Lone Wolf's Woman. Carol Finch
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“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
MILLS & BOON
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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.
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