Carol Finch (6 page)

With all that was going on around him, that was not a complication he wanted to contend with. He kept telling himself that he was reacting to her because he’d been a long time without a woman. He almost had himself convinced. Almost.

“Do you think your brother happened onto one of the outlaw factions that you
claim
the Rangers are trying to apprehend?” she asked.

The jolt from staring into those thick-lashed green eyes nearly stole his breath. His gaze dropped to her lush lips. And damn it, he wanted to kiss her so badly that his insides twisted into tight knots.

What was wrong with him? He usually had more willpower and didn’t give women much thought except in the heat of a passionate moment. But he’d spent numerous hours with Shiloh, seeing her at her best, worst and every mood in between. She affected him, got to him—like it or not. Which he didn’t.

Scowling at his sudden lack of common sense and the warm flood of sensations prowling through him, Hawk surged to his feet. “Yes, I suspect Fletch stumbled onto part of the crime syndicate that has been plundering this area of Texas. Hopefully, he can identify the two men who got away.” He reached down to
draw Shiloh to her feet. “Now, let’s have a look at your ankle and arm so you can get some shut-eye.”

To his disbelief, Shiloh pushed on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his lips. It was another hit-and-run kind of kiss that granted him just enough of a taste to drive him crazy.

“Thank you for getting us to safety,” she murmured.

He frowned disconcertedly at her as he backed away. “You need to stop doing that.”

The look of rejection and embarrassment that flooded her enchanting face left Hawk cursing himself up one side and down the other. That was a thoughtless remark, considering her recent bout with unrequited love. She was stepping from behind her cautious shell and his self-preservation instincts had him snapping at her. He wished he could remain unaffected by her.

“I like it too damn much,” he felt compelled to admit. “
I
might turn into a threat to you if you don’t watch out. You tempt me and you need to understand that. Don’t push your luck.”

She angled her head to study him for a contemplative moment. “You’re just trying to make me feel better about myself, aren’t you?”

“Just back off before I do something I’ll regret and you despise me for it. I want us to walk away as friends when this is over.”

It was killing him the way she stood there balancing on her good leg, searching his gaze and his expression, trying to figure him out. Damn it, he really wanted to wring that bastard’s neck for making her so wary of anything a man said to her.

Another poignant moment passed while she stared at him and he battled the urge to
really
kiss her, to sat
isfy this maddening craving he wished he didn’t feel for her.

“I’ve been a cynical termagant most of the day and I still tempt you? Ha!” She smirked. “I look like something the cat dragged in from the rain.”

He managed a grin. “Amazing, isn’t it? There’s just no accounting for some men’s tastes.”

A faint smile pursed her lips, making her eyes sparkle. Lust sucker punched him again. He needed to stay away from her. But he also needed to treat her wounds. He was stuck with touching her, breathing her scent, until he completed the necessary tasks. Damn, this really was his unlucky day.

“My family owns a ranch north of here. It sits on the banks of Echo River,” she confided unexpectedly. “My brothers are Gideon and Noah Drummond. Gid is about your age and Noah is a year younger than Fletch. They have smothered me and tried to overprotect me since our parents died when I was ten.

“Frank Mills, the rancher we believe is responsible for hiring the gunslinger that impersonated a Ranger, is our nearest neighbor,” she went on to say. “Which is another reason Noah and Gid packed me off to Louisiana to stay with my aunt and cousin. Frank expressed an interest in courting me last summer and my brothers wanted nothing to do with Frank.”

The thought of that conniving rancher putting his hands on Shiloh had Hawk swearing under his breath.

“Of course, Noah and Gideon didn’t have to discourage me. Frank Mills is pompous and overbearing. I would never consider his marriage proposal. I have decided to become a spinster so any proposal would be wasted on me.” She smiled wryly. “I might even
enjoy
carrying the reputation of the meanest female you ever met.”

That impish grin just about did him in—again. Hawk reared back the instant he felt himself leaning impulsively toward her. “Make yourself comfortable, hellion,” he said as he rose from his crouch. “I’ll tend the horses.”

She looked around. “Where are you going to sleep, Hawk?”

His gaze dropped to the empty space beside her. Desire hit him right between the eyes—and straight south of his belt buckle.

“I’ll bed down by the mouth of the cave, in case unwanted visitors show up,” he said, clearing his throat.

Wheeling around, Hawk walked outside to blow out his breath. He felt edgy, restless and he was battling another half-dozen emotions that he didn’t dare identify. He’d been a hell of a lot better off when Shiloh purposely needled him and was outwardly suspicious of his motives. Now she was offering the basic rudiments of friendship and he wasn’t sure he could be satisfied with that. Not when he was hard and needy—which had become his typical response to her.

Plus, he had his brother to worry about now. Fletch needed medical attention. And what the devil was Fletch doing in Texas anyway? True, bounty hunting occasionally took him out of Colorado, but Fletch was careful not to be seen too often with Hawk, for fear someone might identify them as the missing Apache renegades who had disappeared from the reservation a decade ago. Surely by now that wouldn’t be a concern. He hoped.

Hawk didn’t know if they still had prices on their heads in New Mexico, but he wasn’t planning to cross
the border to find out. He was satisfied where he was—living and working in the shadow of Ghost Ridge—the only home he’d ever known.

By the time Hawk reentered the cavern Shiloh had shed her damp clothes and snuggled beneath the quilt. Fletch was out cold. The whiskey he’d consumed to counter the pain would keep him sedated until morning, Hawk predicted.

Hawk sprawled out by the campfire, using a saddlebag for his pillow. His clothes were damp. His body was on fire because forbidden visions of Shiloh kept chasing each other around his head. If the guardian spirits were smiling kindly at him, he would get a good night’s sleep.

Thankfully, he dozed off a few minutes later. But the memory of Shiloh’s curvaceous body molded intimately to his, much as it had been while they were rolling through the reeds to dodge bullets by the river, filled his mind.

Luckily, in this erotic fantasy there were no flying bullets….

And Shiloh wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing….

His eyes popped open in middream. Hawk ruthlessly tamped down his body’s fierce reaction to the forbidden fantasy.

But it still turned out to be a long, hard night.

A
t dawn, Shiloh levered herself onto her elbow and scraped the wild tangle of auburn hair from her face. She glanced around then stared at the dim light filtering into the entrance. The fire had died during the night, leaving a chill.

Her focus shifted to the exit. Hawk was up and gone. Fletcher was sprawled on the pallet, oblivious to the world.

Shiloh smiled faintly, recalling last night’s conversation with Hawk. She shouldn’t care that he admitted he wasn’t completely immune to her. Nevertheless, it did please her immensely. His begrudging confession restored a smidgen of her feminine pride and self-esteem.

Of course, only a naive fool would make more of Hawk’s comment than he actually meant, she cautioned herself. Close proximity accounted for his supposed attraction to her. If she incited his lust, it was only because she was female. It wasn’t personal and she wasn’t going to let it get more personal than a few experimental kisses, either.

She had no intention of trying to charm Hawk. Not that she was very good at it. In comparison to Cousin Bernice and her friends in New Orleans, Shiloh was ashamedly outclassed when it came to luring a man beneath her spell.

Besides, Shiloh wasn’t sure what she felt
for
him, felt
about
him. Gratitude? Certainly. She would be dead and gone if not for his daring rescues. Friendship? Yes…and no. She had tried to regard him as a brother, but that didn’t feel right, either. Then he had kissed her and they had taken turns planting swift kisses on each other’s lips—after a series of narrow escapes that had her blood pumping and her heart pounding. Then Hawk had called a halt, just when she was beginning to feel comfortable with the sensations he stirred in her, comfortable initiating physical contact with him.

Shiloh shook her head, bewildered by the riptide feelings surging through her. She couldn’t believe she was actually disappointed to hear Hawk say they should dispense with kissing and hugging.

What was the matter with her? She should be relieved… Shouldn’t she? Of course, she should.

Her befuddled thoughts trailed off when Fletch moaned, then rolled onto his side. “Aw, damn, my leg feels like it’s on fire,” he said to no one in particular.

Shiloh modestly grabbed her clothes and hurriedly dressed beneath the concealing quilt. She hopped over to unfasten the bandage on Fletch’s thigh. Sure enough, the wound was still angry red and swollen.

“Not good, huh?” Fletch said hoarsely. He propped himself up to survey his leg. “Damn, it looks as bad as it feels.”

“I’m sure Hawk is gathering ingredients for a curative,” she said, striving for an encouraging tone.

“Or contemplating amputation,” Fletch muttered dismally. His face etched with pain, he propped his back against the wall then tried to shift his leg. “Son of a b—” He clamped his mouth shut. “I think
dead
might feel better than this.”

“Probably so. But where is the fun in that?” Shiloh offered him a sip from the canteen. “Would you like to nibble on pemmican or hoecakes?”

Fletch shook his shaggy head then grabbed his pistol when muffled noises near the cave entrance caught his attention. When Hawk appeared, Fletch sagged in relief. “I hope you found a miracle poultice. I could use one right about now.”

Hawk set the rabbit he’d snared and dressed beside the ashes of the campfire. “As a matter of fact, yes.” He directed Shiloh and Fletch’s attention to the cactus roots, horehound stems, wild peppermint, willow leaves and mesquite tree sap. “One miracle cure coming right up.”

“Grandfather would be proud,” Fletch murmured as he absently rubbed his aching leg. “But I’m not sure even he had a remedy to counteract this kind of infection.”

Hawk hurried over to inspect the wound. Obviously he didn’t like what he saw, either, because he frowned in concern. “As soon as I get the rabbit roasting on the fire and make coffee we’ll tend your leg.”

He turned his attention to Shiloh. “Spirit Springs is a warm water basin down the hill. Even with the drizzling rain, it’s still refreshing. I tried it out earlier. You can bathe there if you like.”

Shiloh wanted to hug the stuffing out of him for the considerate offer. Then she reminded herself that she was going to keep her distance. She wasn’t interested
in unattainable men like Antoine or Hawk. She wasn’t interested in any physical or emotional contact with any man these days, she promptly reminded herself.

“That sounds wonderful.” She came awkwardly to her feet to balance on her makeshift cane. “I’ll get the fire going while you mix up your concoction, witch doctor.”

Shiloh noted that Hawk was all business this morning. No ornery teasing. No wry smiles. He cast her impersonal glances and made impersonal comments while tending to his duties.

She
wasn’t
disappointed, she told herself. Why should she be? This is what she wanted, too. She had to learn to ignore the whisper of her reckless heart and her body’s reactions.

After the campfire flared to life, Shiloh skewered the meat and put it on to cook. Hawk combined ingredients in the small wooden bowl he’d rooted from his saddlebag. He had obviously inherited the tools of his grandfather’s trade. She wondered if Fletch practiced Apache medicine—when he wasn’t the injured patient. Probably.

Several minutes later Hawk set aside the bowl of ingredients and came to his feet. “Ready, Shi?”

When she nodded eagerly, he scooped her up then carried her outside. She sat stiffly in his arms, thinking of anything except the clean scent of him, the feel of his muscled arms encircling her as he carried her downhill.

He set her on her feet then laid a pistol beside the hollowed out limestone basin where steamy water formed an inviting pool. “Fire off a signal at the first sign of trouble,” he instructed. “I’ll give you an hour to bathe. More, if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you.” She sighed appreciatively and stared at the bubbly pool as if it were heaven. “I’ll be here until I shrivel up like a prune. I can’t remember wanting anything more than a good, warm soaking.”

“
I
can,” he mumbled before he pivoted on his heels and left her to her bath.

Shiloh enjoyed her leisurely bath, despite another downpour. The steamy pool relieved her aches and pains and the solitude was most welcome. She tested her bruised pride and was startled to discover that the unrequited affection she thought she’d felt for Antoine wasn’t as poignant as it had been the first two days after she fled from New Orleans.

My, wasn’t that amazing, she mused as she submerged in the pool to avoid another cold rain shower. No doubt, the arduous task of staying alive had overridden the memories of finding Antoine in a compromising situation—in the boudoir assigned to Aimee Garland, the daughter of one of New Orleans’s wealthiest merchants.

“Shiloh!”

Her thoughts evaporated when Hawk called out to her. Shiloh paddled across the pool to retrieve the clean clothes from her carpetbag. “Give me a moment, please.”

Exasperated with the constant rain, Shiloh muttered at the fact that she couldn’t stay dry for more than five minutes. Living in the wilds was certainly a challenge. Out here in the back of the beyond, all the simple conveniences that she had taken for granted at home were luxuries.

“Ready or not, I’m coming down,” Hawk announced.

She finished buttoning her blouse as he veered around a slab of stone that was three times as wide and twice as tall as he was. He stopped short, looked her up and down, and then glanced the other way.

His behavior confused Shiloh. He had told her that she tempted him—simply because she was female and available, no doubt. Yet, he refused to make eye contact with her for more than a few seconds. His behavior was so unlike Antoine’s and the other Southern gentlemen that she’d met at the palatial balls that she didn’t know what to make of it. Despite what Hawk had said last night, she didn’t think he could be more disinterested in her than he was now. The demoralizing thought hammered at her feminine pride.

“C’mon,” Hawk said impatiently as he swung her up into his arms to take pressure off her swollen ankle. “I need you to help me cauterize Fletch’s wound before we feed him breakfast. The infection worries me and the poultice I mixed up will need time to take effect. I don’t think Fletch has much time before gangrene sets in.”

Shiloh braced her arms around Hawk’s neck as he followed the winding trail to higher elevations. She told herself that the shivers assailing her were the result of the chilling rain, not the feel of Hawk’s masculine chest and washboard belly brushing rhythmically against her ribs and hip.

Then she made the mistake of recalling the impulsive kisses they had shared. Unwanted warmth spread through her body like a flash flood. Blast it, what was there about Hawk that triggered such spontaneous reactions? He didn’t seem the least bit affected by her. His jaw was clenched as he made the climb with her cradled in his arms. His gaze remained straight ahead,
watching where he stepped so he wouldn’t trip and send them both sprawling.

She was simply another responsibility, a part of his job. That realization did nothing for her feminine pride, either.

By the time Hawk set Shiloh on her feet and handed her the new cane he had made from a small cedar tree he was more than ready to get her out of his arms. Damn it, for a man who had spent years practicing self-discipline and cautious restraint he still had one hell of a time remaining immune to the sight of Shiloh’s damp clothes clinging to her curvaceous figure. He’d taken one look at her while she stood beside the pool and poof! He’d gotten hot and bothered in nothing flat. Pretending she didn’t affect him was an exercise in self-control. One of too many exercises already.

Hawk knew his interest in Shiloh was ill-advised. He was on a personal and professional crusade. Once they reached the Ranger camp she wouldn’t be his responsibility and he’d have no future contact with her. One of his coworkers could deliver her home. He had a job to do—and he couldn’t do it when he was constantly distracted by this fascinating female, who probably wouldn’t have given him a second glance if fate hadn’t tossed them together and left them living in each other’s pockets.

Murmuring a quiet thank-you, Shiloh tried out her new cedar cane. She limped toward Fletch who had propped his shoulder against the stone wall to hold himself upright. He still looked pale and gaunt, but he managed a smile of greeting. Shiloh asked herself how two men—who looked so much alike, who were both the picture of rugged masculinity—could set off two drastically different reactions in her.

She looked at Fletch and felt something akin to brotherly concern. Yet, when she looked into Hawk’s midnight-black eyes and stared too long at his full, sensuous lips, forbidden desire rippled through her.

Frustrated, Shiloh tried to shrug off the sensations and focus on the upcoming task of cauterizing the wound. She felt Fletch’s forehead and found him a bit warmer than normal, but not as hot and clammy as he’d been the previous night.

“Are you sure you want to watch this procedure?” Fletch asked as he massaged his aching leg.

“Sure, torturing a man is one of my favorite things,” she teased saucily. “I do so love to see men suffer, you know.”

Fletch chuckled as he glanced at his brother. “Not much sympathy forthcoming from this lady.” His expression sobered as he focused on his festered leg. “Might as well get on with it, I guess.”

“You know I really don’t wish any misery on you, don’t you?” Shiloh murmured when Hawk strode off to sterilize his blade. “I’m as eager for you to be back on your feet as I am to be there myself.”

He nodded and smiled wryly. “All the same, better
you
than
me
under the knife. Too bad we can’t switch places.”

Shiloh knew Fletch was trying to keep the conversation light, even though he was dreading the inevitable pain. She looped her arm around his rigid shoulder to give him a comforting pat.

“What brought you back to Texas, Fletch?” she questioned as a means of distraction.

“An assignment gone bad.” He turned his head to meet her gaze directly. He made Shiloh his absolute focus when Hawk sank down with glowing knife in hand. “I also needed time away from my job. Plus, I
wanted to visit my brother again…. Ouch! Damn it, that hurts!” His roar echoed around the cavern when hot steel seared his tender flesh.

“Keep it down,” Hawk cautioned. “There are outlaws lurking about. We don’t need unwanted guests right now.”

Shiloh winced when Fletch grabbed hold of her unexpectedly, as if he needed something to squeeze while Hawk cauterized the festering wound. His arms clamped onto her like a vice. She wrapped both arms around him as he tucked his head against the side of her neck and swore ripely—but quietly. She could feel beads of perspiration forming on his forehead and upper lip. She could smell smoldering flesh.

Fletch’s body shook and he cursed several more blue streaks—most of them directed at Hawk. Then Fletch nearly came unglued when Hawk dribbled whiskey over the wound. Fletch bit down on his bottom lip until it bled, then huffed and puffed for breath.

“Sorry, little brother,” Hawk murmured. “Now, tell me about this assignment gone bad. Anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah,” Fletch said with panted breaths. “Help me track down my double-dealing ex-assistant who tried to have me assassinated before he made off with my bounty money.”

“You must not be any better at selecting assistants than I am at selecting beaus,” Shiloh commented.

“Apparently not. That’s the first and last time I plan to work with a partner, unless it’s with Hawk,” Fletch said hoarsely. “He’s the only man I trust not to betray me. I followed my ex-partner to Texas because he once mentioned he had family near Cerrogordo. I figured that would be a good place to start my search.”

“What’s his name?” Shiloh asked as she clutched Fletch’s trembling hand in her own. “Maybe I’ve heard of the family.”

“Grady Mills.”

Shiloh’s suspicious gaze locked with Hawk’s. “Small world,” she murmured.

“Ain’t it, though,” Hawk agreed. “Makes me wonder if Frank Mills’s previous run-in with the law is hereditary. He and Grady might share the same crucial character flaws.”