even disposed of horse droppings and circled back a time or two, but the living shadow remained steadfast. Damn him.
Savanna had been on the run for ten days and so far had managed to elude Oliver Draper’s parties of hired gunmen sent to capture her. She was traveling in the guise of an Indian woman and she knew the rugged terrain—every cavern, nook and cranny of this mountain range. She’d frequented the area hundreds of times during her father’s employ as the Chickasaw agent.
Savanna’s mentor, friend and substitute mother had seen to it that her survival skills were wide-ranging and always at the ready. Morningstar had taken Savanna under her wing like a Chickasaw maiden, even if Indian blood didn’t flow through her veins. In turn, Savanna had helped Morningstar and her daughter, Willow, understand white traditions, and she’d become a champion for the tribe her father protected and defended.
Savanna glanced over her shoulder as she led the rider—a relentless bounty hunter, no doubt—up the winding path to one of the rendezvous points where she met with Morningstar. Savanna had set a trap—as a last resort—several days earlier. Since she couldn’t shake this man, she would detain him. Then she’d take refuge in another section of the tree-choked mountains and V-shaped valleys.
She urged her mount around an exposed curve on the trail to keep her tracker moving in the direction she wanted him to go. Dismounting, she scurried around the snare she’d camouflaged in the thick grass and waited for the man to appear.
Fifteen minutes later the rider halted twenty yards from the trap that separated them. Savanna made certain she didn’t glance down at the trap because whoever this man was, he was an expert in the wilderness. He’d know she was baiting him if she wasn’t careful. While the rider swung effortlessly from his mount, his gaze constantly swept the area. His long, shiny black hair swung against his broad shoulders as he trained his pearl-handled pistol on her to counter the pistol she aimed directly at him.
Although Savanna thought she was doing an excellent job of keeping her attention trained on the man—so he wouldn’t get the drop on her—her gaze locked with the most intense blue eyes she’d ever seen. There was no question that Indian blood ran through his veins, but those thick-lashed blue eyes and lighter shade of skin coloring indicated white ancestry.
The man, dressed in black breeches and shirt, stood six foot four in his scuffed boots and he must’ve weighed at least two hundred and thirty pounds. He was big and bronzed and brawny. Savanna knew that if push came to shove, her self-defense skills wouldn’t be enough to counter his masculine strength. He would make a formidable enemy, she decided.
Something about the man fascinated her, but she couldn’t pinpoint the reason for her unexpected reaction. First off, he probably didn’t care if he captured her, dead or alive. As long as he collected the price on her head.
“Savanna Cantrell?”
His deep resonant voice rolled toward her, sending a wave of unfamiliar sensations down her spine. “Who wants to know?” she questioned his question.
“Fletcher Hawk.” His pistol was still trained on her. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Despite the several days’ growth of beard that covered his face, she unwillingly responded when he smiled. Immediately she redoubled her defenses and took a step backward. He was trying to be pleasant so he could get the drop on her. But she wasn’t falling into his trap. He was going to fall into hers.
“I’m not Savanna. I’m her decoy,” she lied through her teeth. “I know where my friend is, though. Savvy is paying me to lead mercenaries like you on a merry chase.”
He took what might’ve been mistaken as a casual step forward to counter each step she retreated, but she knew what he was doing. Savanna made double damn certain that she didn’t glance down to gauge his distance from her concealed trap. If he continued on his present path, she’d have him snared.
“Liar,” he said almost pleasantly. “I was given a description of the fugitive. You fit the bill, Savanna. Your Indian buckskin dress, moccasins and long dark braids are a nice touch, though. But you’re white, even if you have a deep tan and you’re trying to disguise your features by smearing mud and soot on your hands and face.”
“You’re mistaken, Mr. Hawk.”
“No, I’m not. You don’t move like an Indian. I should know. I’m half Apache, Paleface.”
“Oh? Which half?” Impudently she looked him up and down.
“The half that counts,” he replied, easing a step closer. “I’m Apache at heart.”
“With a devil’s soul?” she inquired.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Whatever it takes to get the job done.” He flashed another disarming smile. “But ordinarily I’m one of the nicest men you’ll ever meet.”
Savanna smirked at that. She was offended by his remark that she couldn’t pass herself off as an Indian maiden as easily as she thought she could. She’d been told that with her dark complexion, Indian-style clothing and mannerisms that she excelled at looking, thinking and behaving like a Chickasaw. She’d become very good at it…
When it dawned on her that this Hawk character was purposely baiting her as a means of distraction, she relaxed her stance and smiled nonchalantly. After all, she could be as deceptive as he could if she tried.
“So…Mr. Hawk, what’s the price on my friend’s head now?” She guessed five thousand. If she eluded captivity for a month, she predicted Oliver Draper would hike it up.
“Twenty thousand.”
Her eyes popped and she had to remind herself not to become sidetracked because she wasn’t dealing with the village idiot here. This man had proved himself exceptionally skilled at finding someone who worked hard at not being found.
When he inched a step closer, she lifted her pistol another notch. “Stay where you are, Mr. Hawk. You’re wasting your time here, but I’ll tell Savvy that she’s worth a lot of money.”
“Twenty thousand will buy a lot of trinkets. You’d also be set for life.” He tried to tempt her.
Naturally, Fletcher Hawk ignored her command to stay put—which she’d counted on. Men never gave women credit for ingenuity. It was their Achilles’ heel and she took advantage.
She cocked her head, as if pondering his offer. “I am getting tired of this cat-and-mouse game of leading you and the other men in circles. Maybe I’ll take you to Savvy’s hiding place and let you capture her. Will you split the reward with me?”
“Done.” He took that one last reckless step forward.
When she kicked aside the stake near her foot, Fletcher Hawk yelped in surprise. The camouflaged rope she’d secured to an overhanging tree limb clamped around his ankle like a steel beaver trap. She watched with wicked satisfaction as he flipped upside down and hung suspended in the air. She chuckled triumphantly while he cursed a blue streak.
Savanna was ready and waiting when he twisted sideways in an attempt to shoot the rope that held him suspended like a side of cured beef. She scooped up a makeshift club and whacked him on the head. Her shoulders sagged in relief when a dull groan tumbled from Fletcher Hawk’s lips and he sagged motionlessly.
Thunk. She
