Fletcher's Woman. Carol FinchЧитать онлайн книгу.
doubt your father would approve. Robert cannot come here, for fear that he might lead mercenaries to you. He cannot risk trying to contact me for the same reasons.” She stared pensively at Fletch. “Maybe you should take this lawman into your confidence and let him become your protector. Do you think he is trustworthy enough to help you?”
Savanna laughed humorously. “No. Right now I can’t trust anyone not to betray me except you.” She stared down into Fletch’s intense blue eyes. “This man is both a Ranger and deputy federal marshal. He claims to know Papa’s longtime friend from the army, but I’m not taking any chances of being deceived. I’m better off on my own.”
Morningstar retrieved the bandoleer of ammunition and a package she had tucked beneath the saddle blanket. “Your friends in our mountain village took up a collection of supplies to sustain you. They wish you well, my child. I do not advise that you linger too long in one place. I saw several campfires glowing in the valleys. There are too many men searching for you.” She stared solemnly at Savanna. “These ruthless bands of white men are putting Chickasaw families at risk and could be driving Willow deeper into hiding, too.”
Savanna mulled over Morningstar’s words long after the older woman retreated into the darkness. The very last thing she wanted—aside from swinging from the gallows and having her neck stretched out like taffy—was to endanger those she considered extended family, those who offered her aid and comfort while she dodged the posses. Willow might even think they were chasing her and refuse to show her face or make contact.
“Who the hell was that woman?” Fletch demanded, breaking into her troubled thoughts.
“None of your business.”
She stood directly over the brawny lawman sprawled helplessly at her feet. When it came to men, Savanna wondered if this wasn’t the best way to deal with the troublesome gender. For sure and certain, the safest way to deal with this particular man was to leave him shackled. If wild animals or ruthless scallywags attacked him while he was restrained, she’d be responsible for his demise. The last thing she wanted was a Deputy U.S. Marshal’s death on her conscience. It would also make her look guiltier than she did now.
Savanna needed to make a decision and she needed to make it fast so no one else would be hurt. Vigilantes and search parties were breathing down her neck. Considering the astronomical bounty, mercenaries would undoubtedly try to wrest information from innocent victims. Savanna couldn’t live with herself if her friends suffered because of the calamity that had befallen her.
And she had Roark Draper to thank for this, she thought bitterly. Damn him and his disgusting hide. Maybe it was unkind to speak ill of the dead, but Oliver Draper’s spoiled, abusive, disrespectful son had received exactly what he’d deserved.
Unfortunately, Savanna hadn’t had the pleasure of meting out his well-earned punishment.
Instead she’d been blamed for it.
She’d dearly love to know who had falsely accused her of the crime that had brought Oliver Draper’s wrath down on her. Was it Oliver himself? Or had one of his henchmen worked independently behind the scenes? Or perhaps one of the opposing factions who disagreed with her father’s policies had decided to use her to make him look bad so he’d be replaced. She didn’t know exactly what was going on and it was difficult to find out while spending her time avoiding capture.
She turned her attention back to Fletch who was giving her the evil eye and straining against the leather shackles. Clearly, he wasn’t thinking kind thoughts about her. That made them even. He was definitely a complication she didn’t need.
“I think we should strike a bargain,” she said after a pensive moment of weighing her options.
“I don’t make deals with the devil or his sister,” he returned flatly. “Just untie me and let’s ride to Tishomingo so you can turn yourself in. You can tell your side of the story to a judge.”
“No. If we can’t strike a deal then we’re going nowhere together.” She spun on her heels and strode into the underbrush. “The bears, lobos and mountain cats will keep you company…or have you for supper,” she taunted. “But, being the consummate survivalist you are, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“If anything happens to me, lady, it will only make your situation that much worse,” he warned her.
“I’ve already considered that.”
“Like it or not, I’m the only friend you’ve got right now.”
“Then I am indeed in dire straits,” she called back to him while she donned the squaw dress and leggings Morningstar had brought to her.
A few minutes later Savanna returned to Fletch’s side. Since he refused to bargain with her or to give up his pursuit, she wasn’t offering information about the man he was tracking. No deals, he’d said unequivocally. Therefore, she had no choice but to clear out and avoid the small Chickasaw villages nestled in the mountains. There were isolated and rugged regions where she could hide before she doubled back to privately investigate Roark’s murder. She’d wait until the initial furor died down and the search parties gave up and went home.
She retrieved a dagger to slice the leather strip that anchored his left leg. She watched him tense, as if expecting her to bury the knife in his chest. Fear didn’t register in his ruggedly handsome features, only angry defiance.
“A pleasure meeting you, Fletch.”
“Wish I could say the same, you little termagant,” he muttered in a resentful tone.
“You’ll free yourself eventually,” she assured him. “There’s a small cave up this trail. I’ll leave your weapons inside it. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you defenseless against unfriendly beasts. The two-legged and four-legged kind. Despite what you think, I don’t make a habit of leaving a trail of dead bodies in my wake.”
“You’ll regret this!” Fletch vowed. “When I catch you—and I will catch you—I won’t be as pleasant as I am now.”
“This is pleasant?” She scoffed at the snarl in his deep voice. “I’m sorry, Fletch, but I don’t find you as charming and irresistible as you seem to think you are.”
“Damn it, woman!” He growled as she turned to retrieve his horse, thereby making it even more difficult for the mob of vigilantes and posses to accurately identify her. “If you take my horse, I’ll hang you myself!”
Fletch whistled and the Appaloosa tossed its head when Savanna tried to reach for the reins. It took a moment to control the well-trained horse, but she managed to drape her bags of supplies and disguises over the pommel then swing into the saddle. He whistled again and the horse sidestepped, but she offered it a lump of sugar as distraction. She smiled when Fletch cursed because his horse turned traitor and became putty beneath the gentle stroke of her hand.
Savanna reined Appy beside Fletch who swore ripely and strained against the remaining restraints. She tossed his Bowie knife just beyond the normal extension of his leg—the one she had cut free a few moments earlier.
“It shouldn’t take you long to get free, but I’ll be gone by then. Do yourself a favor and give up the hunt.”
“Never.” He glowered at her then bared his teeth. “I’m going to make you damn sorry when I get my hands on you.”
She chuckled, undaunted by his threat. “Then I’ll take extra precautions to ensure you never get your hands on me.”
She rode away, listening to him call her every uncomplimentary name in the book, plus a few in the Apache dialect that she was glad she couldn’t translate.
Fletch almost never lost his temper; it was counterproductive and tangled up rational thought processes. But he was well and truly furious! There was just so much humiliation a man could stand—especially when doled out by a mischievous woman—before he erupted like a geyser.
Scowling and cursing, he contorted his body every which way until