Carol Finch (3 page)

“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.

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.”