Carol Finch - The Ranger

“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.