Fletcher's Woman

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 watched the pearl-handled pistol drop from his fingertips. Clank. The second pistol slid from the holster and dropped beside the first. She arched an amused brow when the Bowie knife that had been strapped to his thigh joined the two Colt pistols. A smaller dagger slid from his left shirtsleeve and thudded to the ground. A boot pistol popped free and smacked him on the forehead before coming to rest atop the impressive arsenal of weapons.

She was pleased with the tack of hardware she’d confiscated, along with the ammunition on his belt. But she almost stopped breathing when two shiny badges dropped from the concealed pocket of his black leather vest.

“Oh, damn…” She plucked up the Texas Ranger star and the Deputy U.S. Marshal badge. It was bad enough that she’d been wrongfully accused of murder and had a $20,000 bounty on her head. Now she had added resisting arrest and assault on a doubly authorized officer of the law.

“I wonder if a woman can hang twice if she’s convicted of murder and assaulting a Deputy Marshal/Texas Ranger?” she said to herself. “Damn opportunistic Ranger anyway.”

No doubt, he planned to reap the benefits of the bounty. He had all the authorization and jurisdiction needed to haul her to Oliver Draper so he could string her up.

Savanna sighed in exasperation. Her life expectancy was getting shorter by the day.

Chapter Two

Fletch awoke with a hellish headache—and a barrel load of embarrassment. He’d fallen for the oldest trick in the Apache handbook. Worse, it had been a woman who’d suckered him in. Never once during their encounter or conversation had she glanced down to gauge how close he stood to the trap.

She was one hell of an actress and she’d caught him completely off guard. He shouldn’t have underestimated Savanna Cantrell, Fletch told himself as he discreetly pried one eye open to survey his surroundings.

It was dark and the cool mountain air settled over him. When he tried to shift position, he realized he’d been staked out spread-eagle on the ground. His wrists were lashed to the tree behind his head and his bare feet were anchored to a tree three feet beyond his legs. His shirt and vest were gone, along with all his hardware.

Fletch bit back an enraged growl and reminded himself that he was supposed to be playing possum so his captor wouldn’t know that he’d regained consciousness. Didn’t matter how cautious he was, he realized fifteen minutes later. That wily witch didn’t seem to be nearby—and, damn it, neither was his horse!

“Son of a bitch!” Fletch hissed. He’d been outraged when a gang of outlaws had ambushed him and stole Appy five years earlier. He hadn’t liked it then, but this was ten times worse. This time a pint-size female posing as an Indian maiden had bested him, not four hardened criminals. He had a scar on his thigh to remind him of the ambush, but he’d never forget how foolish he felt after dealing with the crafty Savanna Cantrell.

Fletch swore loudly and colorfully as he strained against the leather strips that held him fast. And to think Bill Solomon had pleaded with him to put his personal crusade on hold to locate Savanna. Innocent? He doubted it. Frightened and out of her element in the wilds? Not hardly!

“Good, you’re finally awake.” Savanna stepped into view to tower over him. “I wondered how long you were going to waste my time playing possum.”

His reply was a scowl and a snarl.

Undaunted, she asked, “Would you like a bite to eat, Mr. Hawk? Or should I call you Texas Ranger and Deputy U.S. Marshal? You lied to me by omission, Fletcher.”

“It’s just Fletch and you just plain lied about who you are, Savanna,” he retorted.

She shrugged off his accusing stare as she squatted beside him to hand-feed him some sort of cornmeal and dried meat concoction that made his growling stomach applaud and his taste buds riot. His trail rations were nothing compared to hers and he gobbled up the offering. He definitely needed his strength and nourishment if he had to match wits with this clever female.

“How did you find me when the other men thought I was Chickasaw and ventured off?” she inquired as she offered him another bite of food.

“I followed the vigilantes and bounty hunters until they took the wrong turn you purposely planted for them.”

She smiled impishly. “And yet here you are, all trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

Fletch muttered at her taunt then appraised her oval face, which was now devoid of sooty smudges. Twinkling ebony eyes, rimmed with long curly lashes, assessed him as thoroughly as he assessed her. She looked wholesome with her flawless, tanned complexion. Her bow-shaped lips were lush and tempting…

Fletch stifled that inappropriate thought. He didn’t care if she tasted as good as she looked. The only reason he found her remotely fascinating was that he hadn’t been with a woman since… Well, he couldn’t recall exactly, especially when his head was still throbbing and thinking was tedious. Regardless of being deprived of sexual pleasure for countless months, he wanted nothing to do with her. His assignment was to haul her to Tishomingo and dump her into Bill Solomon’s lap.

Fletch didn’t care if Savanna was incredibly attractive and intelligent. Furthermore, it didn’t matter that her survival skills far exceeded any woman’s he’d ever met. He refused to be impressed because she was a dangerous combination of beauty, brains and skill. But still…

My sister-in-law would love her, Fletch caught himself thinking while he munched on the tasty food. Shiloh Drummond-Hawk was an independent-minded woman who gave as good as she got. She’d definitely approve of Savanna’s survival know-how and intelligence. Fletch might have appreciated her even more if he weren’t staked out and annoyed.

“Where’s my shirt?” he demanded between bites.

“I had to remove it. Considering all the hidden hardware that fell off while you were dangling upside down, I didn’t want to overlook any weapons stuck in your sleeve.”

He smiled devilishly. “You took my shirt, but aren’t you concerned about what I might have stashed in my breeches?”

She shoved more food into his mouth to shut him up.

“I examined your lower extremities closely,” she said.

He swallowed the mouthful of food. “Too bad I wasn’t awake for that. I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed it, darlin’.”

“I am not your darlin’. I’m not your anything.” She cast him a disgruntled frown. “You should be more concerned about what’s to become of you, not what you missed during the body search. You don’t seem to be taking me seriously, Mr. Hawk—”

“Just Fletch,” he corrected again. “And believe me, I’m taking you very seriously. You need to come to Tishomingo with me. Every day you’re on the run is an admission of your guilt. You should turn yourself in.”

“Naturally you’d say that since there’s an astronomical price on my head and you want to collect it,” she scoffed. “I’m not entirely stupid, you know. I know what motivates you and the rest of the bounty hunters on my trail. It’s money.”

Cautious and mistrusting didn’t begin to describe Savanna. She wasn’t a scatterbrained twit who leaped mindlessly from one moment to the next. Which was too bad for him.

Fletch played his ace in the hole, hoping to gain her cooperation. “Bill Solomon sent me as a favor to your father.”

“Who?” she asked.

“He’s a U.S. deputy marshal who claims that he and Robert Cantrell served together in the army,” he told her.