Texas Bride by Carol Finch

then raised his head to see the shadowy images of Maddie and the horses moving in and out of the bushes on the north side of the river. He did not, however, spot the unidentified man who had left his horse tethered to a tree.
    Jonah frowned pensively, aware that he wasn’t dealing with an inexperienced tracker. Whoever was following them was damn good at concealing himself. Which was all the more reason to dispose of the elusive shadow that had been trailing them for more than ten hours.
    Relying upon the stealth and cunning he’d learned from the Comanche, Jonah crept slowly through the trees, pausing at irregular intervals to listen for sounds that might give his adversary away.
    He saw and heard nothing.
    Damn, he’s good, Jonah mused as he quietly shifted position to scan the area from a different angle. His Comanche training had taught him to outwait his nemesis, but minutes passed before he heard a muffled noise near the riverbank. Jonah fished a pebble from his pocket and tossed it in the direction the sound had come from. He expected to hear a shot ring out, pinpointing the man’s position.
    Nothing. Damn. If he and his adversary were destined to play cat-and-mouse for an hour, Maddie might find herself lost or in trouble. Jonah couldn’t guarantee that there weren’t at least two men on their trail. One might well be keeping surveillance on Maddie while the other hung back.
    The instant Jonah felt himself growing impatient he inhaled a steadying breath and focused on outlasting the clever rascal who had staked out his horse for bait. Jonah grabbed another pebble, tossing it sideways as he crept off in the opposite direction. Again he heard a muffled sound, but no one rose from the bush to take a wild shot.
    After a quarter of an hour of playing hide and seek, Jonah sprawled in the grass and inched soundlessly toward the horse. He swore he heard the soft rustling of underbrush, but when he raised his head he saw nothing but a roan gelding grazing on a clump of grama grass.
    As he’d been taught as a young warrior, Jonah eased onto his back, clamped the dagger between his teeth and speared his arms and legs outward so that most of his body was covered by the blades of grass, making detection difficult.
    He waited.
    Then he waited some more.
    Eventually he decided to launch a stone at the horse’s rump. When the horse bolted sideways, Jonah lifted his head and finally caught a glimpse of movement off to the right. Now he was finally making progress. His adversary had exposed his position in the underbrush.
    This time Jonah tossed a pebble toward the far sideof the bush where the man had crouched, then he sprang up to launch himself directly as his adversary. Arm cocked, dagger clutched in his fist, Jonah landed directly on top of the man, who had a dagger clutched in his fist.
    “Damn it to hell!” Jonah hissed as he stared down into the familiar face. “If those sons-a-bitches hired you to track us you’re a dead man!”
    “What the hell are you doing on this side of the river?” Kiowa Boone questioned sourly. “I thought someone was after me! You must’ve put a decoy on your horse. Where’d you learn that deceptive trick?”
    “From a white man, believe it or not,” Jonah growled while he and Boone held each other in stalemate—two nasty-looking daggers aimed at each other’s throats.
    A wry smile quirked Boone’s lips as he made the first move to withdraw his knife, then shoved it into the leather sheath strapped on his leg. “Those two sons-a-bitches did contact me and wanted me to help them track you,” he reported, as Jonah eased down to sit cross-legged beside him. “But now there are four sons-a-bitches on your trail and they offered to split the money you’re carrying five ways.”
    Jonah stared curiously at Boone. “Who are the other men?”
    Boone rolled into a sitting position and brushed the leaves off his shirt. “Henry Selmon, for one,” he replied.
    Jonah snorted. “The