Bounty Hunter's Bride. Carol Finch

feast their eyes on the newest arrival. Apparently the news of Sarah Rawlins’s heart-stopping good looks had spread through Fort Smith like wildfire. Hell, it’d be a full-time job watching over her. Cale was definitely going to dress her in oversize buckskins and a hat to disguise her gender during their trek through Indian Territory.

      When they parted company, Skeet trailed at her heels. Cale watched a dozen male gazes follow the hypnotic sway of her hips. Possessiveness slammed him broadside again, but he told himself to get past it. This wouldn’t be a true marriage, after all. It wasn’t a marriage of convenience, either, because there would be nothing remotely convenient about having Sarah underfoot. She’d be an invitation for trouble and the worst personal temptation imaginable if Cale didn’t make her look like a boy—from a distance. Up close, there was no question that she was all woman.

      Adding suitable clothing for Sarah to his own list of purchases, Cale strode off to the blacksmith’s shop to modify a wagon with a false bottom to conceal his shipment of weapons. No way was he going to advertise the fact that he was hauling enough guns and ammunition to equip a small army. He wanted to project the appearance of two travelers laden down with household supplies. That in itself was temptation enough for the swarm of thieves that lurked in Indian Territory.

      Cale sighed in frustration as he strode into the livery stable. He had the unmistakable feeling that, despite all the experience he had under his belt, wedding Sarah and toting her across rough country was going to be the most difficult task he’d ever undertaken. And even though she kept insisting that he was perfect for her, Cale didn’t believe it. He’d never believe it, because he knew who and what he was—and so did everyone else around these parts.

      He suspected she’d lose most of her cheery idealism after their rugged trek to Texas. Miz Magnolia didn’t know it yet, but she was on a collision course with reality. A damn shame, that, he mused. He wished the world was as rosy, noble and embracing as she wanted to think it was.

      Hanna scurried around the general store like an enthusiastic child on a limitless shopping spree. Already she’d grabbed two sensible gowns off the rack, gathered art supplies, knitting needles, yarn, two bolts of fabric, parchment and charcoal pencils—in order to pursue her quest for her hidden talents. When she discovered her potential—whatever it might be—she was going to be prepared.

      “Anything else, miss?” the shopkeeper questioned as he eyed her copious purchases curiously.

      Hanna was certain the proprietor considered her frivolous and eccentric, but for the first time in living memory she didn’t have to explain herself to her father or anyone else. “No, this will be all,” she said most politely.

      Hanna handed over the cash after the frizzy-haired man totaled her expenses. She scooped up the armload of packages and spun toward the door. Skeet waited just outside, and she swore the wolflike creature scowled in displeasure at her for separating him from his beloved master.

      Honestly, there was no need for Cale’s precaution, she mused as she strode down the uneven boardwalk, leaving Skeet to sniff at whatever had caught his attention. No one was going to molest her right here in broad day—

      Her thoughts scattered like buckshot when an unseen fist clamped around her elbow and forcefully jerked her into the alley. Before Hanna could let out a shriek, a grimy hand curled around her nose and mouth, cutting off her air supply. Terror pulsed through her veins when she glanced sideways and recognized the scruffy ruffian who had approached her on the docks. Hanna kicked and squirmed when the man wrapped an arm across her chest and dragged her deeper into the shadows.

      Where was that blasted dog when she needed him? Moments earlier he’d only been a few steps behind her. Well, Hanna decided, it was time to prove she could fend for herself. She dropped her packages and bit a chunk out of the man’s finger. Simultaneously, she kicked her heel against his shin. Her abductor howled and cursed foully, but he refused to remove his hand from her mouth, so she bit down even harder on his finger.

      “Argh!” Her captor yelped as he shoved her roughly against the side of the building. Trash barrels tumbled, and Hanna hit the dirt with a dull thump as he heaved her away from him.

      Her breath gushed out in a whoosh as her head and spine slammed against the clapboard walls. She tried to scream before he pounced at her, but he’d knocked the breath clean out of her. No sound escaped her lips except a feeble whimper. And then he was upon her, backhanding her before he jerked her to her unsteady feet.

      Finally Hanna managed to gather her wits and expel a bloodcurdling scream with Skeet’s name attached to it. The inhuman snarl from behind her gave her hope, but the burly brute had ripped the bodice of her gown and left it gaping before the wolf dog lit into him with teeth bared.

      Suddenly it was her captor who was squealing like a stuck pig, fending off a vicious attack. Hanna, clutching her torn gown, braced herself against the wall and screamed for all she was worth. In fiendish horror she watched the dog—which she suddenly loved dearly—make short shrift of her abusive attacker.

      As Hanna pressed a shaky hand to her stinging cheeks, she swore she’d never again be so naive and trusting when Cale warned her of potential danger. She’d probably gotten exactly what she deserved for not paying attention, but she was ever so glad Cale had insisted on sending along Skeet.

      Cale jerked to attention when he heard a piercing shriek in the distance. He dropped the piece of lumber and dashed from the livery. Sarah was in serious trouble. The second shriek put him in a dead run, and he accidentally knocked bodies out of his way as he tore off down the street.

      It had been years since Cale had dealt with the sensations of panic and fear. He’d mastered those emotions, but fear for someone other than himself was totally unfamiliar. He didn’t like the feeling that had his pulse hammering like hailstones, his gut twisting into a tight knot.

      When he heard a vicious growl and a wail of pain, he elbowed through the crowd of onlookers and dashed through the trash-strewn alley. His legs suddenly refused to move when his gaze landed on Sarah, whose flawless face now boasted a red welt and whose delicate gown had been ripped from neck to waist.

      Cale was still standing there, immobilized, when Sarah spotted him. She dashed toward him like a homing pigeon going to roost. She cuddled against his chest, and his arms reflexively closed around her. He felt her quaking fear vibrating through every fiber of his being.

      “Call off Skeet,” she croaked.

      “Not in this life,” Cale growled as he watched Skeet pin his victim to the dirt, his powerful jaws resting threateningly against the man’s jugular. Any heathen who laid his filthy hands on Sarah deserved to be chewed to bitesize pieces.

      “Skeet, stop!” Hanna demanded as she huddled against Cale.

      Amazingly, the dog unclamped his jaws and stood over the man, with his sharp teeth mere inches from his throat. Bemused, Cale arched a brow. It was the first time Skeet had obeyed a command from anyone but him. Must’ve had something to do with the fact that Sarah had tucked the uneaten portion of her supper steak in her purse and left it for Skeet the previous night, Cale decided.

      “Somebody get the town marshal,” he ordered. “Now!”

      Bodies scattered while Skeet stood guard, refusing to let the miscreant gain his feet and run for his life.

      “Damn it, woman, didn’t I tell you to pay attention?” Cale snapped angrily.

      Sarah nodded her tousled head, but refused to look up at him. He didn’t blame her. He was feeling positively murderous and probably looked it.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

      “Obviously not,” he interrupted sharply. This was a good time to teach her a valuable lesson that she damn well better not forget. “You don’t trust anyone if you want to survive. You presume nothing. You remain on constant alert. Have I made myself clear?”

      She jerked back slightly and glared up at him. When he saw the red welt on her cheek at close range and noticed the extent of the damage to the gown she clutched modestly