won’t accomplish a damn thing by going outside, except getting wet again and maybe exposing our whereabouts to those cutthroats.”
Although she stamped over and sat down, her expression indicated she was none too happy about being ordered around. Well, too bad, he thought. He’d put forward his best manners for her benefit, but she was still being contrary and hostile. Nevertheless, she was going to do as he said and that was that.
“Are you still sticking with the name Bernice?” he asked as he scooped up the pot to brew coffee over the small campfire he had positioned near the cave entrance.
“Are you still sticking with the name Logan Hawk?”
“Yep, it’s my name. I’m half Apache,” he confided. “My father, John Fletcher Logan, was a white trapper and trader who came and went from our clan’s camp. My mother was the daughter of Gray Hawk, a medicine man, who decided that marrying his daughter to a white man, so that he could learn English and understand the way the white man thought, was good magic. My grandfather chose his totem as my totem because the hawk is known to be swift and fierce.”
He spread his arms wide. “Logan Hawk. Half white man’s name. Half Apache.”
He glanced over his shoulder, noting that she was still regarding him skeptically. He didn’t know what caused her to be so mistrusting, but he supposed he really couldn’t blame her. He had always been one to err on the side of caution, too.
“Now, would you mind telling me what the devil you were doing in the wilds without a bodyguard or chaperone?” he asked while the coffee boiled on the fire.
She crossed her arms over her chest and thrust out her chin. “Yes, I do mind. It’s none of your business.”
His lips twitched as he cast his feisty companion another glance. She might look alluring and feminine, but she was definitely a hellion at heart. He liked that about her—in an exasperated kind of way. He also liked the way she looked and felt when she was pressed familiarly against him….
Hawk squelched the titillating thought immediately. He expected better of himself. This wasn’t the time or the place. He avoided emotional attachments to females. His tumbleweed lifestyle and his lack of acceptance in white society taught him to expect little of nothing from anyone.
The less complications the better was his motto.
When the coffee was hot, he poured two cups. As he handed a cup to her, he noticed she still regarded him warily. She also refused to take a sip until he did. She was so mistrusting that she suspected he might drug or poison her.
Cautious didn’t begin to describe this woman. He drank his coffee and wondered who had made her so suspicious.
“Last year a Texas Ranger showed up in this neck of the woods,” she said between sips of steaming coffee. “He claimed that he had been sent to evict the Mexican sheepherders who were nesting on property that belonged to a local rancher named Frank Mills. Two men died and their wives headed for the hills, overcome with grief and fear.
“Although there wasn’t enough evidence to convict Frank of hiring that bloodthirsty gunslinger to impersonate a Ranger, we suspected he was responsible.” She stared him squarely in the eye. “So don’t expect me to take your word as gospel, Hawk. I only believe half of what I see and even less of what a man tells me.”
Hawk was aware of the incident she mentioned because he had been sent to apprehend the murdering imposter. His Apache upbringing always put him at the top of the list for tracking elusive, high-profile outlaws.
“Just so you know, the imposter paid the consequences,” he assured her solemnly.
Her delicately arched brows shot up. “Did he? You know that for a fact?”
He nodded grimly. “I saw to it that he never hurt another living soul, but he didn’t confess. There was no evidence to convict Frank Mills of conspiracy. A damn shame that.”
She looked as if she wanted to believe him, but he could see her withdrawing emotionally. He wondered if his mixed heritage and unconventional appearance contributed to her distrust. It did where most folks were concerned.
Whites had a tendency to judge him by his bronzed skin, dark eyes and jet-black hair. Not to mention the damage done by the white man’s one-sided bad publicity against Indian tribes. Most white folks didn’t care who he was on the inside. He was an Indian; therefore, he must be the enemy.
The Rangers battalion was one of the few exceptions. His band of brothers judged him on merit, not skin color.
Hawk discarded the unproductive thought and reminded himself that he was also guilty of holding a grudge against whites because of their unfair treatment of his people.
And his people were the Apache. Just because he was half-white didn’t change that fact.
“So…what do you intend to do with me?” she questioned.
“Take you home when the rain lets up,” he replied. “Just where is home, hmm?”
She scoffed at his subtle attempt to gain information. “Nice try, Hawk. Now tell me again why you have several bags of money and five unhappy banditos dogging your heels? Oh, yes, I’m supposed to believe that you’re one of the good guys and I’m supposed to place unfaltering faith and trust in your willingness to see me home safely. Right?” She glared at him. “Well, you’re wrong about that. I’m going to need more than your word that you aren’t a threat.”
Hawk scowled, nearly at the end of his patience with this prickly female. “Are you always this contrary, Bernice?”
“No, this is one of my good days.” A mischievous smile surfaced before she could bite it back. “I’m usually worse.”
“I’m starting to believe it,” he mumbled.
Chapter Three
H awk stood watch at the mouth of the cave, relieved to note that the rain had let up—temporarily at least. He wanted to be on his way. Being confined to this small space with this maddening but alluring female tempted him to do something foolish and reckless—like yielding to the outrageous urge of kissing her to see if she tasted even half as good as she looked. Staring at her lush, Cupid’s bow mouth for more than a moment at a time was sensual torment.
Forcing himself to get his mind back to the business at hand, he poked his head outside. “Well, damn,” he grumbled.
When she walked up behind him, he cautiously glanced back at her. He half expected her to approach him, toting a log for the campfire as her makeshift weapon. He braced himself, in case she decided to pound him on the head.
Fortunately she wasn’t armed, just curious.
He pointed in the direction of the men who were riding through the valley. “They aren’t giving up the search,” he grumbled. “But then, I did confiscate a lot of stolen money.” He waited a beat then said, “I’m sorry you ended up in the middle of this. The outlaw gang I infiltrated three months ago won’t want you to walk away, either. Not when you can identify them. This gang doesn’t leave eyewitnesses behind.”
Shiloh gulped uneasily as she watched the five men weave around the boulders and trees at lower elevations.
