Carol Finch - The Ranger

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.”