on>
“You are under arrest,”
he muttered as he grabbed her elbow and frog-marched her ashore. “What’s your name, woman?”
She tilted her chin defiantly, clamped her mouth shut and glowered at him as he dragged her alongside him.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked.
“In places I’m sure you’ve never been, General,” she said impudently.
“Obviously. Where I come from ladies don’t brawl. I have already determined—the hard way—that you’re no lady. Furthermore, I’m not a general. I’m the commandant at Fort Reno. Major Rafe Hunter.”
She twisted to flash him a smirk. “You’re from back East, right? Uppity accent. Imperious demeanor. Wealth and pedigree, no doubt. Don’t you have better things to do than sneak around, assaulting defenseless women?”
“Defenseless?” he hooted. “I can think of a dozen adjectives to describe you, but defenseless isn’t on the list!”
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
Bounty Hunter’s Bride
“Longtime Carol Finch fans…
will be more than satisfied.”
—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
Oklahoma Bride
Carol Finch
MILLS & BOON
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This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed,
and our children, Jill, Jon, Christie, Jeff, Kurt
and Shawnna. And to our grandchildren, Blake, Livia,
Brooklynn and Kennedy. Hugs and kisses!
A special thank you to my editor, Kim Nadelson.
It is a pleasure to be working with you!
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 Eighteen
Chapter One
Indian Territory
April, 1889
R afe Hunter lifted his hand to bring his patrol of soldiers to a halt. His roan gelding, Sergeant, shifted impatiently beneath him, anxious to return to Fort Reno and the anticipated bucket of grain in his stall. Rafe panned the rolling plains that stood knee-high in waving grass then glanced toward the tree-lined creek that meandered southeast.
It was hard to imagine that in a couple of weeks this peaceful countryside would be the site of the nation’s first Land Run. He had the unenviable task of guarding the western boundary to the two million acres of free land. It was his responsibility to insure would-be settlers didn’t jump the gun and sneak in to stake their claims prematurely.
In addition, it was his duty to keep a watchful eye on the Cheyenne-Arapaho reservation near the garrison. The extra obligation of gathering up trespassers demanded long days and stretched his company of soldiers to the limits.
When Rafe glanced over his shoulder, his longtime friend—and second in command—lifted a questioning brow. “A problem, Commander?”
“No, just taking time to appreciate the peaceful moment before all hell breaks loose,” Rafe replied.
Micah Whitfield grinned wryly. “By the end of the month, I wonder if any of us will recall what peaceful feels like.”
Rafe stared past Micah to focus on the five prisoners the patrol had flushed from the nearby creeks. The Sooners—as the army referred to the illegal squatters—had set up camp inside the territory, hoping to claim prime property before thousands
