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Lone Wolf's Woman
Carol Finch
A WARRIOR SPIRIT…A GENTLE HEARTVince Lone Wolf is the justice system's last resort. And, in spite of his dangerous reputation, Julia Preston will give her soul if she can borrow him for just one night. Because her brother's life–and the family ranch–depend on Lone Wolf's reputed skills.Julia's fearlessness and determination make it impossible for Lone Wolf to resist her desperate cry for help. And though he's always prided himself on his independence, she reminds him of everything that is missing in his life.But can a bounty hunter ever lay claim to the love of a lady?
“You aren’t going anywhere until you come home with me,” Julia burst out frantically.
“I watched my brother get bushwhacked this evening,” she continued. “I don’t even know if he’s alive. If you’ll agree to come with me, I will make it worth your while.”
Lone Wolf peered into her mesmerizing eyes and felt himself caving in.
There was no question that he had other places to go. But the damnedest thing was that Julia had impressed the hell out of him. Plus no one had ever stood up for him before. Ever. It was that one unexpected deed of courage that refused to let him send her off alone in the darkness.
“Okay, I’ll saddle my horse and make sure you get home safely,” Lone Wolf finally said.
Damn good thing he wasn’t planning to spend more than a couple of hours with her. Even if she was a one-of-a-kind female he had no intention whatsoever of getting emotionally attached.
Not to her or anyone else.
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
Praise for previous titles
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
Texas Bride
“Finch delivers another well-paced western with likable, realistic characters, a well-crafted backdrop and just enough history and sensual tension to satisfy western and romance readers.”
—Romantic Times
Lone Wolf’s Woman
Carol Finch
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children, Christie, Jill, Kurt, Jeff, Jon and Shawnna. And to our grandchildren, Brooklynn, Kennedy, Blake and Livia.
Hugs and kisses!
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 Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter One
Dodge City, Kansas
April 1880s
V ince Lone Wolf swore a blue streak when he heard the clatter of hooves on the wooden bridge a quarter of a mile away. “Damn fool brat,” he muttered as he skulked away from his campfire to conceal himself in the darkness and monitor the rider’s rapid approach.
He had a pretty good idea who the intruder was—because of the confrontation he’d had an hour earlier. He had stopped at a saloon on the south side of the railroad tracks in Dodge City to purchase a bottle of whiskey to tide him over during his jaunt to Colorado. Big mistake, he mused as he crouched in the underbrush beside the river to watch the rider thundering toward his camp. A peach-fuzz-faced kid at the bar had tried to square off against him because of his reputation as a gunfighter and bounty hunter.
Cowboys and saloon girls had scattered like buckshot when the kid challenged him to see who was the fastest on the draw. The wannabe gunslinger kept tossing insults, trying to bait him.
Lone Wolf had perfected lightning-quick reflexes and honed his instincts through practice and experience. They were his strong suits. Tact and diplomacy were way down the list. Instead of trying to talk the mouthy brat out of his insistence on a quick-draw contest that might get innocent bystanders shot, Lone Wolf had knocked the kid’s feet out from under him and laid him out flat on his back in the middle of the saloon.
Then Lone Wolf had loomed over the wide-eyed pest like the flapping angel of doom. “You wanna die before you reach twenty, kid? That’s your business,” he had snarled ominously for effect. “Just don’t waste my time while you’re trying to get yourself killed. I’ve got bigger fish to fry than some scrawny tadpole that’s still wet behind the gills.”
Then he had confiscated the kid’s sidearms, grabbed the bottle of whiskey and stalked from the saloon.
No doubt, the kid’s bruised pride and temper had sent him rushing headlong into camp tonight. He had undoubtedly come to retrieve his confiscated hardware and demand another showdown.
“Just what are you trying to prove, kid?” he muttered as he watched the rider race closer to camp. “That you’re utterly fearless or just plain stupid?”
Lone Wolf sighed heavily. His legendary reputation, which had somehow escalated from fact to fiction, was a standing invitation to every would-be shootist who wanted to advertise his skills with a six-shooter. Lone Wolf found it tiresome that half the folks he knew wanted to gun him down to save their worthless hides from a jail sentence, or to establish names for themselves as gunmen.
The other half treated him like a social outcast. They went out of their way to avoid contact with him because he was a half-breed, and a bounty hunter to boot. But he got paid handsomely to rid the world of ruthless murderers and thieves that so-called decent folks were afraid or unwilling to risk their charmed lives to remove from society.
Call him a hopeless cynic, but he swore the criminals he tracked down weren’t much better than the snooty, two-faced folks he had encountered in proper society. The socialites were just more discreet about getting what they wanted. They were, however, more than obvious about their distaste for his mixed breeding and disreputable profession.
Which was why he camped outside of town instead of renting a room at one of the local hotels. He preferred to avoid encounters with the snooty folks in Dodge City as much as possible.
The truth was that Lone Wolf had the same use and respect for those uppity hypocrites as they had for him. Which was none whatsoever.
His thoughts trailed off as the rider plowed through the darkness, headed straight for the campfire. Lone Wolf hunkered down, poised to spring into action when the kid came within striking distance. He damn well intended to scare the bejesus out of him once and for all.
Lone Wolf’s abrupt whistle startled the winded horse. When the mount sidestepped, he launched himself at the kid like a pouncing panther. Before the kid realized what was happening Lone Wolf jerked him roughly from the saddle. He took amused satisfaction in hearing the surprised squawk that erupted from the kid’s lips when he cartwheeled across the ground.
Before the kid could catch his breath, Lone Wolf plunked down on top of his sprawled body. He laid a knife to the kid’s throat and pressed his hand to his heaving chest to hold him securely in place.
“What the hell…?” Lone Wolf snatched back his right hand when he unexpectedly made contact with the feminine breasts that were concealed beneath the oversize jacket.
He was still gaping at his captive in disbelief when the owner of those full breasts walloped him upside the head with both hands at once.
“Get off me!” she shrieked in outrage.
Lone Wolf sank back on his haunches—still sitting astride the woman who had left both his jaws stinging.
“Get off me now!” she yelled while her arms swept upward again to slap him silly.
He caught her wrists in a vise grip. “I’ll get off when you calm down,” he snapped gruffly.
Teeth clenched, she reared up her head. “I’ll calm down after you get off me!”
Lone Wolf was sorry to say that he became momentarily distracted when her oversize hat tumbled sideways and a riot of frothy red-gold curls cascaded around her shoulders. The shiny tendrils caught flame in the campfire light and her livid green eyes fixated murderously on him.
Breathtaking did not accurately describe the woman’s facial features. Her spiky lashes, pert nose, full lips and elegant cheekbones were an intriguing study of light and shadows. Lone Wolf simply gaped at her for what seemed like several minutes, wondering how he could have mistaken this lovely female for the drunken brat that had invited a gunfight an hour earlier. But now that he could see her for who and what she was, it was difficult not to respond to the sight and feel of her lush body so close to his.
It took considerable willpower to rein in his wandering thoughts and pay attention to business. He told himself that while this female was disguised in a man’s hat, jacket and breeches, he should have been able to tell the difference, even in the darkness. But he supposed that since she rode as expertly as a man she had thrown him off track, especially since he had been expecting someone else to show up.
Lone Wolf shifted sideways to sit down cross-legged beside his unexpected guest, then he squinted disapprovingly at the fetching female. “Next time you decide to come charging into my camp like a bat out of hell, don’t. In my business, I make it a policy to act first and ask questions later—if I get around to it.” He glared at her. “Now what the devil are you doing out here alone? Any woman with a brain in her head should know better than to do what you just did. I guess we know what that makes you, don’t we?”
“Thank you so much for the insult,” Julia Preston snapped as she levered herself into a sitting position to dust off her jacket. “I never would have thought that your type would turn out to be so preachy.”
She bit her lip, annoyed with herself for sniping at the hard-edged man when she desperately needed his help. But she had been swinging wildly on an emotional pendulum for almost two hours. She was worried sick about her injured brother and she was frantic to return to the ranch to check on him. First, however, she had to persuade this tough-as-nails bounty hunter to come with her.
Snarling at Lone Wolf was not going to gain his cooperation.
Having the wind knocked clean out of her, and having a man’s hands planted on her chest had done nothing for her deteriorating disposition and her temper. It was difficult to be diplomatic and charming when her world had been turned upside down—again—and she felt the overwhelming need to lash out to vent her grief, anger and frustration.
None of her problems were Vince Lone Wolf’s fault. She knew that, but she was in such turmoil that she was about to explode. He, unfortunately, was in the direct line of fire.
“I need your help, and damn it, I will have it!” she all but shouted at him. “I need you to come home with me.”
He cocked his head and stared curiously at her. Julia dragged in a restorative breath and tried to get herself under control. It was impossible.
“I need—” Her voice broke. The memory of her brother being blown out of the saddle, and dropping to the ground like a rock, descended on her like a tormenting nightmare.
Every ounce of inner strength and adrenaline that had sustained her while she raced off to summon the doctor, and then locate Lone Wolf—as Adam had demanded in a pained whisper—gushed out like a deflated balloon. Her emotions had been running so high and swift that she burst into humiliating tears. She dropped her head in her hands and let the pent-up frustration bleed out of her.
“I—I’m s-sorry,” she blubbered helplessly.
She heard rather than saw the bounty hunter rise to his feet and walk away. Hard-hearted bastard, she thought. He probably didn’t care if she cried herself dry, as long as she didn’t do it in front of him.
Julia was taken by complete surprise when she felt Lone Wolf’s lean fingers curl around her hands to pry them away from her face. He surprised her a second time when he pressed a tin cup to her lips.
“Here. Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”
Maybe he had a heart, after all, she allowed as she clamped her shaking hands around the cup, then took a gulp.
She realized too late that she had ingested a huge swallow of whiskey, not water. Fire burned her throat and she gasped to draw breath. While she sputtered and wheezed he whacked her between the shoulder blades until she could inhale air.
“Take another sip,” he insisted.
Julia frowned dubiously at the contents of the cup, then took a cautious drink. She was amazed to discover the liquor, once it finished burning the lining of her throat, had a calming effect. She took another swallow, then another.
When she glanced up to thank Lone Wolf for his unexpected kindness, the words stuck to the roof of her mouth. She found herself staring into his bronzed face, noting the braid of midnight hair—adorned with blue beads—that dangled beside his high cheekbones. A half-moon scar left a noticeable indentation on the curve of his stubbled jaw. Hazel eyes, encircled with flecks of gold, stared intently at her.
Her appraising gaze dropped to his sensuous lips, then drifted to the beaded necklace that was decorated with some sort of Indian talisman. She noticed that his shoulders seemed as broad as a buffalo’s and his black shirt stretched tightly across his muscled chest.
He crouched down in front of her, his buckskin breeches clinging to his powerful thighs, his scuffed black boots indicating hard use. Julia found herself thinking this legendary shootist dressed to portray exactly what he was—the product of two opposing civilizations. His garments were a combination of Indian and white cultures and he didn’t seem to favor one style over the other.
Whatever he found the most comfortable and practical, she suspected.
Although Julia had heard tales of Lone Wolf’s impressive feats against the worst criminals in western society, she had never seen him until now. Her first impression was that he was a tough, competent warrior, and an intimidating force to be reckoned with.
He probably saw her as a weepy lunatic of a female. At the moment his opinion wasn’t too far off the mark.
“You about done bawling so we can talk?” he asked.
Another wave of mortification crested over her. It was beyond embarrassing to fall apart in the presence of a man known for his fearlessness and impressive survivor skills. There were those in polite society who would condemn this man because of his mixed heritage, his dangerous reputation and his socially unaccepted profession. But Julia Preston would have given her soul if she could borrow his unflinching nerve and practiced skills for just one night.
