Fletcher's Woman

After being tied up for so long, he’d lost circulation in his limbs. Lacking his usual coordination, he kept tripping over his own bare feet. Plus, he was unfamiliar with the area. It was dark and it took him more than an hour to find the cave where Savanna had stashed his boots and weapons.

Fletch wasn’t surprised that Savanna had helped herself to more than half of his ammunition supply. But he still spouted several more epithets to her name. There was no telling where she’d gotten off to by now. Worse, he was aware that she’d been toying with him since he’d first spotted her on the trail that morning. After three days of playing cat-and-mouse, she’d decided to lure him in. Like a fool, he’d blundered into her trap and had his male pride trampled six ways to Sunday.

Tired and annoyed, Fletch contemplated disregarding the promise he’d made to Bill Solomon. Hell, he’d only met the man once and owed him nothing. As for Savanna, he wished that maddening woman farewell and good riddance!

What did he care if Savanna led the vigilantes and bounty hunters in circles for a few weeks before they captured her—or not? She certainly could ride and bait traps as well as any man he’d ever met.

She’d be fine, he convinced himself. She was no babe in the woods, that was for sure! In fact, it’d serve her right if he left her to those money-hungry, bloodthirsty vigilantes. He had his own crusade to pursue, after all. Furthermore, she was probably as guilty as sin.

The image of midnight-colored eyes twinkling with impish delight flashed in the darkness. Begrudging respect and admiration for her unconventional skills unfurled inside him, even while he tried his damnedest to ignore it.

Fletch fumbled around like a blind man, his knife at the ready—just in case the mischievous imp had left a few other surprises for him. Like a snake or scorpion in his saddlebags or boots. Cautiously, he dragged his gear from the cavern. When he shook out his boot, he encountered a scorpion. Whether the pest had been purposely planted or had set up housekeeping on his own, Fletch didn’t know. But he kicked it aside, then donned his boots. Hurriedly he strapped his double holster around his waist and tucked his extra hardware out of sight.

Quickening his pace, he jogged back to the horse Savanna had left for him. “Argh!” he yelped when he bounded into the saddle—and realized too late that she had unfastened the cinch. Fletch clawed air as he and the saddle tumbled to the ground. He landed flat on his back and his breath burst out in a pained grunt—followed by the foulest of foul curses that he attached to Savanna Cantrell’s name. Then he cursed himself because he kept underestimating her.

Now he was spitting mad! He was seeing red! He was going after her, he decided. When he caught up with the dark-eyed, dark-haired terror, he was going to strangle her with his bare hands.

No, you won’t, the sensible voice in his head said. If you do, you’ll be no better than the cutthroats you arrest.

“Fine then, so I won’t strangle her,” he said as he scraped himself off the ground. “I’ll settle for tormenting her to no end.” He resituated the saddle on her horse—and wondered if she’d purposely stolen the horse to throw the vigilantes off track, too.

Fletch took an extra moment to check the cinch to make sure it hadn’t been cut so it would rip loose when he galloped off. He wouldn’t have put it past her, but the tack seemed to be in good working order. Relieved, he was still outraged that Savanna had made him look like an incompetent imbecile so many times in the course of one day. She’d challenged his credibility as a man, as an Apache warrior and as a Texas Ranger. If the men in his battalion got wind of this mortifying incident, they’d never let him hear the end of it.

He rode off into the darkness, mentally listing all sorts of suitable tortures that might appease his humiliation. Then he set aside his need for revenge and concentrated on figuring out where she might have gone.

“I swear, Savanna Cantrell, Holy Terror of the Arbuckles, you will be damn sorry you tangled with me!” he said to the image looming large in his mind.

Savanna sighed contentedly as she paddled across the natural pool that rippled beneath the panoramic, fifty-foot waterfall tucked in the mountains. Although there were several falls sprinkled throughout the Arbuckles, Whispering Falls always brought her a sense of peace. She definitely needed that after almost two harrowing weeks on the run. Not to mention her encounter with Fletcher Hawk two days earlier.

Something about that man made her ornery and defensive. Yet, bad as she hated to admit it, she was attracted to him against her own fierce will. What woman in her right mind would be intrigued by a man who wanted to arrest her?

A wry grin pursed her lips, remembering her confrontation with the ruggedly handsome Ranger. Getting the drop on him, and then watching him being jerked upside down to hang by his heels had provided mischievous satisfaction. But when she’d peeled off his shirt then run her hands up and down his muscled legs to check for concealed weapons, it had been much too erotic. In her twenty-five years of existence, she’d never been assailed by such wickedly pleasurable sensations. It was disturbing to fantasize about a man who was only interested in bounty money.

When the vision of bronzed flesh and power-packed muscles exploded in her mind, Savanna submerged. She was not sparing that opportunistic Ranger another thought, she vowed determinedly. She had pressing matters to resolve. She didn’t need to become sidetracked by daydreaming about a man whose sleek, muscular body filled her with wayward thoughts and dangerous sensations.

Resurfacing, Savanna wasn’t sure what sort of deal Fletch had struck with Bill Solomon, but she’d bet her right arm that it wouldn’t play out to her benefit. Why and when had her father called in Bill Solomon? Had Draper bought off Solomon so he would double-cross her father? Could these charges against her be spiteful as well as politically damaging to her father? What was really going on here? she wondered.

Wary of what was transpiring around her, Savanna decided the best thing to do was to take the long way through the mountains. There, she could infiltrate Draper’s ranch and maintain surveillance on him and his hired guns.

She even wondered if one of those mercenaries had disposed of Roark after she’d stormed off that fateful night. Several ruffians had been playing bodyguard to Roark. One of them might have turned on the obnoxious bastard. All Savanna needed was a clever disguise so she could snoop around the ranch. She might be able to pick up a few tidbits of information that pinpointed the real killer and she could find out where Willow…

Her thoughts scattered when she sighted the horse she’d left for Fletch. It stood on the ledge beside the upper tier of the waterfall. Alarm shot through her like a discharging bullet. Blast it! How had Fletch found her so quickly? She’d doubled back and left false trails everywhere.

Whirling, Savanna sidestroked toward the bushes where she’d left a set of clean clothes. She nearly suffered apoplexy when Fletcher Hawk materialized from the shadows. Her clothes were draped over his broad shoulder and a smug smile that said, “Gotcha,” was plastered on his sensuous lips.

Chapter Three

“Looking for these, Paleface?” he teased, his gaze roaming unhindered over her exposed flesh.

Savanna shielded herself as best she could while she treaded water. She’d love to slap that smirk off his lips, but she’d enjoy outsmarting him almost as much. Morningstar and her father, the ex-army scout extraordinaire, had cautioned her never to leave all her belongings in one place. Sort of like never stashing all your eggs in one basket. She had learned to plan an alternate escape route for emergencies such as this.

“If you expect me to come out of the water, then I will need my clothes,” she called deceptively.

“Come and get ’em,” he challenged, his sky-blue eyes gleaming with devilish delight.

While he stood waiting, Savanna dived beneath the surface, reversed direction and headed for the opposite bank as fast as she could. She’d stashed an extra set of clothes and her rifle in the bushes. When she resurfaced, she was dismayed to discover that Fletch had vanished into thin air. Decidedly uneasy, she hurriedly swam toward the underbrush.

And, damn it, suddenly there he was, appearing like a phantom from the shadows of the trees, blocking her path so she couldn’t emerge from the water.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, lady. You have a whole bag of clever tricks at your disposal. Someone trained you so expertly that you do think and react like an Indian. Was it the woman who showed up to see you two days ago?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she muttered, her gaze darting anxiously from side to side, her mind working furiously in attempt to outsmart him.

She sank beneath the surface and headed for the falls, in the hope of climbing up the narrow ledge behind the misty curtain of water. Modesty be damned, she decided as she inhaled a galvanizing breath and prepared to make a run for it.

She dashed from behind the falls to retrieve the Appaloosa she had “borrowed” from Fletch.

To her chagrin, the horse wasn’t where she’d left it. But Fletch was. Damnation, he’d second-guessed her again.

Embarrassed, her face blazing with color, she ducked into the underbrush. When he headed directly toward her, she dashed, buck-naked, toward the waterfall. But Fletch pounced on her before she could dive into the pool.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he rumbled as he hooked his arm around her waist then dropped a quilt over her head.

Savanna yelped and fought futilely for freedom as he rolled her up like a mummy. Her breath came out in jarring spurts when he jogged off, carrying her jackknifed over his shoulder. Only God knew what he planned to do with her, she thought, panicked. She wormed and squirmed and kicked, hoping he’d drop her so she could dash to safety.

She grunted painfully when he flung her over a horse then tied her wrists to one stirrup and her ankles to the other.

“If you’re planning to molest me, you can expect to have a fight on your hands,” she felt compelled to tell him. “The last man who tried ended up dead.” She didn’t mention that she wasn’t the one who ensured her assailant wound up dead. Let Fletch think she’d follow through with that threat. After all, scare tactics weren’t effective if you didn’t sound convincing.

“In my book, that’s as good as a confession,” he declared as he led her and the horse away. “You’re referring to your encounter with Roark Draper, aren’t you? Guilty as charged, just as I thought.” His voice sounded like a pounding gavel.

Savanna cursed herself mightily for trying to bluff the Ranger/Deputy Marshal. She should have kept her mouth shut. The inability to do so was one of her worst faults.

“I didn’t do it,” she insisted.

“Of course not,” he said caustically.

Fletch gritted his teeth and tried to shake off the vivid picture of Savanna Cantrell stark-bone naked. But it was no use. The images of tanned skin, lush curves and swells, full, rose-tipped breasts and well-shaped legs—that went on forever—were burned on to his eyeballs.

It was a wonder he’d managed to circle the pool in time to cut her off at the pass. Then, wham! There she was, naked, and he’d stood there soaking up the exquisite sight of her. He’d been stunned and too mesmerized to react. Fortunately she’d been stunned, too. Her delayed reaction had been a half second behind his, which had given him the edge to capture her.

Now that he had her trussed up, he wasn’t going to let his guard down again. If he did, she’d find a way to elude him. His new motto was to never underestimate this wily woman. She was as cunning as a fox and he better not let himself forget that.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I really didn’t kill Roark Draper,” she mumbled from beneath the quilt. “I swear it!”

“Right. Of course I believe you,” he said mockingly. “Not a doubt in my mind, Paleface.”

“I was only trying to frighten you,” she insisted.

“Didn’t work. You don’t scare me—”

His voice dried up when he heard the clatter of hooves on the rocky path below. Fletch pulled the Appaloosa toward the cover of the trees then watched five rough-looking riders trot toward the inviting pool he had vacated earlier.

Hell of an incredible place, he mused as he surveyed the plunging falls nestled in a remote valley. It was like a little piece of heaven on earth. The Chickasaw tribe had received a spectacular site for their reservation. This must be compensation for being one of the five “civilized” tribes whose members had intermarried colonists and adapted white practices generations earlier. Still, they’d been dragged across the Trail of Tears and thousands had died along the way.

As for the Plains Indians like the Apache, they had been stuck with sand, cactus and rattlers. They had been poisoned, purposely infected with deadly diseases and slaughtered in massacres that the army chose to refer to as battles.

Come to think of it, none of the Indian tribes had fared well in their dealings with the invading white hordes. Those greedy, land-grubbing, fork-tongued bastards…

Fletch shook off the resentful thoughts and focused on the problem at hand. He wasn’t about to turn this naked firebrand over to the vigilantes, even if he was aggravated with her for being such a royal pain in the ass. Even if she had stung his male pride to the extreme, he wasn’t so cruel and spiteful as to feed her to a wolf pack and let her be molested. His conscience wouldn’t tolerate that.

“What’s going on?” she murmured curiously.

“Vigilantes. I’m going to climb aboard my horse with you, so don’t raise a ruckus that draws attention to us.”

He swung into the saddle, squirming for position behind the quilted bundle of naked female he’d captured. He was anxious to pick his way up the trail to retrieve the other horse and hide in the trees before the riders noticed them.

Fletch grabbed the spare horse’s reins and led it into the trees. He wasn’t sure where he was going to hide out, but he was going to tuck Savanna away from the heavily armed vigilantes.

“How many are there?” she asked a few minutes later.

“Five scraggly-looking riders.”

“I spotted them four days ago,” she reported. “There’s another search party of three men lurking about, too.”

Fletch wondered if they were the same three men who’d taken potshots at Bill and him after they’d disembarked from the ferry.

“If you aren’t heading northwest, then you’re making a gigantic mistake,” Savanna told him. “And could you let me up? Blood is rushing to my head. I’m about to pass out.”

“Now that’d be a shame,” he said, and smirked. “It must be as uncomfortable as having the circulation cut off to your hands and feet or being jerked upside down and clubbed on the back of the skull. Sorry, Paleface, but these are the only accommodations you’re getting right now.”

“You are a mean, horrible man, Fletcher Hawk,” she mumbled. “This is no way to treat a lady. My father is the Chickasaw agent and he’ll be outraged by this treatment!”

“There you go with those empty threats again.”

“I mean it! Papa isn’t going to be pleased when I tell him how you’ve mistreated me.”

“Like I said…”

“When he finds out that you held me captive, naked, he will have your head!”

Fletch couldn’t help but grin at her useless attempt to persuade him to unleash her. She was the mistress of threats—empty or not. He’d say one thing for her, though, she put up a tough facade. It was admirable really. Useless on him, but impressive nonetheless.

“I’ll tell your daddy how you stripped me down, tied me up and tried to have your wicked way with me,” he teased.

“I did no such thing!” she erupted in offended dignity.

“Keep your voice down, banshee,” he snapped. “This place is jumping alive with bounty hunters and vigilantes.”

She sagged against the saddle and kept her mouth shut for a good half hour. He wondered if that was some sort of record because she said, “I’ve kept quiet long enough. You should head toward the limestone peak where the rock formations look like cathedral spires. There are caves nearby that are difficult to spot unless you know exactly where to look. If we rely on your knowledge of the area, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

“Thank you so much for your invaluable guidance,” he muttered sarcastically.

But he still headed in the direction she suggested.

Fletch’s traitorous gaze strayed to the curve of Savanna’s rump draped over the saddle. He forced himself to look the other way while he followed the winding trail. He reminded himself that it was his policy to never get personally involved during an assignment. He was especially not going to get emotionally attached to this fire-breathing female who was ten times more trouble than she possibly could be worth…

Well, except for the exorbitant price on her head, he amended. Sharing her company and putting up with her sassy mouth indefinitely would require compensation. If he got Savanna to Tishomingo—without one or the other of them killing each other—he’d have earned every damned penny of the $20,000 reward!

An hour later Fletch halted in a thick grove of cottonwoods then rolled back the quilt to expose Savanna’s head so she could get her bearings. When she bowed her neck to look around, a cloud of curly auburn hair framed her flushed face. A very bewitching face, he couldn’t help but notice. Not to mention that she had a luscious body that had given him a severe case of lust.

Fletch blew out an exasperated breath and glanced the other way. This is strictly business, he told himself resolutely. It didn’t matter that Savanna was the most intriguing and attractive female he’d ever seen or met. He wanted no complications in his life. No fond attachments, either. Savanna was only a passing acquaintance. End of story.

His older brother had stumbled on to an unforgettable female while on assignment and he’d eventually married her. Fletch, however, intended to remain unattached and uninvolved. He had a long-standing debt to repay and his conscience wouldn’t allow him to shirk his duty. A pretty face and a gorgeous body—even one that inspired erotic thoughts and made his mouth water—wouldn’t sidetrack him. He had willpower and self-control that wouldn’t quit—or so he told himself.

Except that he was drooling over Savanna like some moonstruck schoolboy. Damn it, if she noticed his preoccupation, he predicted she’d use his ill-fated attraction against him. Whoever or whatever Savanna Cantrell was, she was nobody’s fool. His previous dealings with her testified that her quick mind was always at work, devising ways to outsmart her antagonists.

“See that midnight-colored gelding with two white stockings one of the vigilantes is riding?” she said, breaking into his wandering thoughts.

Fletch fished his spyglass from the saddlebag to take a closer look at the five riders who’d made camp in the clearing. Four of the men met the descriptions Bill Solomon had given him. The fifth man hadn’t been on the Wanted list.

He gave a low whistle as he appraised the sleek, muscular horse. “He’s a beauty. Long and leggy and built for speed. You planning to steal him the first chance you get?”

“No, that’s my horse. He was a gift from a close friend.”

“How close?”

“That’s none of your business, but you might be interested to know that Parmicho, or Mick, as I fondly refer to him, is the police chief of the Chickasaw Nation.”

Fletch told himself that he didn’t care if the police chief was sweet on Savanna—and vice versa. He could see why men might find her appealing. He just didn’t want to be one of them.

“That’s Buck Patterson who’s riding my horse,” she continued. “Buck stole Rambler the night Roark Draper pounced on me during one of his whiskey-fueled binges. That’s why I’m riding Roark’s horse instead of my own.”

When Fletch lowered his spyglass to stare skeptically at her, Savanna thrust out her chin. “That’s the truth. The whole truth and nothing but.”

“So you’re claiming that you killed Roark Draper in self-defense then stole his horse because Patterson stole yours?”

“I did not kill Roark,” she corrected. “I incapacitated him with a well-aimed kick to his groin. I’ll be all too happy to demonstrate the maneuver if you don’t believe me.”

Fletch grimaced. “No thanks. I can’t say that I’m surprised you’re the type who hits a man where he can be hurt the worst.”

“I was defending my virtue,” she snapped righteously.

“Right. Then what happened?”

“Then I picked up a chair and slammed it upside his head. When he collapsed, I rushed down the back steps of the hotel. My horse was nowhere to be found so I climbed aboard Roark’s.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop looking at me like I’m lying. It’s the truth.”

“Sorry, but the jury is still out.” Fletch reached over to untie her feet. “Besides, it’s not my place to pass judgment. I’m in law enforcement not sentencing.”

Having learned his lesson about dealing with this cunning woman, Fletch hooked his arm around her waist and got a good grip on her before he cut her wrists loose from the stirrup. He quickly replaced the rope with metal shackles.

Muttering, she grabbed modestly at the quilt to cover herself while he glanced around, trying to spot the cave she claimed was in the vicinity.

“I want my clothes,” she demanded.

“No. Where the hell is the cave?”

She glared flaming arrows at him.

He ignored her.

When she refused to reply, he said, “We can stand here all day. Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me, Paleface. But then, I’m not the one who’s stark-bone naked and has an astronomical price on my head. If you want to risk being seen and getting shot by vigilantes, that’s your business.” He stared her down. “The warrant reads ‘dead or alive,’ you know.”

Their gazes locked and they engaged in visual battle. He refused to be the one to back down first.

Eventually she said, “You don’t have a heart, do you, Fletch? Just a chunk of rock rattling around in your chest.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not a requirement for this job.” His voice was laced with cool detachment. He glanced downhill at the group of men milling around camp. “It’s them or me. Decide who you want to spend the evening with.”

Her dark eyes flashed fire and brimstone. “The devil or one of his brothers? That’s some choice you’ve given me.”

She lurched around, gathered the quilt tightly around her and led the way through the trees. Fletch held on to the trailing hem of the blanket—just in case. He almost wished she’d make another run for it so he could feast his eyes on—

No, you don’t! the sensible voice in his head shouted. Don’t go looking for more trouble. Savanna Cantrell is a barrel load, so don’t push your luck.

The moment Savanna ducked inside the cavern concealed by a cedar tree, a low warning growl erupted. She instinctively grabbed for a weapon. The only one within reach was the dagger strapped to Fletch’s thigh. She lunged for his knife, but, hampered by the darkness, was slightly off the mark.

Her fingers inadvertently clenched in his crotch. Fletch sucked in his breath then shoved her hand away to retrieve the knife himself.

Another growl echoed around the stone walls. Thankfully, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. She noticed movement off to her left. “There,” she whispered.

“Probably a badger,” he whispered back. “Vicious little beasts.” He held his pistol—backward—in his left hand like a makeshift club. He clamped the knife in his right fist.

When the varmint snarled and charged, Fletch struck out with his boot, sending it rolling across the floor. Savanna ducked behind him and curled her bound hands against his hip, giving the impression that she was cowardly seeking his protection.