and felt reasonably safe and secure…until this renegade showed up and brought hell with him!
Now her arm was oozing blood and pulsing with pain. Plus, being shot at repeatedly rattled her. Fear and indignation had her quivering uncontrollably. She’d had a nightmarish week and it didn’t show any signs of improvement. In addition, she had sworn off men less than a week ago because they were nothing but trouble. And poof, this wild renegade dropped from the sky, accompanied by five trigger-happy demons, to remind her why men were the curse of a woman’s life.
Shiloh’s thoughts were still reeling when her captor burst out with a loud whistle that threatened to blow holes in her eardrums. She recoiled reflexively, then glanced sideways to see the black mustang, laden down with several saddlebags, perk up its ears. Like a well-trained dog coming to heel, the muscular pony trotted after his master who dug his heels into her horse and took off hell-bent-for-leather.
Shiloh became uncomfortably aware of the man’s powerful body plastered against her. His chin dug into her shoulder and his arm was like a vice around her waist while they zigzagged through the willows and pecan trees that lined the river. Her damp chemise—that clung to her breasts and rode immodestly high on her thighs—left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. She squirmed self-consciously as they raced through the underbrush to put a greater distance between them and the ruffians that had been shooting at them.
“Don’t even think what you’re thinking,” the renegade growled in her ear.
Shiloh stiffened, amazed the man had all but read her mind. She was indeed contemplating the possibility of vaulting off the horse and taking her chances alone.
“Be patient,” he added as he glanced over his shoulder. “When we’re in the clear I’ll climb on my own horse and leave you to yours…. Well, damn.”
Shiloh glanced back to see what had annoyed him. To her dismay, she saw the five burly hombres picking their way down the narrow trail to give chase.
“Sit tight,” the renegade instructed as he loosened his grasp on her waist.
He crouched on the rump of her horse like a trick rider then sprang onto the mustang that now loped alongside them. Shiloh saw her chance to veer away—and she took it. She nudged her mount in the flanks, urging it into a swifter pace as they emerged from the gnarl of trees and underbrush. She took off across the open meadow, relying on equestrian skills she had mastered as a child.
“Come back here, damn it!” the renegade yelled at her. “If those outlaws catch up with you then you’re as good as dead…or worse!”
The way Shiloh had it figured she was as good as dead…or worse…if she didn’t elude her captor right now. She had heard the horrifying tales of what Indians did to women and she wouldn’t put anything past the rugged-looking renegade that glowered at her and raced after her in fast pursuit.
Hawk wasn’t surprised by the woman’s hostility or her desperate attempt to escape when they reached the clearing. After all, he and his horse had come dangerously close to landing on top of her when they swan-dived off the cliff to elude the outlaws. Plus, she didn’t have the slightest idea who he was and what was going on.
But what befuddled Hawk to no end was why this dainty-looking female, dressed in skimpy wet undergarments, was swimming in an area that was ten miles from the nearest town and seven miles from the string of ranches that lined the north fork of Echo River.
When Hawk thrust out his hand to grab the woman by the arm, his eyes nearly popped from their sockets. To his disbelief she slid to the opposite side of the horse like a trick rider in a Wild West show. Worse, he became completely distracted when her breasts nearly spilled from the scooped neckline and one leg—bare all the way to her hip—lay draped over the saddle.
Hawk already knew how this woman’s supple body felt while meshed intimately against him because they had rolled through the grass to dodge bullets. But this was even worse. The sight of her alluring feminine assets were burning into his brain like a searing brand.
He did not need to become sidetracked while trying to overtake this woman before she got hurt again. He had enough trouble dodging the pack of vengeful outlaws that were out for his blood because he’d stolen their loot. One look at the stream of blood trailing down the woman’s arm was another reminder that she’d been frightened and injured because of her ill-timed association with him. She’d suddenly become his responsibility. Inconvenient or not, he had to protect her.
Hawk cast off his rambling thoughts and lunged for the reins to the woman’s horse. He might not be able to get hold of her, but he sure as hell could take control of her mount!
He bit back a grin when the woman cursed him up one side and down the other for leading her mount in the direction she didn’t want to go. This female might look like a bewitching young lady, but she was a spitfire through and through.
And he wasn’t going to make the mistake of taking her for granted again.
“Let me go!” she snapped as she pulled herself back into the saddle, while they galloped toward the rocky canyon that had once been Hawk’s stomping ground.
“You stick with me, sister, and you’ll be fine.” He hitched his thumb toward the riders that burst from the clump of trees to fire off their pistols ineffectively. “If they catch up with you things will be a lot worse.”
“Being kidnapped by you doesn’t seem much better,” she sniped as she tried to wrest the reins from his hands.
When a rifle shot rang out, Hawk reached over to shove the woman forward on her horse, then plastered himself against his mount. The bullet whizzed past them, too close for comfort. Hawk spared a quick backward glance as he veered left abruptly, headed for the old Apache trail that zigzagged between the boulders and scrub trees on the steep incline.
Thunder boomed overhead. Hawk sent a prayer to both Indian and white deities for rain—an abundance of it. To his amazement the sky opened up, allowing him to make his way up the winding trail, washing away the prints as he went. He glanced around the scraggly juniper that was presently concealing him from view and watched the outlaws split up in an attempt to locate their prey in the sudden downpour.
He noticed that the woman gave him the strangest look as he led her horse to higher elevations.
“Are you some sort of Indian wizard?” She glanced skyward, then peered curiously at him.
“Grandson of an Apache medicine man,” he said, laying it on thick. “Heap big magic. I know all the tricks of the trade. If you cross me, paleface, I’ll place a curse on you.”
He was surprised that she clamped her mouth shut and didn’t say another word while he followed the steep trail. When pea-size hail pattered around them, Hawk hunched his shoulders and ducked his head. They should be at the cave in less than a quarter of an hour so he could tend the bloody wound the woman had sustained—because of her unfortunate association with him.
The unpleasant thought pricked his conscience again.
Hawk glanced sideways—and got lost in the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. She was staring straight at him with wary curiosity, resentment and a fair amount of fear. Her face was pale, he noticed. She’d lost a considerable amount of blood during the strenuous ride and she definitely needed medical attention.
Her dazed expression worried him. As a precaution, Hawk urged her horse closer, just in case she fainted.
