minutes later Rafe scooped up the woman and plunked her atop Sergeant. Keeping a firm grip on her leg, he swung up behind her. With her hands secured in the middle of her back, her elbows out so she couldn’t clobber him in the midsection, Rafe wrapped one arm around her waist to insure she didn’t launch herself off the horse during their jaunt to the fort. Given the battle royal he had just encountered with this female, he wouldn’t put another escape attempt past her.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked five miles later.
“In places I’m sure you have never been, General,” she sassed.
“Obviously not. 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 in the saddle 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.”
She fell silent as they approached the post, and Rafe made no further attempt to pry information from her. It rankled that she poked fun at the privileged background he had spent years trying to overcome. He had prided himself on becoming his own man rather than flitting by on the laurels accorded to him by the illustrious Hunter family name. Rafe had worked damn hard to prove himself capable and responsible to assume command of this military fort. But in one fell swoop, and in a few choice words, this sassy hellion implied that his personal accomplishments were the result of his family pulling strings to land him this position.
When Rafe halted at the hitching post in front of officers’ quarters, Micah was leaning negligently against the doorjamb. Micah’s astute gaze drifted over the female captive then focused on Rafe’s disheveled appearance. The hint of a smile quirked his lips as he pushed away from the door to assist the captive from the horse.
“Met with trouble, did you?” Micah questioned as he set the woman on her feet then clamped an arm around her elbow.
Rafe watched in amazement as the hellcat—who had tried to claw him to shreds—turned a radiant smile on Micah. “If that question was directed to me, sir, then the answer is yes. I would like to press charges against your commanding officer for molestation and assault.”
Rafe nearly choked when the woman mimicked his Eastern accent and projected an air of ladylike dignity. When Micah’s befuddled gaze bounced back and forth between Rafe and the woman, he had the impulsive urge to spout his denial of her outrageous accusations.
“Well?” the woman prompted haughtily. “Don’t I have the right to protest such ill treatment, just because Rafe Hunter is the commandant of this fort?”
“I…uh…” Micah stammered, his blue-eyed gaze leaping from one mud-covered face to the other.
“Come along, miss,” Rafe muttered as he towed her into the foyer of officers’ quarters. “Captain Micah Whitfield is second in command and he’s a longtime friend of mine. Your ploy won’t work on him.” He hoped.
To Micah he said, “She’s the one who set up the campfire that we detected before you led the patrol back to the fort.”
Micah’s eyes widened as he reassessed the woman in muddy breeches, faded shirt and patched jacket. “You were out there alone?” he asked incredulously.
She turned pleading green eyes on Micah, graced him with that feigned-innocent smile and began her spiel about traveling cross-country to rejoin her family and how she had resorted to wearing men’s clothes to protect herself from lecherous men—like the post commander.
Rafe barked a laugh. He didn’t believe this feisty little con artist for a minute. He had seen her fight like the very devil and then he had watched her turn on the charm for Micah’s benefit.
“That is more than enough,” Rafe interrupted her long-winded explanation. “Don’t waste your breath. Micah isn’t as gullible as he looks.”
Whoever this woman was, it was glaringly apparent that she was adept at living by her wits and she would say anything in an attempt to talk her way out of trouble.
Rafe grabbed the woman’s arm, wheeled toward the door, then halted in his tracks. As much as he would like to stuff this feisty female in the stockade that was bulging with men, he couldn’t. If she antagonized any of them the way she had smarted off to him they would collectively strangle her. Either that or she would find herself molested repeatedly before the guards could reach her. He really had no choice but to lock her in his quarters for the night and bunk with Micah.
“I’ll keep her in my room,” he announced as he reversed direction.
Micah’s dark brows shot up.
The woman refused to budge from the spot. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Well, good, thought Rafe. It was about time this mouthy hellion showed him some wary respect.
Rafe uprooted the woman and herded her into his tidy quarters. He slammed the door shut then positioned a chair under the doorknob to make sure she didn’t escape while he wasn’t here to stop her. With Micah hot on his heels, Rafe walked back outside to lead his weary mount to the stables.
“You gonna explain what is going on or just leave it to my vivid imagination?” Micah teased as he fell into step beside Rafe.
“That female is a chameleon,” Rafe declared. “She might have been charming to you, but she fought like a cornered Apache when I apprehended her. I’ve encountered less resistance and more respect from the men we’ve taken into custody. I was kicked, bitten and clawed repeatedly.”
“So I see.” Micah chuckled in amusement as he appraised Rafe’s frazzled appearance. “Makes me wish I had insisted on going with you. I’d like to have witnessed that battle.”
“It wasn’t a pretty sight.” Rafe’s stomach growled, reminding him that it was long past supper. “I tried to remind myself that I was brawling with a woman, but it wasn’t easy when she fought like a man.”
“I like a woman with spunk and spirit,” Micah said, blue eyes twinkling.
“You’re welcome to her,” Rafe shot back. “I’m accustomed to a woman who behaves like a lady.”
“Like your fiancée? Ah, yes, the poised and dignified Vanessa Payton. Ask me, that will be a dull marriage indeed.”
“Marriage is part of my obligation to my family,” Rafe reminded him with a casual shrug. “You know perfectly well that I’m devoted to my position here. The army is my life.”
“Which is obviously why you allowed your grandfather, the general, and your father, also a general, to arrange this marriage. As I recall, you’ve only met the lovely Vanessa twice. How can you possibly know if you’ll suit?”
“That’s just the way it’s done in my family,” Rafe replied as he led Sergeant into the stall to remove the saddle.
“Being a half-breed, raised among the Choctaw tribe, I was taught to believe that a man and woman should have a certain affection for each other
