Carol Finch (6 page)

“My, haven’t you led a colorful life,” Fletch remarked.

“Much more gratifying, I’m sure, than following pro
tocol in high society with
The
Bennetts of Georgia,” she insisted. “It took me several years to realize that being discarded like an inconvenient burden by my mother was the best thing that happened to me. But sometimes I…”

Her voice trailed off when Fletch waved her to silence and called a halt. He left her and the horse tied to a tree while he crept off to reconnoiter the area he’d selected as a campsite. Then he left her sitting atop the horse while he unsaddled Appy and spread out two pallets beneath the trees.

As was her habit, Savanna familiarized herself with the area, looking for possible means of escape. Unfortunately, Fletch was overly cautious now that she’d outsmarted him several times. When he pulled her from the saddle, he kept her back to him so she couldn’t fight him. She grumbled a protest when he staked her out spread-eagle, the way she’d secured him during their first confrontation.

He grinned devilishly as he loomed over her sprawled form. “Comfortable?”

“Not in the least, but thanks so much for your concern.” She smirked. “I assume this is your way of getting even.”

He squatted on his haunches to pull the cap from her head. He raked his fingers through the curly tangles of dark hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Her gaze locked with his. Her heart thudded against her ribs when he broke into a full-fledged smile that would’ve knocked her to her knees if she’d been standing.

For one moment of reckless insanity, she wished he would bend down and kiss her with those full, sensuous lips. She had no idea where that preposterous thought originated, but it struck hard and deep and wouldn’t let go.

Fletch didn’t trust her and she didn’t trust him. He was her enemy, her antagonist who stood like an insurmount
able mountain that prevented her from getting what she wanted—the opportunity to clear her name and to find out what had become of her best friend, Willow.

Never could a man have been more wrong for her, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. Unfortunately she was drawn to Fletch against her fierce will. She hungered for a sampling of his lips. Would he be as rough and abusive as Roark Draper, who believed women served one purpose and deserved no consideration or respect? Or would he be a tender, caring lover?

The erotic thought sent desire trickling through her body. She chastised herself for being a foolish romantic. She and Fletch meant nothing to each other. She was just another job to him. He wanted to get her off his hands and to collect his reward. That was the beginning and end of his association with her.

It wasn’t flattering but it was the truth.

When Fletch trailed his forefinger over her lips, melting sensations streamed through her. Fool that she was, she wanted him to replace the pad of his index finger with his mouth so she could taste the flavor and texture of him.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he angled his head until his lips brushed lightly over hers, testing the texture of her mouth, tasting her with the tip of his tongue. Then he nibbled at her lips until she groaned and nearly begged for more.

His gaze locked with hers for a long, intense moment. “I should have your dark eyes,” he murmured huskily. “They fit my heritage better.”

“I’d be happy to trade.” Her voice crackled, despite her attempt at an even tone. “You have the most incredible blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“I do?”

“Definitely—”

Her breath caught and words escaped her when he deepened the kiss and his hand skimmed from her leg to her hip. A path of fire blazed in the wake of his gentle caress. It didn’t dawn on Savanna until several mind-boggling moments later that Fletch had diverted her attention while conducting a body search for concealed weapons. Sure enough, he found the dagger stuffed in her boot and the derringer stashed in the back waistband of her breeches.

What a deflating blow to her feminine pride. She turned away and cursed herself for being caught up in the moment.

Fletch lifted his raven head, smiled, then tossed her weapons out of reach. Disappointment bombarded her. She was disappointed in him because all he’d wanted was to disarm her. She was disappointed in herself for savoring the taste and scent of him and wishing for more.

“Sweet dreams, Savvy,” he murmured as he rose then turned away. “We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow. I’m determined to be ahead of my deadline with Deputy Marshal Solomon.”

“You are a bastard, Fletcher Hawk.” She lashed out, wanting to hurt him, as she was hurting.

He pivoted to stare her down. “Why? Because I have the upper hand for once? Or because I kissed you and you liked it?”

“Of all the nerve!” she erupted in offended dignity. “
Liked
it? Ha! Don’t flatter yourself. I’d rather kiss my horse—either end!”

His laughter vibrated through the darkness. She hadn’t
expected a rich, robust sound from the hard-edged lawman. It annoyed her that she found it so endearing, especially when she was so aggravated at him.

“Good night, Savvy.”

“Go to hell, Fletch,” she flung back.

“Been there. Don’t recommend it.” He tied a length of rope between her leg and his—as an extra precautionary measure to alert him if she managed to get loose.

She grumbled in frustration as she watched him stretch out on his pallet. Then she reminded herself that she had a full day to figure out how to elude him again. She just had to find a way to make him lower his guard. On that optimistic thought, Savanna closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

The next morning Fletch was up at sunrise, gathering twigs and logs to start a campfire. He had spent a restless night battling fantasies that tormented him after he’d made the mistake of impulsively kissing Savanna, just to see if she tasted half as good as she looked.

And damn if she hadn’t tasted so sweet and delicious that he’d helped himself to a deeper kiss. Not to mention the impulsive caresses that had turned up two concealed weapons. At least he’d had the good sense not to let her see how much she aroused him. But he’d turned rock-hard—and stayed that way long after he’d bedded down for the night. Ah, there were times when he wished he were numb from the waist down. Like now.

If he ever let on that she was getting to him, he’d be in serious trouble. Which was why he was anxious to get her off his hands. She aroused him even while she infuriated him. She was dangerous in too many ways—the worst be
ing that he was actually beginning to
like
her—ornery and cunning though she was.

“Dear God… Not now…”

He glanced down to see Savanna trying to curl up into a ball, but the rope restraints refused to allow it. Her breath came out in ragged spurts and her face lost all color.

Fletch squatted, studying her warily. “What ingenious ploy is this, witch? If you’re trying to prey on my sympathy, you’re wasting your time.”

“Stomachache. Hellish headache,” she mumbled without opening her eyes. “Must’ve been something I ate. I’m going to be sick.”

He didn’t believe her because he’d discovered—the hard way—that she wasn’t beneath resorting to every trick in the book to escape him. They’d eaten the same meal, except she’d consumed the wild carrots he’d grilled to flavor the meat. When she turned green around the gills, gasped for breath and gagged, he realized she wasn’t faking it. Her body lurched involuntarily upward as she coughed and sputtered and then groaned in unholy torment.

“Go away,” she panted.

“No.”

However, Fletch relented and untied the rope attached to her left arm so she could curl up on her side. When she clutched her stomach and turned another shade of pale Fletch grabbed his dagger. He hurriedly dug a hole in the dirt beside her to use as a makeshift bowl.

“
Please
leave,” she whispered brokenly.

“Not a chance. I don’t trust you.”

He glanced the other way when she gagged and made use of the hole to empty her stomach. When she laid her head against her bound arm and dragged in several shallow
breaths, he impulsively reached over to comb her hair away from her whitewashed face. He noticed her puffy eyes and a blotchy rash. Despite his attempt to remain detached, a wave of sympathy buffeted him. He shouldn’t feel a damn thing for this crafty female. She’d been giving fits and had delayed his search for Grady Mills—the double-crossing, murdering bastard.

His bitter thoughts scattered like buckshot when Savanna groaned and hung her head over the hole again.

“Are you pregnant with Roark Draper’s child?” he demanded.

Dark, lifeless eyes lifted to him. Her blue-tinged lips curled. She tried to slug him with her free hand but he agilely moved out of her reach. If looks could kill, Fletch was pretty sure he would’ve been pushing up daisies.

“I guess that means no, huh?”

“Yes, that means no,” she moaned, then squeezed her eyes closed.

“Don’t go away,” he said as he bounded to his feet.

“I couldn’t if I tried.” Her anguished gaze lifted to his as her chest heaved and nausea struck again. “I’d roll over and die, but I’m determined to find my friend Willow—”

When she whimpered and groaned, Fletch grabbed her left hand and secured it to her right wrist. She lifted her head briefly and stared mutinously at him. But he refused to tramp off without securing her, for fear she’d crawl off—even if she couldn’t get very far in her weakened condition.

He had discovered that Savanna might occasionally give out, but she never gave up. Plus, she could go to ground faster than any female he’d ever tracked. He did not intend to hunt her down again. He’d wasted too much time already.

He jogged to the nearby stream to gather the necessary
ingredients to brew the Apache remedy for queasy stomachs and accompanying headaches.

“I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder.

“I’ll be here…unfortunately.”

S
avanna moaned miserably when her stomach listed again, and then capsized like a ship on a storm-tossed sea. Of all the times for her to be incapacitated,
now
was the absolute worst! She felt as if someone had crammed foul-tasting poison down her throat that was boring a hole in her belly. Plus, her skull was about to split wide open. She abhorred the idea of Fletch seeing her reduced to this helpless state.

Another wave of nausea swamped her. She lurched sideways but there was nothing left in her stomach. She heaved helplessly, repeatedly. She lay there gasping for breath, swearing that dying would feel better than this. Her senses were so heightened that even the scent of dirt and grass made her sick. The sounds of birds amplified and throbbed heavily against her sensitive eardrums. The light of sunrise burst over her, aggravating the headache-from-hell that accompanied her extreme nausea.

“I’m back,” came the deep resonate voice she’d come to associate with Fletch.

“How comforting.” Savanna pried open one eye. “Could
you drape something over my head…please? The light is piercing.”

His shirt drifted over her face and his masculine scent invaded her nostrils. She discovered that his scent was soothing, not offensive. She was afraid that would be the case.

Beside her, she heard the crackling sound of twigs set to flame. Then she caught a whiff of smoke. Another scent mingled with the appealing scent of Fletch and the campfire.

After a few minutes Fletch gently nudged her shoulder, urging her to crawl on to her hands and knees. Only then did she realize he’d released her wrists and ankles from the ropes.

“Drink this,” he murmured. “It will make you feel better.”

“Only dying could get that done.” Agonized, she lifted her droopy-eyed gaze to him. “Do you see this as your chance to put me out of your misery…and mine? That would make it easier for you to drag my carcass to Tishomingo, wouldn’t it?”

“Damn, why didn’t I think of that?” he teased. “But since my grandfather was the medicine man of my Apache clan, he made my brother and me his apprentices.” He pressed the tin cup to her lips. “This tea is made from bark, roots and wild peppermint. It will make you feel better. Guaranteed.”

After she took several sips, Fletch slid a wooden bowl filled with a steamy concoction beneath her nose and ordered her to breathe deeply. The combined effects of the mysterious ingredients soothed the pounding headache. Her nausea receded gradually, and with each sip of the brew, Savanna felt herself sinking into blessed oblivion.

Whatever else he’d added to the brewed tea was obviously the Indian equivalent of laudanum. Her eyes became so heavy she couldn’t hold them open.

“I don’t hate you now. I wonder why?” A strange floating sensation overcame her. “Wha’s tha’ stuff…?”

That was the last thing she remembered saying before the vivid scents and sensations swirling around her parted like misty fog and she dropped over the edge into nothingness.

Fletch cursed colorfully when towering thunderclouds blocked out the sunlight and thunder rolled. A storm loomed on the western horizon. He had to find protection from threatening weather before hell broke loose.

For Savanna’s comfort, he’d untied her and covered her from head to foot with a quilt. The blast of cold north wind sent the blanket flying, but it didn’t disturb her sleep. In fact, she was still lying there like a slug—as she had from dawn until dusk—and he’d lost another day of traveling.

Fletch smiled wryly as he glanced at her sprawled form. He should’ve drugged Savanna with peyote the first time he captured her. He could’ve saved himself days of needless frustration. And temptation. That was the worst of it by far.

Lightning flashed across the darkening sky and thunder boomed overhead. He glanced at Savanna, watching her stir sluggishly. She was half awake when he scooped her into his arms and headed toward the creek. After propping her against a tree trunk, he whacked down several striplings and tied three larger trees together to serve as poles for a makeshift teepee.

In a matter of minutes, he’d hacked enough weeds and underbrush to weave around the striplings and had fashioned thatched walls for their shelter. And just in time, too. The first oversize raindrops pattered against his flimsy pavilion as he tucked Savanna inside. He hurried off to tether
the horses so he wouldn’t have to chase them down after the storm blew over.

Judging by the churning clouds, Fletch predicted they faced a brutal summer storm. Scratch off another wasted day, he mused as he lay beside Savanna. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with her if he missed his deadline with Solomon. In addition, he had no idea where to begin searching for Grady. All he knew was that the son of a bitch had been identified on the ferry, heading north. Grady could be anywhere by now and it might take months to locate him.

And here he was, playing nursemaid to a fugitive whom he was trying his damnedest to treat impersonally. He wasn’t having much luck because he kept remembering how luscious she looked naked. Plus, they’d been living in each other’s pockets and matching wits for so long that—and God help him for admitting it—he enjoyed having her around. She provided a new dimension to his existence that was marked only by one life-threatening encounter with cutthroats after another.

He went perfectly still when she snuggled up to him and nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. She slid her arm over his chest and draped her leg over his thigh. Desire sizzled across his flesh like a hot branding iron. Since her eyes were still closed and her breathing methodic, he wasn’t certain she was aware of what she was doing—or how quickly his male body responded to her actions. But recalling how easily she’d deceived him and lured him into her trap made him cautious.

The effects of peyote varied but sometimes lasted for hours. Some folks experienced drunken responses. Some became uninhibited and reckless. He’d even seen violent
reactions on rare occasions. Savanna leaned toward reckless and uninhibited—judging by the way she cuddled up, as if he were her personal pillow… Or was that another clever ruse?

“Savanna?” He was dismayed to discover that he’d
whispered
her name against her creamy cheek. So much for remaining indifferent and detached. With her, it was impossible.

“Mmm…” was all she said before she cuddled even closer.

Her knee glided against the hard evidence of his arousal. He muffled a tormented groan then forgot to breathe when her hand drifted back and forth across his chest. If she was playacting and purposely trying to seduce him…it was working. If she wasn’t purposely seducing him…it was still working.

He didn’t want to be so intensely affected by this woman. He didn’t want her to matter to him, didn’t want to care about her. Didn’t want to be emotionally involved. The bittersweet memory of Elaina still weighed heavily on his mind and she
deserved
to be remembered. She
deserved
to be separate.

Savanna opened those melting brown eyes that were surrounded by long thick lashes. Her sensuous lips parted on a soft sigh. Fletch was ashamed to say that Elaina’s memory flitted away because he couldn’t
see
past Savanna. He couldn’t
think
past this overwhelming need to taste Savanna once more. He ached to mold her shapely body to his and let this hungry desire run its course.

He surrendered to lusty desire that was eating him alive. Their breaths merged and their bodies strained closer together. Fletch felt the compelling heat and resented every scrap of clothing that separated his aching flesh from her silky skin.

She arched toward him, all but begging for another ravishing kiss. Desire bombarded him repeatedly and he groaned with the nearly overwhelming need to be inside her. Fletch thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth, tasting her as thoroughly as he ached to bury himself in her softest flesh.

“Fletch…?”

When her voice fizzled out, he raised his head to stare into her glazed eyes. He tried to decide if Savanna had recovered from the side effects of the sedative. Did she have her wits about her? Or was she drifting on a plane somewhere beyond reality? Was he taking unfair advantage or being lured in? Whichever it was, he felt vulnerable. Although it wasn’t a feeling he was comfortable with, tender emotion kept crowding in on him when he was with Savanna.

This was his worst nightmare. She was a captured fugitive. He wondered if she would call in favors when she realized how fiercely she affected him. What worried the hell out of him was that he would grant her special favors because he had become intrigued and obsessed with her.

While he wrestled with his conflicting thoughts, rain pounded down on the improvised teepee and the wind wailed like a banshee. The thatched shelter popped and swayed as Fletch helped himself to one last kiss.

Thunder boomed overhead, jostling Savanna from the fog of sedation. When she realized she was kissing Fletch as if there were no tomorrow and she wanted to share her last breath with him, she froze. Shame and embarrassment pelted her while hailstones pounded against their shelter. Sweet mercy! What was she doing? What had happened to the usual restraint and common sense she applied to dealing
with men? She’d lost her ability to reason after she sipped the brew and fallen beneath the spell of a sleeping potion.

Savanna suspected that Fletch had purposely mixed a concoction that sent her natural inhibitions flying off in the wind. She’d like to strangle the manipulative scoundrel for it, make him pay for unleashing all these reckless desires she didn’t realize she was capable of feeling!

She was in the act of rearing back her arm so she could slap him silly then give him the tongue-lashing he so richly deserved, but she became sidetracked when the fierce gale uplifted the thatched walls. Rain and hail hammered at them as the flimsy shelter collapsed. Her preservation instincts kicked in. She rolled to her hands and knees then surged to her feet. She yelped in surprise when Fletch clamped hold of her ankle and sent her sprawling facedown on the pallet.

And poof, just like that, the pleasure of kissing him went up in smoke. Mistrust and animosity flared between them so quickly that it made her head spin.

“Not so fast, Paleface,” he shouted over the sound of the raging storm. “I go where you go. I’ll be damned if I chase you down again!”

“How dare you!” she snarled in offended outrage.

Every tantalizing sensation and tender emotion she’d felt for him died an instant death. All she wanted was to escape him so he couldn’t embarrass and humiliate her again. He’d kissed her breathless and made her wish for more. But he didn’t care about her, she reminded herself. He’d toss her into jail, collect the reward and never give her a second thought.

“Damn it, woman!” Fletch yelped when she lashed out with her foot and thumped him in the chest with enough force to rob him of breath.

She regained her feet but she couldn’t kick him where it would hurt the worst because he grabbed the band of her breeches and shoved her facedown again. The air burst from her lungs in a whoosh when he sprawled on top of her. She panted for breath, squirmed for freedom and wished him to perdition. He shifted sideways then shoved her to her back.

While he held her down, their fiery gazes clashed. They were oblivious to the rain and buffeting wind. When hail thudded around them again, Fletch snaked his arm around her waist and jerked her up beside him. He made a mad dash toward a thick-trunked tree, using the canopy of leaves and branches to provide what little protection there was to be had.

Thank goodness, he’d had the presence of mind to snatch up a strand of rope to anchor Savanna’s arms around the huge trunk. Naturally, she cursed him up one side and down the other and fought him continuously as he secured her wrists.

Then she got really creative and switched back and forth between English and Chickasaw to voice her displeasure. When she let loose with singsong chants in Chickasaw he suspected she’d placed a curse on him, just as an Apache shaman summoned evil spirits to deform and debilitate an enemy of the clan.

Fletch glanced down his torso, wondering how soon he’d break out with the pox, or burn alive with fever before being struck deaf, dumb and blind. Surprisingly, he didn’t turn into a festering boil.

“Must be the pouring rain and howling wind that prevented your vile curses from taking effect,” he said, grinning
wryly. “Can’t call down evil spirits while they’re unleashing thunderstorms. I’m damn glad of that.” He lurched around. “You stay here while I gather our belongings and weapons.”

“You’re a horrible man and I’ll despise you until the day I die! Or until
you
die! Whichever comes first,” she yelled.

“Oh, good. You switched back to English,” he teased as he scooped up an armload of supplies then tucked them under the damp quilt. “And you’re welcome for curing your nausea and headache.”

“Enduring the nausea and headache was a walk in the park compared to dealing with your treachery. You conniving scoundrel!”

He tossed the supplies at her feet then turned around to gather up some more. “You practically begged me to kiss you so don’t go blaming what happened entirely on
me.
”

“I was drugged!” she railed, outraged. She strained against the rope, indicating that she’d definitely go for his throat if she got loose.

“You
wanted
me to think you weren’t aware of what was going on. But
I
think you were trying to seduce me so I’d go easy on you instead of locking you in jail,” he countered.

She gaped at him as if he had grapevines sprouting from his ears. Then her lips curled and her ebony eyes flashed like the lightning leaping from cloud to cloud. “I did no such thing! Take that back!”

They could stand here all night debating over who was at fault, but Fletch wasn’t going to accept full blame. If he did, she’d think he found her irresistible and that he was at the mercy of his desire for her. He was, but he’d shoot himself in the foot—twice—before he admitted that to her.