The Ranger. Carol Finch

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ