Fletcher's Woman. Carol Finch
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Fletcher's Woman - Carol Finch страница
“I assume this is your
way of getting even.”
Fletch squatted on his haunches to pull the cap from Savanna’s head. He raked his fingers through the curly tangles of hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Her heart thudded against her ribs when he broke into a full-fledged smile that would’ve knocked her to her knees had she been standing.
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.
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.
It wasn’t flattering, but it was the truth.
Fletch didn’t trust her and Savanna didn’t trust him. He was her enemy, her antagonist, who stood like an insurmountable mountain that prevented her from getting what she wanted—the opportunity to clear her name.
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 BOOKreviews
The Ranger’s Woman
“Finch delivers her signature humor, along with a big dose
of colorful Texas history, in a love and laughter romp.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Lone Wolf’s Woman
“As always, Finch provides frying-pan-into-the-fire action
that keeps the pages flying, then spices up her story with
not one, but two romances, sensuality and strong emotions.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Fletcher’s Woman
Carol Finch
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed,
and our children Jill, Jon, Christie, Kurt and Shawnna.
And to our grandchildren Kennedy, Blake, Brooklynn
and Livia with much love
Acknowledgment
A very special thank-you to all the readers
who urged me to write the sequel to The Ranger.
I hope you enjoy Fletcher’s story.
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
1880s
The hot summer sun gleamed off the Red River that separated Texas from Indian Territory. Fletcher Hawk patted his Appaloosa gelding consolingly as the ferry teetered and bumped over the swift-moving channel. Being a half Apache who had been forcefully retained on a desolate reservation in New Mexico, for more months than he cared to count, Fletch got to feeling twitchy as the ferry headed toward the distant dock. He’d been a Texas Ranger for five years, but he’d never had cause to enter the reservations in Indian Territory.
Now he had cause. The murdering son of a bitch that he’d been hunting for five years was reported to have robbed a stagecoach near Fort Worth several months earlier, then headed north. No matter what assignments Fletch had taken, he’d always been on the lookout for Grady Mills. Unfortunately, the slippery bastard had managed to remain one step ahead. But if Grady thought hunkering down in Indian Territory would keep Fletch off his trail then he thought wrong. Fletch had a personal and professional vendetta to settle with that heartless bastard.
A painful memory speared through Fletch’s mind. Rage and guilt battled for supremacy, but he squelched the turbulent emotions and turned his attention to the other passengers. Three rough-looking men leaned negligently against the railing. They met his stare briefly then looked away without offering a nod of greeting. But then, neither did Fletch. He was simply surveying his companions.
Fletch’s gaze settled on the crusty, bowlegged man who looked to be in his mid-forties. He wore a ten-gallon hat with two bullet holes in the crown. The hat made him look about six and a half feet tall. His mouth thinned out beneath his handlebar mustache as he propped himself against a bay gelding. Obviously the man’s left foot was paining him something fierce because he was one boot