The Ranger's Woman

The feel of his lean fingers sent a tingle of pleasure trickling through her.

His musky scent invaded her nostrils, heightening her awareness of him.

“It’s timing and precision,” Quinn said, his voice a husky murmur beside her ear.

Piper shivered, amazed at the unprecedented sensations that rippled through her. Why was it, she wondered, that this man affected her on so many different levels when none of her suitors ever had?

When she cocked her arm, while his hand guided the motion to ensure the proper flick of her wrist, she could feel his muscled chest pressed against her back. His solid thighs were meshed against the backs of her legs. The whisper of his breath caused gooseflesh to pebble her skin. Piper had difficulty breathing.

Sweet mercy! All she really wanted to do was turn in his surrounding arms and help herself to a taste of him…!

Praise for Carol Finch

“Carol Finch is known for her lightning-fast, roller-coaster-ride adventure romances that are brimming over with a large cast of characters and dozens of perilous escapades.”

—Romantic Times

Praise for previous titles

Texas Bride

“Finch delivers another well-paced western with likable, realistic characters, a well-crafted backdrop and just enough history and sensual tension to satisfy western and romance readers.”

—Romantic Times

Call of the White Wolf

“The wholesome goodness of the characters…will touch your heart and soul.”

—Rendezvous

“A love story that aims straight for the heart and never misses.”

—Romantic Times

The Ranger’s Woman

Carol Finch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children, Kurt, Jill, Christie, Shawnna, Jon and Jeff. And to our grandchildren, Livia, Blake, Kennedy and Brooklynn. Hugs and kisses!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

Southwest Texas, June 1877

W hat the devil am I doing, Piper Sullivan asked herself as she stepped up into the stagecoach to endure more endless hours of being bounced and jostled in her arduous journey westward. Thus far, she had encountered six unruly and offensive individuals during her exhausting trip from Galveston to Fort Stockton. And the rugged-looking traveler who sank down across from her had all the markings of further trouble. He looked unapproachable. And as disagreeable as the meal she had ingested at lunch.

Piper pegged the man as a shiftless gambler, judging by his style of dress and the well-used pistols that hung low on his hips. She watched him sprawl inelegantly on the seat across from her. His long, muscular legs straddled her feet to accommodate his six-foot-four-inch frame.

The solemn expression in his golden eyes assured Piper that this was not a man who was teeming with charm and warmth. And worse, he kept staring at her. Through her was more like it, as if he was probing beneath her outward appearance to reveal the fact that she was an imposter.

Piper had carefully disguised herself as an aging widow, complete with a thick concealing veil, gloves, cane and padded black gown that made her appear thirty pounds heavier. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel as well protected as she would have preferred when her companion kept appraising her astutely.

Piper thought it was ironic that for the first time in her life she wanted people to take her at face value and not probe deeper to discover who she was on the inside. But to her way of thinking, the lack of association with anyone during this trip was important. She also decided that making a bad first impression would help to protect her from trouble.

As she’d done with the others, Piper made a point to alienate her companion by getting in her bluff, right from the start. “Staring is considered rude where I come from,” Piper declared as she squirmed uncomfortably on the hard seat.

The man never changed expression and he didn’t move, which annoyed her because he still had her feet trapped between his long legs and she felt pinned in. That was not what she needed while battling the sour stomach caused by her midday meal.

“Would you mind giving me my own space,” she requested. “I paid for half of these meager accommodations, after all.”

When he whipped his head around his long dark hair scraped the collar of his jacket. His square jaw—that sported three days’ growth of stubble—clenched. His thick brows swooped down as he leveled an intense stare on her.

As stares went, this one was quite unnerving. But Piper had squared off against her domineering father enough times during her twenty years of existence to learn how to hold her ground. This rough-edged rascal was not going to intimidate her.

“You’ve got a complaint?” he drawled in challenge.

She nodded curtly. “Indeed I do.”

He made a stabbing gesture toward the ceiling. “Then ride up top with the guard and driver if you don’t like the company or the cramped space.”

His smirking voice was like gravel and grit and it set her teeth on edge. Was he purposely trying to annoy her? That was supposed to be her role to protect her identity.

Piper didn’t think he was putting on an act.

Resigned to an unpleasant journey with her disagreeable companion, she occupied her time by glancing out the window to pan the miles of rolling range that seemed to stretch out forever. And as she recalled her father’s unacceptable decree that she would soon wed a man he had handpicked for her, she stiffened her resolve. Traveling cross-country—for four endless days—with one offensive male companion after another was far better than marrying a man who inspired no respect and affection.

Piper had given up on finding the kind of love her older sister had discovered. Of all the men her father had thrust in her direction since she turned sixteen, none of them interested her. She was tired of being told that she was too strong-willed and spirited and that she needed to change her ways to become a suitable wife for some dandy. In addition, she had given up trying to be someone she wasn’t, just to appease her father. Neither did she want her life decided for her without having a say in the matter.

Brace up, Piper. Your sister is waiting at the end of the trail and so is your new life. You just have to ride through hell to get there, is all.

When a cloud of smoke rolled over her, then swept out the window, Piper choked for breath. She glared at her inconsiderate companion who had lit his cigar.

“In case you haven’t heard it is not considered good manners to smoke in front of women,” she pointed out.

Undaunted, he took another draw on the cigar, then blew smoke rings that drifted toward her. She swallowed a chuckle when he tossed her a defiant smile. Having a man challenge her rather than fawn and pamper her was a refreshing change.

However, she had to remain in character. It wouldn’t do to let the ornery gambler know that he amused her. Her whole objective was to make sure he wanted very little association with her.

Determined to be as cantankerous as he was, she shot out her hand to grab his cheroot. After she tossed it out the window she waited to see how he would react.

He glared at her. No surprise there.

“That was an expensive cheroot,” he muttered at her.

“And you were being purposely rude. Now we’re even.” She nudged the calf of his right leg with the heel of her shoe. “And move your feet, please. I will not stay cramped for hours because you refuse to stay in your half of the space.”

Grudgingly, her companion shifted his shoulder against the corner of the seat and stretched his legs diagonally to grant her a fraction more space.

“Thank you,” she said aloofly.

“Please tell me that you’re getting off at the next stage stop,” he grumbled.

“Ah, that I could be so lucky.” She made a big production of flicking imaginary ashes off her sleeve. “But no. I’m bound for Fort Davis.”

The news didn’t appear to please him. He just kept staring intently at her.

“And you, sonny? Where are you headed?” she asked, hoping to divert his attention so he would stop evaluating her so closely.

His massive shoulders lifted and dropped lackadaisically. “Haven’t decided. I’ll stop for a drink and a game of poker whenever the mood strikes.”

She studied him for a long moment. “Do you find it rewarding to live a life of no obligations or commitments, drifting from one dusty frontier town to the next?”

He flashed her an one-eyed squint. “It’s a living.”

When he narrowed those unnerving amber eyes at her, she resolved to let him know she intended to stand her ground and that she was not a woman who could be pushed around or easily intimidated.

Having been raised in polite society, constantly told to guard her tongue and to cater to the powerful and elite, she found it amazingly gratifying using her disguise as a curmudgeon to speak her mind. And she had learned the knack from the best, she reminded herself. In fact, her former instructor at finishing school was the inspiration for her disguise and her imperious demeanor. The old battle-ax had given Piper fits for years.

“Gambling is not much of a living, as I see it,” she replied. “Fleecing folks for profit is hardly what I would call respectable. A man should strive to make something of himself, not squander his life on cigars, card games and loose women.”

“This is going to be a helluva long ride through rough country, lady,” he told her gruffly. “Try to keep your nagging and lectures to a minimum because you’re liable to tick me off.”

“I thought I already had,” she said, biting back a mischievous snicker.

“Trust me, that’s the very last thing you should want to do, especially since this stretch of road has been plagued by outlaws. I might not be inclined to defend your honor if I’m so fed up with you that I’m ready to let the thieves have right at you.”

She chuckled from behind her dark veil. “If you are trying to frighten me into submission then you have wasted your breath. At my advanced age, I do not feel the need to kowtow to anyone, you and prospective desperadoes included.”

She poked the end of her cane into his sternum, pushing him back against the seat. “Trust me, mister, you don’t want to get on my bad side, either.”

He stared at the black cane that poked his chest. “You have a good side?”

“Not much left of it these days,” she said, then resettled her cane beside her.

“Not much left of mine, either, so don’t push it.”

He grabbed the hat beside his hip and pulled it low on his forehead. He closed those penetrating amber eyes that reminded her of a mountain lion’s.

Piper smiled in satisfaction when the gambler settled in for what she supposed was a nap. But he didn’t fool her into thinking that he was sleeping. No doubt, this pantherlike man was merely lying in wait.

Shifting sideways, Piper struck the same pose as the gambler and tried to catch a much-needed nap to soothe her churning stomach. The monotony of the overland trip was wearing her down. She wanted nothing more than to be reunited with her sister, Penelope, at Fort Davis, without losing the money and valuables she carried to make her new start in life. Learning that this area was crawling with thieves did nothing to reassure her.

The thought prompted Piper to push her reticule protectively beneath her hip before she closed her eyes and nodded off.

From beneath half-mast eyelids Quinn Callahan appraised the crotchety old hag who had finally dozed off. She was swathed in yards of black fabric, her head and face concealed behind an oversize plumed hat that was draped with a heavy veil. He could easily imagine what the witch looked like—beady eyes, hooked nose and pointy chin. And plump as a grain-fed old hen.

Yet, there was something about the way she moved, the way she held herself, that didn’t quite ring true. But Quinn reminded himself that he was cautious and suspicious by nature—and habit. It was difficult to grasp what there was about her that niggled him because he was too busy countering her taunting comments.

Which made him wonder if she was doing it to distract him. From what? He wasn’t sure. But every time he stared overly long at her she dreamed up something to say that dragged his attention away from the way she looked and forced him to concentrate on her challenging remarks.

And then there was her grating, nasal voice that sounded so unpleasant to his ears. If he didn’t know better he would swear she was purposely trying to alienate him. Just why was that? He didn’t know the answer to that, either.

One thing that didn’t escape his attention was how she had tucked her beaded purse protectively beside her after he mentioned the possibility of encountering outlaws. He was willing to bet she was carrying a great deal of money that would make her ripe for the picking.

Well, it didn’t matter what this persnickety—and obviously wealthy—old widow was up to, Quinn told himself. He was a man on a mission. He had volunteered to pose as a shiftless gambler who boasted about his recent winnings to every stage agent and employee he met along the route from Fort Stockton.

And Quinn would bet his life savings that the gang he was after—that spoke in code and referred to themselves as the Knights of the Golden Circle—had spies working for the stage line.

That was the only logical explanation for the accurate targeting of passengers who carried valuables and cash.

Quinn had made the same monotonous ride back and forth to El Paso three times in the last two weeks, and had gained nothing for his exhausting efforts. Tired, impatient and cranky though he was, he vowed to make this trip a dozen more times, if need be. He wouldn’t rest until he encountered the ruthless outlaws that had killed the one true friend he’d ever had. The attack had taken place six months earlier in a secluded canyon near Catoosa Gulch. He was going to become bait for the thieves so he could track them to their remote hideout.

His thoughts trailed off when the coach hit a deep rut and catapulted him against the ceiling. He braced himself as he watched the old woman tumble willy-nilly off the seat. She let loose with a shrill squawk when she sprawled atop his legs.

When he reached down to upright her she elbowed him out of the way and crawled onto the seat. “Keep your hands to yourself,” she demanded huffily.

“I was only trying to help,” he said defensively as he watched her fluff the dust off her gown and sink a little deeper into her corner of the coach.

“I’ve taken care of myself for years. Confounded conveyance coaches anyway,” she grumbled before she craned her neck out the window to scan the area.

Quinn studied her discreetly as she leaned farther out to survey their surroundings—to check for the outlaws he had mentioned earlier, no doubt. He kept waiting for the breeze to lift that heavy veil so he could get a good look at her. But she withdrew before the air rushing past the speeding coach caught her veiled hat and sent it flying away.

“Well, thank God,” she said with a relieved sigh. “About time we had a rest stop.”

Quinn glanced outside to see the station a half mile ahead of them. He was more than ready to stretch his legs and boast of his supposed winnings to the stage line’s hired help. He silently willed the nest of outlaws to attack so he could do what he had been sent here to do. As for the perplexing widow, he thought that having her wits scared out of her might improve her disposition.

He glanced at her again as the stage rolled to a stop, then decided that being frisked and robbed would probably make her more difficult to deal with than she was already.

Piper didn’t wait for the gambler to exit the coach first so he could hand her down. She couldn’t risk having him touch her more often than necessary without arousing his suspicion.

Leaning on her cane to remain in character, she watched three Mexican attendants stride from the corral, leading a fresh team of horses. Her gaze strayed reflexively to the gambler who emerged from the coach. His long shadow fell over her, eclipsing the afternoon sun. Despite her better judgment, she found herself oddly fascinated by his rugged appearance and the confident way he held himself. The comparison to a graceful mountain cat came to mind as she watched him saunter over to strike up a conversation in Spanish with one of the attendants.

Physically speaking, he was a rare specimen of brawn and muscle. Nothing like the gentleman dandies she was accustomed to. Not that she would ever be romantically interested in any of the suitors who treated her like a prize catch because of her wealth and affluence in polite society. Neither would she be interested in a man like this gambler, she assured herself sensibly.

Truth be told, Piper wasn’t sure she wanted any man in her life at the moment. And maybe never. She had given up on the idea of love and romance because she had never found a man who inspired her affection, no one who was willing to accept her for who she was.

The whole objective of this long jaunt was to gain control of her own existence without some man trying to dictate, manipulate and use her for his ulterior purposes, she reminded herself.

Her gaze narrowed in concern while she watched the gambler fish two silver dollars from the pocket of his gold brocade vest, then roll them over his fingertips. He had told her no more than three hours ago that thieves lurked in this area. Yet here he was, flashing coins that caught the rapt attention of the stage attendants.

Piper surged forward, tapping her cane in agitation. She clutched the gambler’s arm to draw him aside. “What the dickens are you doing?” she said with a quiet hiss. “Put those coins out of sight. You might as well send an engraved invitation to outlaws that you have money for the taking.”

Quinn stared down at the old crone who stood only a few inches over five feet tall. Her mouth, he decided, was bigger than she was and she never hesitated in using it. “Where did you get the idea that anything I do is your business?”

Her head snapped up and he knew instinctively that she was glowering at him. “Your carelessness and lack of discretion might affect me. Can’t you find something else to do besides flaunt your money?”

Quinn did exactly that. He pulled another cigar from his vest and lit it up. When he blew smoke over the top of that ridiculous-looking plumed hat she grew exasperated and tramped off. Her cane beat a sharp staccato on the trodden path.

“A relative of yours, gringo?” one of the stage attendants asked as his gaze followed the old battle-ax until she disappeared around the corner of the adobe station.

Quinn chuckled. “Not hardly. We just met. I’m hoping it will be a short acquaintance.”

To ensure that the attendants knew he carried valuables as well as money, he retrieved the expensive gold pocket watch to check the time. He also flashed the diamond ring he wore on his pinky finger. He noted the interest he had drawn from one of the Mexicans—the same man he remembered from his previous jaunts along this route. He took note of the fact that the man was wearing the same patterned red bandana around his neck that another attendant had been wearing at one of the relay stations.

Quinn frowned curiously as he ambled toward the barn to stretch his legs. As he recollected, at least one attendant at every stage stop between here and El Paso wore similar bandanas. Coincidence? He didn’t think so. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that was how the ring of far-flung spies identified each other.

Quinn derailed from his train of thought when he heard a wild feminine shriek. Instinctively, he took off at a dead run. When he rounded the corner of the building he saw the widow plastered against the wall, staring at the mutt that bounded around her. When she jabbed her cane forward, the mutt gnawed on the end of it.

“Get away, you beast,” she said, scowling.

“Are you talking to me?” Quinn had to ask.

“No, this mongrel.” She jerked back the cane and the oversize pup approached her.

Quinn barked a laugh when the dog reared up on its hind legs and planted its saucer-size front paws on her bosom. “He’s not attacking. For some reason the pup likes you.”

That in itself surprised him because the old harridan seemed to go out of her way to ensure folks took a wide berth around her. He was still trying to figure out why.

“Get down!” she ordered the mutt. “And behave yourself. I have dealt with enough bad manners for one day.”

To his disbelief, the mutt sank down obediently on its haunches and stared adoringly at her. The dog was obviously so starved for affection that he was ready to align himself with the devil’s sister.

“That’s much better,” she cooed at the pup.

Quinn frowned, bemused by the abrupt change in her voice. His curiosity doubled when she reached down to scratch behind the pup’s floppy ear—the other one stood straight up. Whining, the mutt rolled onto his back, paws stuck in the air, so she could scratch his belly.

“Wonders never cease,” he murmured as he left the hag with her new friend—the first and last she would likely make during this trip—to get something to eat.

Piper waited until the gambler rounded the corner before she sank to her knees to give the pup another affectionate pat. The dog had startled her when he came bounding up from nowhere to pounce zealously at her. She had expected to be attacked, but from the looks of this scrawny creature all he wanted was food and affection.

“Come along, dog,” she encouraged as she got to her feet. “If this meal is as unappetizing to the palate as the one I had for lunch then you can have my portion.”

The pup bounded onto all fours and trailed along behind her—until the station manager gave him a kick in the flanks when he tried to walk inside. “Get out and stay out, you fleabag.”

Piper whacked her cane against the man’s shins before he could give the poor pup another painful kick. “Leave him alone!” While the barrel-bellied man glowered at her, she surveyed the shadowy dining area, listening to the buzzing of flies, noting the table still had food stuck to it from previous meals. “You may bring my meal outside and don’t be stingy with the portions. In fact, I’ll have two plates for supper,” she insisted as she plucked a coin from her reticule then handed it to the proprietor.

Leaving the man staring after her, Piper spun on her heels and hobbled off.

The pup followed devotedly behind her.

“That old lady sure is full of spit and vinegar, ain’t she?” the manager said to Quinn.

“Seems to be,” he murmured absently as he watched her move more swiftly than he might have expected of someone in her declining years.

The proprietor dipped up several cups of beans and sloshed them on the tin plates. “Here,” he said. “You take these out to the witch and tell her not to waste food on that mutt because he’s slated for execution. He showed up here two days ago and keeps trying to chase the horses for entertainment. I won’t put up with that. These horses have to stay in tip-top shape to pull the coaches.”