Carol Finch by Fletcher's Woman Page A

them so quickly that it made her head spin.
    “Not so fast, Paleface,” he shouted over the sound of the raging storm. “I go where you go. I’ll be damned if I chase you down again!”
    “How dare you!” she snarled in offended outrage.
    Every tantalizing sensation and tender emotion she’d felt for him died an instant death. All she wanted was to escape him so he couldn’t embarrass and humiliate her again. He’d kissed her breathless and made her wish for more. But he didn’t care about her, she reminded herself. He’d toss her into jail, collect the reward and never give her a second thought.
    “Damn it, woman!” Fletch yelped when she lashed out with her foot and thumped him in the chest with enough force to rob him of breath.
    She regained her feet but she couldn’t kick him where it would hurt the worst because he grabbed the band of her breeches and shoved her facedown again. The air burst from her lungs in a whoosh when he sprawled on top of her. She panted for breath, squirmed for freedom and wished him to perdition. He shifted sideways then shoved her to her back.
    While he held her down, their fiery gazes clashed. They were oblivious to the rain and buffeting wind. When hail thudded around them again, Fletch snaked his arm around her waist and jerked her up beside him. He made a mad dash toward a thick-trunked tree, using the canopy of leaves and branches to provide what little protection there was to be had.
     
    Thank goodness, he’d had the presence of mind to snatch up a strand of rope to anchor Savanna’s arms around the huge trunk. Naturally, she cursed him up one side and down the other and fought him continuously as he secured her wrists.
    Then she got really creative and switched back and forth between English and Chickasaw to voice her displeasure. When she let loose with singsong chants in Chickasaw he suspected she’d placed a curse on him, just as an Apache shaman summoned evil spirits to deform and debilitate an enemy of the clan.
    Fletch glanced down his torso, wondering how soon he’d break out with the pox, or burn alive with fever before being struck deaf, dumb and blind. Surprisingly, he didn’t turn into a festering boil.
    “Must be the pouring rain and howling wind that prevented your vile curses from taking effect,” he said, grinningwryly. “Can’t call down evil spirits while they’re unleashing thunderstorms. I’m damn glad of that.” He lurched around. “You stay here while I gather our belongings and weapons.”
    “You’re a horrible man and I’ll despise you until the day I die! Or until you die! Whichever comes first,” she yelled.
    “Oh, good. You switched back to English,” he teased as he scooped up an armload of supplies then tucked them under the damp quilt. “And you’re welcome for curing your nausea and headache.”
    “Enduring the nausea and headache was a walk in the park compared to dealing with your treachery. You conniving scoundrel!”
    He tossed the supplies at her feet then turned around to gather up some more. “You practically begged me to kiss you so don’t go blaming what happened entirely on me. ”
    “I was drugged!” she railed, outraged. She strained against the rope, indicating that she’d definitely go for his throat if she got loose.
    “You wanted me to think you weren’t aware of what was going on. But I think you were trying to seduce me so I’d go easy on you instead of locking you in jail,” he countered.
    She gaped at him as if he had grapevines sprouting from his ears. Then her lips curled and her ebony eyes flashed like the lightning leaping from cloud to cloud. “I did no such thing! Take that back!”
    They could stand here all night debating over who was at fault, but Fletch wasn’t going to accept full blame. If he did, she’d think he found her irresistible and that he was at the mercy of his desire for her. He was, but he’d shoot himself in the foot—twice—before he admitted that to her.
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