The Ranger. Carol FinchЧитать онлайн книгу.
for Apache warriors that sought vision quests and communication with their guiding spirits.
Hawk had been through several initiation rituals at this site. He remembered the personal pride and sense of dedication he had experienced in those early years as a warrior.
But that had changed drastically, tragically, with the arrival of the army.
Deliberately, Hawk shook off the memories that transformed from good to bad. He grabbed his pistols from one of the saddlebags and focused on the dark entrance to the cavern. “Wait here. I’ll make sure the cave isn’t occupied by unfriendly varmints.”
The moment he ducked inside the overhang, he heard a faint rustling noise that put his well-honed senses on full alert. He hunkered down so he wouldn’t provide a large target then he inched toward the north wall where he had previously stockpiled torches, matches, campfire logs and eating utensils for emergency visits. Like this one.
Hawk groped for the box of matches, kept his trusty pistol handy, and then lit the torch. On full alert, he pointed his weapon toward the spot where he’d heard an unrecognizable noise. He tensed when he noticed the sprawled form lying beside the opposite wall.
A six-shooter was aimed right between his eyes.
“Damn, Hawk, am I ever glad to see you,” came the low, panting voice. “I can’t believe my luck.”
Hawk was on his feet in a single bound, rushing toward his injured brother. “Fletch, what the hell are you doing in Texas?” He squatted down on his haunches then gestured toward the bloody wound on Fletcher’s thigh. “Did you bring this with you from Colorado or pick it up when you got here?”
Fletcher grimaced as he propped himself against the wall. “I zigzagged the wrong way when I accidentally stumbled onto a gang of bandits, while I was tracking a fugitive into Texas,” he rasped in obvious pain. “That was two days ago.”
Hawk frowned worriedly as he examined the wound that was in need of a thorough cleansing and fresh bandages. Judging by Fletch’s hollowed eyes and chalky pallor he was damn lucky to be alive.
“Hang on for a few more minutes,” he murmured as he gave his brother a comforting pat on the shoulder. “We have a guest outside. An injured one. The woman’s name is Shiloh.”
“A woman?” Fletch choked out, eyes popping. “Your woman? You have a woman? When did this happen?”
“She isn’t my woman and she is never going to be,” Hawk insisted quickly. The prospect of romantic involvement between him and Shiloh went without saying. So why had he felt the need to deny it? he wondered.
“I only met her this morning,” he elaborated. “I should warn you that some French dandy left her nursing a broken heart recently and she is intolerant and wary of all men.”
Fletch sighed heavily. “Difficult to be on my best behavior for her benefit when my leg hurts like a son of a bitch. But I’ll try not to offend her too much.”
While Fletch made an effort to rearrange the tangle of black hair that drooped in his face, Hawk spun toward the exit. He needed to get Shiloh settled in for the night and take a closer look at Fletch’s wound. If infection set in on either of his patients, it could be a long few days.
Hawk halted outside the cave to expel a long-suffering sigh. Shiloh, obviously impatient, had dismounted and balanced on her good leg. She had unfastened all the saddlebags and had them draped over her good shoulder.
“That took long enough,” she said crankily. “Did you have to wrestle a bear for ownership of the cave? I don’t think I could be any wetter than I am and my teeth are chattering to beat the band.”
“And you’re in a good mood, too, I see.” Hawk teased as he scooped her into his arms and then reversed direction.
“Sorry. The cold and dampness is settling in every sore muscle and is burning every scraped inch of skin,” she admitted. “A decent night’s sleep should do wonders for my disposition.”
Hawk carried her inside then watched his brother’s stubbled jaw drop to his chest when he got his first look at Shiloh. She gaped in astonishment when she saw Fletch propped against the rock wall.
“Shiloh, this is my brother, Fletcher Hawk.” He set her carefully on her feet. “As you might have guessed, this is where the Hawks come to roost when they’re in trouble.”
Shiloh nodded a silent greeting to the brawny man who looked to be suffering from his injury. He was about as pale as a bronze-skinned man could get and the stubble on his jaws was as thick as Hawk’s. Although the family resemblance was obvious, Fletch’s eyes were blue. His shoulders were as broad as Hawk’s and his legs as long and muscular. He also wore a dark shirt and breeches like his brother.
“What happened to you?” she asked as she limped forward.
“I ran into a nest of outlaws.” Fletch absently rubbed his injured leg. “I took two of them down and kept them there. I winged another one, but the two survivors got away. Not before plugging me in the leg.” He frowned in annoyance as he stared at his wound. “I must be losing my touch, Hawk. Four to one odds were never a problem before.”
“You’re getting older,” Hawk taunted playfully as he dumped the saddlebags in the corner. “You have to take that into account.”
“Old? Hell…er…heck. Pardon, ma’am,” he said as he darted Shiloh a quick glance then stared at his brother. “I’m two years younger than you.”
“Yes, but you were born old,” Hawk teased.
Fletcher’s ashen face puckered in a mock scowl. “Don’t know why I’m so glad to see you. You always were a nuisance.”
“Don’t know why I’m glad to see you, either, pest.”
Shiloh smiled at the teasing exchange followed by affectionate smiles. It granted her insight into the man that had held himself at an emotional distance most of the day. Rough and tough though Hawk was, he was still capable of affection—for his brother, at least.
The interaction reminded her of the camaraderie that existed between her and her big brothers. They had delighted in tormenting her, too… Until their parents died and her brothers convinced themselves they were responsible for protecting her. It was then that they focused on teaching her dignified manners and frowned on her hoydenish ways.
Then they sent her off to New Orleans with instructions to snag herself a sophisticated husband among the Southern gentry. If they hadn’t had her best interest at heart, she’d have clubbed them over the head for trying to make her a proper lady. It would never happen. She’d discovered women in proper society were denied the freedom she thrived on.
“I’ll bring in the rest of our belongings,” Hawk volunteered. “Shiloh, will you build a fire?”
She shivered from the chill. “With pleasure.”
Hawk grabbed the matchbox and an armload of logs then dropped them near the entrance. When he disappeared from sight, Shiloh stacked the logs as her brothers had taught her.
“That’s not the Apache way,” Fletch commented. “Palefaces don’t know beans about smokeless fires that don’t attract unwanted attention. Spread out the logs a bit, Shiloh, and arrange them in a circular fashion.”
“And naturally the Apache way is the right way,” she countered, tossing him an impish grin.
He returned her smile. “It is, if you don’t want the cavern to fill up with smoke and force us out into the rain.”
Shiloh took his suggestion and rearranged the logs. To her amazement the fire burned clean, giving off little smoke.
“Where are you from, Shiloh?” Fletch asked as he massaged his injured leg.
“She won’t say,” Hawk answered for her as he entered, laden down like a pack mule. “She’s afraid I’ll ferret out her last