Bounty Hunter's Bride

by Carol Finch

  Hurriedly, Hanna strode toward the canopy of blackjack trees and fought her way through the dense underbrush. After seeing to her needs, she sidestepped down the steep embankment to wash her hands and face in the creek. She heard the quiet snarl before she located its source. A mangy black bear and her cubs lurked on the opposite side of the narrow creek.

  Hanna shrieked in alarm when the mother bear bounded through the water, headed straight toward her. Hanna was up the embankment, bursting through the underbrush in no time flat. The air left her lungs in a pained whoosh when she ran headlong into Cale, who was racing toward the creek to respond to her cry of alarm.

  Hanna bounced off Cale’s broad chest and landed with a thud in the bushes. Before she could catch her breath he yanked her to her feet and shoved her behind him. Pistol cocked and aimed, he stood with his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, prepared to take the brunt of attack in an effort to protect her from harm.

  Another corner of her heart caved in as she marveled at this man’s fearlessness, his unerring capabilities. She wanted to be like him. She wanted to face her fears and conquer them one by one. Instead, she’d squawked like a plucked chicken, turned tail and raced toward Cale for assistance.

  When an attack didn’t come, Cale said, “What the hell was that about?”

  “Mother bear with her cubs,” Hanna explained, then dragged in a steadying breath. “She came after me.”

  Cale pivoted, grabbed her elbow and swiftly zigzagged through the underbrush. “Lesson number one—always expect trouble,” he lectured. “Lesson number two—watering holes are the favorite haunts of man and beast. Screaming only incites alarm, so keep your trap shut. There’s no telling who or what is in the area, so don’t invite more unwanted guests than necessary.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  Cale stopped abruptly and lurched around. His eyes blazed, black and fierce, prompting her to back up a step. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “You won’t try to remember. You will remember. We’re traveling through criminal-infested territory and you just made a tactical mistake that a lot of folks make. The dead ones,” he added emphatically. “There are no allowances for mistakes out here in the wilderness. Always assume the worst. Always anticipate trouble and you’ll never be surprised or disappointed.” He wheeled around and towed her toward the camp.

  Hanna frowned curiously when she took time to survey the heap of supplies and rations in the wagon bed. “I thought you were purchasing weapons and ammunition,” she said as he scooped her up and set her on the wooden seat.

  “I did.” Cale tied his pinto gelding behind the wagon, then bounded up to the seat. “I had the blacksmith build a false bottom in the bed to conceal the arsenal. No sense inviting thieves to swipe our stockpile of weapons.” He snapped the reins and the horses trotted forward. “Now, you were going to tell me why an heiress, who probably had everything most females could possibly want at her fingertips, and a fiancé waiting at the altar, decided to take an assumed name and marry a half-breed. Spit it out, Magnolia, and don’t leave out any details.”

  “We really need to work on your gentlemanly tact,” she said. “‘Spit it out’ suggests ridding oneself of foul-tasting food.”

  He shot her a sideways glance, his thick brows bunched over his onyx eyes. Clearly, he was in no mood for a discussion of manners. “Let’s hear it,” he demanded curtly. “You’ve stalled long enough.”

  Chapter Six

  Hanna drew a deep breath and gathered her thoughts as Cale followed the barely passable trail that wound deeper into the tree-choked mountains. She knew she owed Cale an explanation, but it hurt to admit aloud that she was nothing more to her father than a gambit and a pawn, and that braving the dangers of the wilderness was preferable to the gilded cage where she’d lived for the past few years.

  “The reason I’m heading west is because my father doesn’t love me and he can’t quite forgive the fact that I’m the heir who survived when he lost his son to illness.”

  Cale noted the torment and bitterness in her voice, but he didn’t interrupt to soothe or console her. He wanted the facts, though he couldn’t quite believe Walter Malloy had no affection for this breathtakingly beautiful and sharp-witted woman.

  “My father has dedicated his life to making money. He measures worthiness by profits and accumulated wealth,” Hanna explained. “That’s why only the best known detectives were sent to track me down. You could have named your own price to turn me over to them and you would have walked away with a small fortune.”

  Cale believed it. The agent who’d talked to him through the hotel door had assured him that he’d be set for life if he handed over Hanna.

  “My father can barely abide the sight of me. He strongly disapproves of the fact that I have a mind of my own and that I want to be mistress of my own fate. I refused the offers of several suitors who came with my father’s stamp of approval. He finally lost all patience and ordered me to wed Louis Beauchamp. He never left me alone until I was at the church, preparing for the ceremony.”

  “Beauchamp.” Cale frowned pensively. “The name rings a bell.”

  “As well it should. His family is also involved in shipping and distribution, second only to the high and mighty Malloys,” she muttered resentfully. “It was to be a merger of historical proportions. A monopoly that would grant control of Louisiana ports to our combined families.”

  “So you cut and ran the first chance you got,” Cale said as he guided the horses down a steep embankment to ford a creek.

  “Actually, I climbed out the church window and boarded a steamboat.” She smiled for the first time since she began the tale. “I knew my father would spare no expense in tracking me down. I needed a husband who couldn’t be intimidated or tempted by his money.”

  Cale was flattered to learn that Hanna had selected him for the very reasons most folks avoided him. His less than respectable reputation in society, for one. Secondly, his ferocity and practiced skills in facing off against dangerous odds. She defended him when others scorned him and avoided association with him.

  Although her strong motivation for wanting to marry him had nothing whatsoever to do with love and affection, she did respect and admire him. She wasn’t afraid to say so, either. My, wasn’t that something?

  In turn, Cale had come to admire her determination. He doubted there were many women who would turn their backs on fabulous wealth and a privileged life. Hanna Malloy—correction, Elliot—was to become her own woman, to make her own choices and live with the consequences. Her decision to make her own place in the world was as fierce and unwavering as his need to track down the man who’d taken what was left of his family.

  Perhaps they were a mismatched pair, but they shared driving goals and ambitions. ’Course, Hanna had one hell of a lot to learn if she was going to survive in the wilds. She’d had two near brushes with calamity in two days, and conditions were going to deteriorate rapidly during this journey.

  Cale wasn’t a pessimist but a realist, and he knew trouble waited around every bend of the road. Hanna was his responsibility, because he was dragging her cross-country by wagon when she might’ve been safer on a stagecoach. Although meeting up with robbers—who’d pick her clean like buzzards—was certainly within the realm of possibility in these parts. After all, Indian Territory was a haven for criminals and this particular area was as thick with thieves as it was thick with trees.

  “Oh, my God!” Hanna’s abrupt shout caused Cale to stomp on the brake, nearly catapulting them both over the backs of the horses, which were wading knee deep in the creek.

  Cale snaked out a hand to jerk Hanna back in place, and then he glanced around to determine what she was yapping about. His tension drained away and an affectionate smile pursed his lips when Skeet bounded onto the back of the wagon, not looking the least bit concerned about aiding in Cale’s hurried escape from town. However, the dog looked happy to be reunited with his master.

  “I wa
s worried about you,” Hanna cooed as she reached back to caress the dog’s neck.

  Cale blinked in surprise when Skeet didn’t object to Hanna’s touch. The dog never allowed anyone to pet him but Cale. When had these two formed a bond?

  He watched in amazement as Hanna scooted sideways and patted the empty space that resulted. Skeet slapped his mud-caked paws on the seat, then hopped forward. Hanna gently slid her arm around the dog’s thick shoulders and gave him a hug. Still the animal didn’t growl in objection.

  Cale’s first instinct was to protest the fact that Hanna was turning Skeet into a pet. The last thing he needed was for the beast to go soft on him. On the other hand, he had major difficulty scolding Hanna for demonstrating her affection for his partner, a dog that had held the detective at bay while they made their escape.

  The woman was definitely leaving her mark on Cale and Skeet both. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to enjoy the tender side of life—temporarily, of course. As long as he didn’t get too attached, Cale reminded himself sensibly. For sure, it would be better all around if Hanna toughened up and he and Skeet didn’t soften up too much.

  Emotions were a hazard in Cale’s line of work, and he refused to let himself forget that. He knew there was a bullet out there with his name on it. That was the reality of wading around in this criminal-infested territory. All Cale asked of whatever deities truly ruled the universe was that he would live long enough to see Otis Pryor pay for the deaths he’d committed.

  “Now you know why I crave freedom and independence and want to experience life to its fullest,” Hanna said, breaking into his thoughts. “How is it that you chose this profession? I’m also curious about your upbringing.”

  Well, that was another first. No one had ever cared to ask how he came to be or why he rode for Parker. Cale had never shared his life story with anyone. Not that it was much of a story, but he was a private man who’d never been inclined to open up and let anyone close. Losing his half brother had slammed the door on any emotions that Cale harbored beneath the hardened shell required to perform his duties. He dealt with the worst criminals that society had to offer. He kept to himself, didn’t give anyone the chance to betray him, to double-cross him. He didn’t let anyone behind the barrier that separated him from the rest of the world.

  “Well, spit it out,” she said teasingly.

  The smile she tossed at him, the sight of her sitting on the seat with her arm draped over Skeet’s back, hit him right where he lived. Cale heard himself chuckle. It was a rusty sound, he had to admit.

  “My bad manners must be rubbing off on you, Miz Magnolia.”

  She shrugged, dragging his attention to the lacings that covered her breasts. He could see a teasing hint of cleavage, reminding him that Hanna was every inch a woman, no matter what he dressed her in.

  A woman off-limits and far beyond his social status.

  “I’m half-Cherokee,” he said as he focused on the thick trees that lined the narrow path. “A bastard, in fact.” He didn’t know why he’d added that. Maybe to remind her—and himself—that their backgrounds were poles apart. She didn’t flinch or recoil in disgust, just stared at him with those sparkling violet eyes that tempted him to lose himself in forbidden dreams.

  “You don’t know who your father was?” she asked.

  He nodded jerkily. “He was one of the soldiers who drove our tribe from their homeland and into confinement before they were marched down the Trail of Tears to Indian Territory. He was supposed to be guarding our people. Instead, he attacked a young maiden barely fourteen years old.”

  Cale scowled when Hanna’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. He didn’t want to upset her with this unpleasant tale. He didn’t like remembering it, much less speaking of it. But once he began, he couldn’t seem to stop, as if the anger and frustration that had bubbled beneath the surface like lava had finally boiled out.

  “My people were driven by troops, at the point of bayonets, into stockade camps. Thirteen thousand people were taken on foot on the eight-hundred-mile journey to Indian Territory in the dead of winter. Despite sickness and grief, they were herded from their homeland like animals,” Cale muttered bitterly.

  “Although a third of our tribe died en route, my grandparents included, my mother, Nakwisi, survived the hardships of the journey. She was taken in by the clan of the warrior she was to marry when she came of age,” Cale informed her. “The Cherokee lost so many that even half-breeds were welcome and wanted. But then, most Indian cultures focus more on offspring and their potential contribution to the tribe than whites do, especially with children of mixed heritage. I didn’t really understand what it meant to be an outcast until the whites taught me.”

  Hanna’s heart bled for Cale. In comparison to his mother’s plight, Hanna felt spoiled and peevish for straining against the confines and limitations set by her domineering father.

  “I believe my mother cared for me,” Cale continued as they rode beneath branches that shaded the trail. “But the older I became, the more she withdrew and avoided contact with me. Then my stepfather came to me one day when I was eight and told me that I was to move my belongings to the lodge of a family that had lost their son to illness.”

  “But why?” Hanna asked, tormented that Cale had been foisted off with little regard to the needs of a young, impressionable child.

  Cale glanced at her, his face a mask that revealed no emotion. “Because my mother looked at me and saw the man who’d attacked her. The older I got, the more pronounced the likeness was. By then my half brother, Gray Cloud, was a toddler who needed her affection. He was the rightful son, and I evoked too many painful memories for my mother.”

  Hanna’s heart twisted in her chest. In a way, she and Cale shared similar backgrounds. They’d both grown up knowing they weren’t wanted. But his life had been harsh, while she’d had everything she needed. Except the one thing she wanted most—her father’s love.

  Cale hadn’t grown up knowing what it was like to be loved, either.

  “I was allowed to associate with Gray Cloud,” Cale explained. “We trained together, keeping the old ways of our tribe alive. Although we were under the watchful eyes of the soldiers at the reservation, we learned the ways of warriors. We were chosen to ride with the Cherokee police force, known as the Lighthorsemen.

  “Eventually my brother married and built a home on the land the government allotted to him and to me. It was our long-range plan to work the land together. Since I was of mixed heritage and had gained a reputation with white law officials, I was offered a job as a deputy marshal and bounty hunter to rid the territory of invading whites.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hanna interjected. “I thought you were already working with Cherokee law enforcement.”

  He nodded his dark head. “The Lighthorsemen handle disputes and crimes among the tribe. Judge Parker has jurisdiction over white criminals who prey on Indians and upon each other. I took another name, accepted the job and turned to bounty hunting, because the better pay allowed me to help my brother and his wife establish our farm.”

  Hanna was quick to note the change in his expression, the way his fists clenched on the reins. The memory of losing his family still tormented him, though he tried not to let it show. Truly, it amazed her how quickly she had learned to read his moods and expressions. She’d become exceptionally attentive toward Cale in a short amount of time. That astounded her. But she could almost feel the pain radiating from him as he stared into the distance, on constant alert.

  “We had saved a sizable nest egg for improvements and had acquired a large number of livestock,” Cale told her. “Then a gang of thieves descended into the valley, to rustle our cattle, horses and sheep, and steal money….”

  There was a long pause that tore at Hanna’s heart.

  “I found my brother dead, apparently trying to save his wife from assault.”

  The words dropped like stones, and Hanna couldn’t prevent herself from sliding toward Cale to wr
ap her arms around his neck, forcing Skeet to exchange positions with her. “I’m so very sorry. I know how it feels to lose someone who means the world to you.”

  Cale squirmed uneasily, uncomfortable with Hanna’s compassion, uncomfortable with the fact that he’d told her the grim story he’d never shared with another living soul. He’d never had a confidante before, but he had to admit it was a relief to vent his grief rather than keeping it buried inside.

  His thoughts scattered as he rounded the bend and came upon a small grassy clearing. Cale stamped hard on the brake and reflexively reached for his shotgun. Two men lay sprawled on the ground, facedown, unmoving.

  “Wait,” he murmured when Hanna tried to vault from the wagon to help. She glanced questioningly at him and he gestured toward the supposed victims of attack. “This could be a trap. Never trust what you think you see.”

  “Lesson number three,” she murmured as she waited for him to climb down. “Tell me something, Cale? Is there anything in life that you can see and believe?”

  “Death, maybe,” he murmured, distracted. “But sometimes it sneaks up on your blind side when you aren’t looking. So I guess you can’t trust it, either.”

  He handed Hanna the shotgun, though she wasn’t sure she could use it. With both pistols drawn, Cale led the way. Hanna watched him scan the area, pausing to listen for any sound that might alert him to unseen trouble. She tried to emulate his actions, but figured it would take her years of constant practice before she could equal his expertise.

  “Skeet,” Cale called quietly.

  The dog bounded from the wagon to scout the perimeter, and Hanna realized what Cale meant about the animal’s abilities in the wild. Skeet became eyes in the back of Cale’s head when necessity demanded, an extra set of ears tuned to trouble.