palatial ballrooms of New Orleans.

She shouldn’t have felt those vulnerable feelings then and she shouldn’t be feeling them now. With him.

What the blazes was the matter with her?

Aggravated with herself for experiencing pleasurable tingles she swore never to feel or trust again—and at the worst of all possible moments, and with a stranger, no less—Shiloh lurched back to brace herself against the crumbling stone wall.

“Sorry,” she said unevenly. “My survival instincts must have caused me to get a little carried away.”

“You have both feet beneath you now. You’ll be okay.”

His crackling voice drew her bemused frown. “Are you all right, Hawk? Did I injure you when I threw myself at you?”

“No.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’m fine.”

He lied. He was not fine. He wasn’t even remotely close to fine. He did not want to be attracted and distracted by this prickly woman. He didn’t want the slightest emotional ties to her or any other woman. Period. He didn’t have a personal life because his professional life with the Rangers was a demanding challenge. He didn’t have the time or inclination for tender feelings that conflicted with duty.

Unfortunately, today’s sequence of unfortunate events was conspiring against him. For one reason or another he’d had his hands all over this woman. Necessity had also demanded that he plaster his body against hers more times than he cared to count. Now he was so aware of her scent, her appearance and the feel of her that he couldn’t look at her or touch her without reacting fiercely.

And, damn it, this had to stop! He had to concentrate on the serious task of getting them up and over Ghost Ridge to reach Sundance Canyon—a haven that held bittersweet memories that he didn’t want to deal with unless absolutely necessary.

Which it was right now.

Annoyed with his uncharacteristic preoccupation with this female, he clamped hold of her good arm and half dragged her uphill. He was anxious to reach the peak before total darkness descended. He gave her a boost onto the rain-slick boulder that led to the next leg of the treacherous journey.

“This is where the horses will have the most difficulty,” he said as he gestured for her to continue on without him.

“Dear God…”

He heard her voice wobble, saw her drop to her knees. She clutched her stomach when she made the critical mistake of glancing at the wild tumble of boulders that filled the V-shaped arroyo beside them.

“Look at me!” he barked sharply. “This is not the time to lose your nerve. If you can’t proceed without me, then you’ll have to wait here until I return with the horses. Find something to anchor yourself to until I get back.”

She bowed her neck then surged from her knees to her feet. “I’ll be fine,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll—”

“Watch out for that—” Hawk cursed mightily when she banged her head on the jutting rock.

Her groan died beneath the report of long-range rifles. Bullets whistled over their heads and zinged off the rocks. Hawk cursed the fact that the bandits had spotted them and were trying to pin them down so they could catch up.

Cursing inventively, Hawk scrambled over the slick boulder, trying to reach Bernie before she took another bullet or staggered so far sideways that she keeled over the ledge and bounced off every sharp-edged rock until she landed in a broken heap at the bottom of the ravine. Unfortunately, the volley of bullets startled her and she lost her footing. Hawk made a wild grab for her, but only connected with air.

Serenaded by gunfire and the ringing in her ears caused by the blow to her forehead, Shiloh cartwheeled over a boulder. The world spun before her eyes and nausea churned in her stomach. One moment she was glancing back at Hawk and the next instant she smacked her head—hard—into the jagged overhang. And then bullets started flying.

She shrieked in terror when she couldn’t gain her balance. But there was nothing beneath her right foot. The wind was howling like a chorus of banshees, it was spitting rain again and now the crack-shot bandits were after them.

Wild eyed, she tried to pivot on her left foot and throw herself down on the narrow trail. But momentum and a fierce wind pushed her over the edge. She could see nothing but the ghastly shadows of boulders that reminded her of prehistoric monsters waiting to gobble her alive.

She cried out when her left foot slipped and she banged her hip against the rocks. Panting for breath, she dug in her nails as she slid downward, hoping to find a handhold before the pull of gravity dragged her to her death.

“Hawk!” she howled, even though she knew there was nothing he could do to help her.

Despite her best attempts, she slid downward, bumping over the angular stones and eroded pebbles that left her feet dangling over the ten-foot drop—and then the rest of her body went over the ledge before she could anchor herself.

She crash-landed on another jagged boulder, twisting her ankle—and knocking the air clean out of her.

The wind wailed like the eternal damned, drowning out her hoarse cry for help. Her panicky gaze leaped to Hawk. She was amazed by his ability to bound from one boulder to the next like a graceful cougar, in his attempt to reach her. There was just enough daylight left for her to see the grim expression on his face. She heard his pithy curses above her as she clutched her throbbing ankle and struggled to draw breath.

Shiloh couldn’t decide if the pain in her head, the fiery sensations in her injured arm or the throb in her aching ankle hurt the worst. It was too close to call.

“Bernie? Are you all right?” Hawk called down to her when the bandits ceased fire to reload.

“My name is Shiloh,” she confided with a seesaw breath.

The way she had it figured, she was going to be stuck in this crevice of this rocky ravine until buzzards came along to pick her clean. There was no way she could climb back to the ledge and no way for Hawk to reach her without endangering his own life. Plus, the bandits were hot on their trail and they would execute her when they found her.

“You need to know the right name to engrave on my headstone,” she added defeatedly, then shooed him on his way. “Might as well go on without me.”

Grimacing she shifted onto the hip she hadn’t bruised during her fall, then tried to stretch her swollen ankle out in front of her. She glanced up to see Hawk’s head appear from the shelf of rock above her.

“You aren’t dead yet, Shiloh,” he growled down at her. “You have too much spirit and resilience to adopt that defeated attitude.”

She tried to bolster her flagging spirits, she really did. But when she glanced down, hopelessness engulfed her like a suffocating fog.

“Just sit tight.”

She smirked. “I have a choice?” She gestured to the narrow cavity that held her like stone jaws, then winced when more gunfire erupted.

“I’m going after the horses and my lariat,” he told her. “I’ll be back for you.”

Her last ray of hope died when darkness swallowed her up and the sky opened. The wind kicked up and the echoing sounds, reminiscent of howling phantom voices, swirled around her. She slumped against the unyielding boulder as rain pounded down.

She knew Hawk wouldn’t come back for her because she was slowing him down. He could be up and over Ghost Ridge, hiding in the valley beyond, with his stolen loot, before the desperadoes could catch up with him.

Shiloh sighed heavily, battling the numerous aches and pains that pummeled her weary body. She resigned herself to the fact that she was stuck here, listening to the phantom voices wailing in the wind, waiting for the outlaws to arrive to put her out of her misery.

Chapter Four

H awk scurried along the rain-slick path to retrieve his lariat and the horses. He cursed himself, harshly and repeatedly, for not taking better care of Shiloh. And he’d be damned, he was not engraving her name on a headstone, no matter how grim her future looked right now.

Hawk clutched the reins of his sure-footed mustang then tied a lead rope to Shiloh’s mount. Her steed was reluctant, but the mustang forced it to follow—or be dragged.

Hawk patted the mustang’s muscular neck. “Sorry, Dorado. We’ve been to hell and back together many times. This is just another tough day on a tough job.”

The coal-black gelding nickered, as if in agreement, and methodically towed the skittish mare along behind him.

By the time Hawk reached the place where Shiloh had slipped and fallen, lightning was flickering from one low-hanging cloud to another. Hawk was able to make out the silhouettes of DeVol and Stiles as they picked their way around the boulders. Although they hadn’t located the path, they were making headway and they posed a threat.

Feeling a sense of urgency Hawk turned his attention back to Shiloh who was wedged in the ravine below. Your fault, the voice of conscience scolded him as he secured the lariat to the saddle horn. This morning he had stumbled onto Shiloh, unintentionally forcing her to suffer through all sorts of perilous situations, the worst of which was a nasty fall down the rugged embankment. But she was wrong if she thought he was going to turn his back on her to save his own hide.

Thunder grumbled overhead, causing the mare to bolt sideways then slam into the stone wall. “Easy, girl,” he soothed, then anchored the lead rope to a scrub bush.

Hawk clamped his hands around the dangling lariat then eased over the rough ledge. He cast a wary glance at the two outlaws that were trying to overtake him then worked his way down to the next shelf of rock. When lightning flickered on Shiloh’s slumped form, he scrabbled north toward the crevice. His feet shot out from under him when he hit the slick mud at the base of a boulder. He grimaced when his shoulder slammed into the slab of stone.

Hawk steadied himself with the rope and gathered his feet beneath him. He inched along the narrow ledge until he was an arm’s length from Shiloh. He nudged her shoulder, but she didn’t respond.

Hawk sighed heavily. “Why can’t just one thing be easy?”

His hard, unadorned life in the Apache camp in Sundance Canyon was a constant exercise in survival training. His experiences with the Rangers consisted of one dangerous foray following closely on the heels of another.

Maybe this is all there is to life, he mused as he reached out to hook his arm around Shiloh’s limp body. With a heave-ho he scooped her from the V-shaped wedge between boulders. Maybe it was simply a man’s lot in life to face one challenge after another and try to bury the unpleasant memories he encountered along the way.

His pessimistic thoughts scattered like buckshot the moment he levered Shiloh over his shoulder and felt her luscious feminine curves against his masculine contours. For some reason her weight seemed more of a comfort than a burden to him. Damn if he could figure out why.

When she moaned groggily and clung to him, as if he were a pillow she was trying to snuggle up against, his trying day—hell, who was he kidding?—his trying life—didn’t seem so bad. Shiloh was warm and soft and cuddly…and he better not get sidetracked with these ridiculous whimsical thoughts. He still had a rugged hillside to scale and this was just a part of his job—rescuing folks from disastrous situations. Just because Shiloh’s sassy disposition and feminine allure sparked an ill-fated fascination inside him didn’t change a thing. He’d be every kind of fool if he let himself forget that.

Hawk clamped his arm across the back of Shiloh’s thighs then shifted her on his shoulder so she wouldn’t fall. Grabbing the rope anchored to the mustang that waited above him, he walked south along the narrow ledge, using the same route going up the hillside that he’d taken coming down.

He was one third of the way up the steep embankment when Shiloh regained consciousness. When she reared up, trying to get her bearings, Hawk clamped his arm tighter around her hips.

“It’s just me,” he reassured her hurriedly. “It will be a lot easier for me to negotiate this slope if you’ll stay where you are and hang on to me.”

“You came back for me.” Her voice held a hint of wonder. “I expected you to be long gone by now,” she said as she locked her arms around his waist.

“Just goes to show you how badly you misjudged me.” He grunted as he pulled himself hand over hand to another stone slab. “Right now I’m the best friend you could have because I’m familiar with this area. I grew up here with my clan. I’ll get you to a place that’s dry and safe and then patch you up.”

“Nice of you, since I wouldn’t be in this shape if I hadn’t run into you in the first place. Now here you are, dragging me all over creation.”

Despite the jibe, Hawk detected the hint of wry humor and gratitude in her voice. She wanted him to think she was a foul-tempered shrew, but he had come to realize that beneath that prickly facade was a woman of character and personality. True, she didn’t trust him—but he couldn’t blame her for that. Also true, someone had hurt her deeply and she held every male on the planet responsible.

But who was he to criticize? For several years he had held all palefaces everywhere accountable for the tragic loss of his family and the only way of life he had ever known. Which was why taking refuge in Sundance Canyon was going to be as much of a blessing as it was a curse. He was familiar with the area that would always feel like home to him—but the place triggered too damn many haunting memories.

“Thank you for coming back for me,” Shiloh murmured a moment later, then gave his ribs an appreciative squeeze.

A jolt of pleasure zapped him, but he valiantly tried to ignore it. “You’re welcome. It’s part of my job.”

No matter how many hair-raising predicaments he and Shiloh encountered he wasn’t going to become emotionally attached to her, he promised himself sensibly.

“Just hang on a little longer. We’re almost to the ledge.” He waited a beat then said, “I’m going to twist you around and plant my hands on your fanny so I can lift you over my head. Don’t go getting indignant on me again. I don’t want either of us to take a spill and give DeVol and Stiles a chance to do their worst.”

“Is this an excuse to put your hands all over me again?” she asked suspiciously. “I already have as many of your handprints on me as I have bruises.”

“Are you asking if I’m going to enjoy it?” He chuckled. “Probably. But it’s the most practical method of getting you to safety. That’s my first consideration.”

“Right. All noble intent. How can I keep forgetting that,” she mumbled against the taut tendons of his back.

“When I say go, you’re going to twist and lunge in the same motion,” he instructed. “You’ll probably land hard, but I won’t be in a position to be gentle with you while I’m dangling over the cliff and hanging on to this lifeline…. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she murmured.

He felt her tense in anticipation of being shoved onto the shelf of jagged stone. But to her credit she didn’t wail in pain and give away their position to the pursuing bandits. He did hear her muffled gasp and moan and figured she had landed on her swollen ankle or bruised hip. But you had to admire a woman who was being put through hell and hadn’t dissolved into whimpers and tears. Shiloh was the bravest, most adaptable women he’d ever encountered.

“Scoot back, Shiloh,” he cautioned as he pulled himself upward. “I don’t want to accidentally kick you when I come up and over this ledge in a hurry.”

“I’m clear,” she called out.

Gathering himself, Hawk surged upward, slinging his leg sideways so he could roll across the stone slab. He came to a stop, flat on his back. Shiloh hovered beside him. To his astonishment, she bent over and kissed him right smack-dab on the mouth. But her alluring taste, feel and scent was gone as quickly as a lightning strike, leaving him oddly disappointed.

And yet…he was relieved that the moment hadn’t lasted very long. The very worst thing that could happen was for him to become addicted to the taste of a man-hating firebrand who was only going to be another footnote in his life, and in his career as a Texas Ranger.

“Thank you for saving my life,” she murmured. “Maybe I can return the favor someday.”

“Let’s hope not.” Hawk rolled over then stood up in one swift motion. “That would suggest I’d dragged you into another dangerous scrape. You’ve had too many of those, thanks to me.”

“Well, it’s better than being jilted and betrayed by a man who claimed to have tender feelings for you.”

Shiloh clamped her mouth shut so fast she nearly bit off her runaway tongue. She hadn’t meant to reveal that information, but she wasn’t thinking straight. Which explained the impulsive kiss she’d bestowed on Hawk. She didn’t know what possessed her, other than the fact that she was rattled, relieved to be back on solid footing and grateful to be alive.

It wasn’t because she’d succumbed to the forbidden attraction she felt for him, she assured herself. Falling for this brawny tumbleweed of a man would never do. She had to remember not to depend or rely too heavily on Hawk. He was a man, capable of hurting her.

But maybe she could use him as a sounding board and confide what happened in Louisiana. She could test her ability to control her emotions during the telling of the humiliating incident to Hawk. She could rehearse now so she would be better prepared when she told her brothers what had sent her dashing home from New Orleans unannounced.

Given the emotional distress of this fiasco, and her multiple injuries, even Hawk might not think her weak and foolish if she broke down in tears.

Shiloh didn’t protest when Hawk hoisted her to her feet, then sat her atop his mustang. She smiled in amusement when the horse slung its head sideways to pick up her scent. She was relieved the animal didn’t take a bite out of her leg to show its disapproval.

“So you got jilted by a fool that didn’t appreciate you,” Hawk remarked as he grabbed the reins and started up the rain-drenched path, keeping his eyes peeled for the ever-present desperadoes. “Worse things have happened.”

“Like this misadventure?” She smirked as she stared down at the waterlogged bandits that were sprawled on a boulder, struggling to regain their footing. “Like nearly drowning when a wild man and his horse practically landed on me in midstream while I was out of my protective disguise? Or are you referring to being shot in the arm because bloodthirsty outlaws are furious with you? Not to mention scraping the hide off my knees and hips and twisting my ankle when forced to go mountain climbing at night…in a rainstorm.”

“Exactly. And I said I was sorry about all that.”

“I’ll have you know that getting your pride trampled, being lied to then carelessly discarded feels ten times worse than suffering a few strains, sprains and bruises,” she contended. “When a man claims he has eyes only for you, while he’s dallying with someone else, you learn your lesson well, believe me. Men want only two things from a woman.”

“Two?” Hawk asked, amusement coloring his voice. “Where was I when these rules and regulations were passed out? I thought there was only one reason for needing a woman. I must’ve missed that part of my education while living in the Apache village.”

His tone turned hard and clipped, startling her. “But in my defense, I was too busy trying to keep my clan from starving and dying because the army boxed us in the canyon for the winter and then killed as many of us as possible so we wouldn’t cause an uprising when we were forcefully removed to reservations in New Mexico and Indian Territory.”

Shiloh inwardly cringed at his comment. She felt petty and self-pitying in comparison to the trials and tribulations he’d faced. She was bitter about losing her heart to a man who found her unappealing and uninteresting, but Hawk had to deal with the extermination of his Apache family and way of life.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “In comparison, I have no reason to complain. But it still hurts to discover there is very little about yourself to like or admire. My brothers led me to believe otherwise. I should have realized they were too partial to exercise sound judgment.

“I went naively out into the world and discovered that Antoine Troudeau only pretended to like me…until someone with better social connections and a larger inheritance came along. Hearing that Antoine and Aimee Garland had been found together in her bedroom shortly after Antoine asked to contact my brothers so he could ask for my hand, was a devastating emotional blow. It also sent me running home with a lot more speed than dignity and common sense.”

“Which is why you were paddling around in the river without a chaperone,” he presumed as he weaved around the gigantic stone slabs that formed the peak of Ghost Ridge. “Understandable, even if it was a risk to your personal safety. But I guess I can’t blame you for striking out alone. I also needed time alone to conquer my bitter thoughts after the army took my clan prisoner and herded us off like cattle.”

“Were you allowed to go your own way when the soldiers learned that you were half-white?”

Hawk snorted derisively. “Allowed? Hardly. My brother and I escaped captivity with several other braves. Two of them were shot down the first day. Another friend died the third day from the wound he suffered. My brother, Fletcher, and I eventually took refuge with an old friend who advised us to change our appearance and split up so the army couldn’t track us down easily. Fletch headed north and I went southwest.”

“And you haven’t seen your brother since? I can’t imagine not seeing my brothers regularly, especially after we lost our parents in the fire that destroyed our original homestead. We needed mutual compassion and support to deal with our loss.”

“Fletch and I made a pact to rendezvous two years later at Jackson Hole, where the trappers and traders camp.”

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 acceptance 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.

Chapter Five

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 focused 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.”

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