Bounty Hunter is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Edition
Copyright © 1994 by Donna Kauffman
Excerpt from The Devil’s Thief by Samantha Kane copyright © 2012 by Nancy Kattenfeld.
Excerpt from Paradise Cafe by Adrienne Staff copyright © 1988 by Adrienne Staff.
Excerpt from The Perfect Catch by Linda Cajio copyright © 1995 by Linda Cajio.
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.
Bounty Hunter was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1994.
Cover design: Derek Walls
Cover photograph: © ZAM-Photography/MediaBakery
eISBN: 978-0-345-53732-4
www.ReadLoveSwept.com
v3.1
This book is dedicated to my editor, Beth de Guzman, and my agent, Linda Hayes. It’s been a great ride. I don’t ever want to get off!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Editor’s Corner
Excerpt from Samantha Kane’s The Devil’s Thief
Excerpt from Adrienne Staff’s Paradise Cafe
Excerpt from Linda Cajio’s The Perfect Catch
PROLOGUE
“Find my wife, and I’ll make sure you never want for anything in your life.”
Kane Hawthorne studied the bank president seated behind the large mahogany desk: Tailored pin-striped suit, tailored haircut, tailored smile. Everything about Sam Perkins was calculated to elicit trust. Calculated being the operative word. In Kane’s world, trust was a rare commodity that had to be earned.
“My fee plus expenses will be enough. Half now, the rest in a secured account in another bank, paid on delivery.” Kane’s attention remained fixed on the smaller man. Something wasn’t right. Kane’s focused intensity had been known to unnerve most men. He’d used it to his advantage often and never took it for granted. But Perkins’s gaze didn’t waver, nor did he seem to mind being scrutinized. His expression was faintly smug, superior.
“I’m going to need more information,” Kane said quietly.
“Whatever it takes. I just want her found and brought back to me before something happens to her.”
Kane went on full alert. “You said she ran because you cut off her line of credit. You think she’s in danger?”
Perkins smiled. “Elizabeth may be beautiful, but … well, you know how women are with money. She thought that because I run the bank, I’m loaded. I simply wanted to make a point, but Elizabeth is impulsive. She can be very temperamental when she doesn’t get her way. I’m afraid she’ll do something foolish to spite me. I want her back safe and sound before she gets mixed up in something she can’t handle.”
“Sounds as if you’d be better off without her,” Kane observed, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
An odd light flickered briefly in Perkins’s eyes, and it struck Kane that it was the first honest emotion he’d detected in the man.
Passion. It existed in Sam Perkins. But what inspired it? His young wife? Was that why Perkins was so hot to have her back? A bed could get real cold at night in Idaho. Kane felt a distinct chill.
“All the facts, Perkins. Or I walk.”
“Fine. I need her back. Without her, I’m nothing.”
Kane glanced at the blond woman smiling gaily up at him from a gold-plated frame on the desk. His gaze moved to Perkins’s hands. White knuckles showed against the strain of gripping the edge of that same desk.
No, this was a man with a score to settle. He wanted his lovely, money-grubbing wife back so badly, he’d give up anything to get her. Why? What difference did it make?
It was just another job.
He looked Perkins in the eye. “You’ve got yourself a bounty hunter.”
ONE
“Preserved by Ann.” Elizabeth Lawson sat back on her heels and mopped the sweat from her neck. “No,” she muttered to herself, “sounds like a weird embalmer.” She shoved the damp bandanna in the rear pocket of her jeans and reached for another bristly vine. “Ann’s Jams. Nah. Even dumber.” She plucked three plump raspberries. One went into her mouth, and the other two into the basket sitting in front of her knees.
“Eating the profits isn’t good business.”
Elizabeth shrieked and lurched forward, dumping over four hours of back-aching work onto the dusty ground. The strange deep voice had come out of nowhere, making her forget her usual wariness. “Look what you made me do!” she cried, scrambling to her feet. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to fill—”
Her tirade died on the light summer wind as she looked up at her unexpected visitor. She had to look higher than the late-afternoon sun before her gaze connected with his.
“I apologize,” he said, his tone more flat than sincere.
Elizabeth was staring at him, too overcome by his sheer presence to speak. Long hair black as midnight, eyes even darker. His face and forearms were the even color of a man who was likely bronzed all over. He wore a red bandanna tied at the throat, an open-collared blue chambray shirt, battered jeans, and dusty boots that had seen better days. She skimmed back over his rough-hewn frame to his face, unable to tamp down the idea that this man looked more savage in beat-up ranch clothes than any other man would in a breechcloth.
His gaze was fixed on her, its concentrated energy a bit rattling. She couldn’t tell if her close perusal bothered him, or if he’d even noticed.
“I’ll replace the loss.”
His deep, even-timbred voice snapped Elizabeth from her thoughts. Heat from an inner source colored cheeks already reddened by the sun. Where had he come from? Why hadn’t she heard him approach? She hadn’t even heard his truck.
She didn’t respond to his offer. “Who are you?” she demanded, her tone wary. “What do you want?”
“Kane Hawthorne,” he responded immediately, though his expression remained unchanged. “And if you’re Ann Fielding, then what I want is to help you.”
Ann Fielding. She still wasn’t used to that name. Suspicion flooded Elizabeth’s mind. She fought the sudden tightening of her chest and willed her hands to stay relaxed at her side. Trapped. It was a feeling she’d become intimate with over the last three months. She didn’t like it now any more than when she’d fled Boise in fear of her life.
“Help with what?” She hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her voice.
“Dobson down at the general store said you might be needing help with your barn. Said you were thinking of renovating it so you could expand.”
Elizabeth wanted to believe him. Being suspicious of everyone and everything went against her nature, and she was plain sick and tired of it. But trust was a luxury. A life-and-death matter even. Hers. And as much as she would have liked some help, she couldn’t afford it—or take the risk of hiring an outsider.
“I’m sorry if Dobs misled you,” she began, “but I’m not hiring right now.”
“You are Ann Fielding?”
She shaded her eyes and look
ed straight at him. “Yes. But I’m not hiring. Sorry.”
He didn’t say anything, simply bent down and began picking up the berries that hadn’t rolled in the dirt.
Surprised as much by his actions as by the image of those delicate red berries being plucked by thick, work-roughened fingers, Elizabeth didn’t speak right away. After a moment spent watching him, she almost crouched beside him to help, but quickly decided against it. She might never have a height advantage over him again, so she figured she’d make the most of this opportunity.
“You might try the Double Y,” she suggested, struggling to sound casual. “I heard Dobs say that the Yancy brothers are looking for someone to help wrangle.”
“He told me,” he said, still gathering stray berries.
She stared at the dark hair that fell well past his collar as he continued picking up raspberries. Her patience began to fray. “What, you don’t like cows?”
“I’ve got nothing against cows.”
She waited a beat, then said, “Well?”
He stood. The motion was fluid with a grace she wouldn’t have attributed to someone his size. He faced her. “Figured you needed me more than they did.”
Before she could respond, he turned and headed toward the ramshackle barn about a hundred yards away.
She watched his easy gait for all of ten seconds before she realized exactly which part of his “gait” had captured her attention. “Hey, wait a minute,” she called, then hurried after him when he showed no signs of slowing. “Stop!”
He did. But not until he’d reached the barn doors. Or what was left of them. They were both rusted and warped with a space between them barely wide enough for her to squeeze through. He grabbed one side.
“Don’t bother pulling. I’ve worked on that for weeks. It needs to be dismantled, I guess.”
Kane spared her a glance, then bent to the task at hand. One mighty yank and the door squealed back far enough to allow both of them to enter side by side if they chose.
Elizabeth spent a second longer marveling at the abundant strength he carried along with that quiet demeanor. It must be nice to have that sort of power to call upon whenever the need arose, she thought, a bit annoyed. She knew if she let him see her irritation, he would somehow turn it around as a testimony to her need for help. She swallowed another portion of pride and pasted on a smile. “Thanks.”
His lips remained a flat line, but she could have sworn there was a hint of a twinkle in his dark eyes as he nodded and motioned her ahead of him with a low swept arm.
She wandered inside before it occurred to her to ask why he wanted to see inside her barn in the first place.
It was musty and dank. The weathered boards had warped allowing long slivers of light to cut across the hay-strewn dirt floor. She’d only taken a few steps, but it was enough to stir up dust motes, and she paused to wave her hand in front of her face to clear the air.
When she looked up again, she saw that Kane was circling the ancient tractor rusting quietly in the open area between the run-down stalls.
“It’s as bad as it looks,” she commented, as she crossed the room to stand on the other side of the tractor.
He looked up, his gaze meeting hers across the cracked leather seat. “You never know. Looks can be deceiving.”
Elizabeth shrugged, trying not to examine his statement for hidden meanings. “I think my biggest concern with this old heap will be how to move it out of the way.”
He didn’t respond, but turned his attention back to the tractor.
Elizabeth blew out a silent breath. Trying to figure out what was going on behind that stoic gaze of his was beginning to irritate her. She wandered over to the few remaining stalls at the opposite end of the barn.
She had to get rid of this guy.
“These look salvageable.”
Again she started, banging her elbow against the stall door hanging drunkenly on one hinge. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
He was barely a foot away. Her pulse picked up speed. She shivered and rubbed her sore elbow, fighting the impulse to cross her arms over her chest. It had to be near ninety degrees inside the barn. The goose bumps stayed. “You sneak up on people without making any sound.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. You were merely distracted. How long have you been living out here?”
The change in topic threw her. But she rallied quickly. It was a simple question, really. Understandable, even. But suddenly Elizabeth didn’t want to answer any more of his questions. “I don’t see where that is any of your business, Mr.… I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“Hawthorne. Kane Hawthorne. I guess I’m not doing too great with this job interview, am I?”
Elizabeth felt her mouth drop open. He’d actually smiled. And he looked almost … handsome, if someone with such focused energy could be called something so bland. It suddenly occurred to her that she probably shouldn’t be alone in the barn with a strange man. Of course, being outside wouldn’t be much better, she reminded herself. Four miles of hard mountain road stood between her and Dobson’s little store and the Boundary Gap post office.
And yet, she realized she wasn’t afraid of him. At least, not in the physical sense. She glanced quickly at his broad frame, remembering the bunched muscles of his biceps as he’d yanked open the barn door. Her gaze fell to his big, strong hands. In a way it really was a shame she couldn’t hire him on. “I’m truly sorry, but as I explained earlier—”
He stepped forward. A sliver of light slashed across his bronzed features. Elizabeth drew in a ragged breath and instinctively stepped backward. Her hip bumped against the hanging door.
“It’s obvious you need help, if you want to get your canning operation off the ground.” At her raised eyebrow, he added, “Dobs told me about your famous preserves.” He went on without letting her speak. “If you can’t afford to pay me, we can always work out a barter system.”
Goose bumps lined her skin again as images came to her mind of what she had to barter with. Maybe she’d been wrong about being in physical danger. She lifted her chin and leveled him with her best glare. “I think you’d better leave now.”
He actually had the grace to look … well, she wouldn’t call it embarrassed exactly, but he did shift his dark eyes away from her.
Lord, but the man was intense. And intensity usually equaled stress. More stress, she did not need. She moved to slip by him, intending to head outside, hoping he’d take the hint and leave without making a scene.
“What are those things on your knees?”
She froze, then slowly looked downward. “Sponges.” She stifled a groan.
“That’s what I thought.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as a mental vision of what she must look like flashed in her mind. Her pinned-up shoulder-length hair once had been #74R Auburn Dream, but now, after an overly enthusiastic home perm, looked more like Ronald McDonald Red. To make matters worse, she had on a raggedy, juice-stained T-shirt, abused designer jeans that even acid washing wouldn’t help, and big orange car-washing sponges strapped to her knees.
She smiled ruefully and opened her eyes to look at him. “I think I owe you an apology.”
“What for? You use them for knee pads, right?”
“Yes. But I meant for my earlier assumption that you were angling to trade work for …” Her voice trailed off as the lightest of twinkles flickered in his black eyes. If she’d been embarrassed moments ago, it was nothing compared to the humiliation she felt now.
It must have shown on her face, because his lips curved a bit more and he leaned over and rubbed at a spot on her cheek.
“I imagine you clean up just fine.” As suddenly as it had appeared, his smile fled. He dropped his hand and stepped away. “But you’re right, that wasn’t what I meant. No offense.”
“No,” she said, her voice cracking. She was a bit short of breath for some reason. She cleared her throat and tried again. “None taken.”
“I also think you should reconsider.” He held up his hand to stop her automatic denial. “I’m looking for a place to stay just for a while. A few weeks, a month at the most. I noticed you have a small bunkhouse behind the barn.”
“It’s hardly habitable,” she replied. But any hope she had of gaining control of the conversation was short-lived.
“If you take me on, I’ll take care of that on my own time. I can restore enough of the barn so that you can move your working operation out here. I’ll be glad to do other small repairs on the ranch house, if you need them done.” His tone implied it would be pointless to argue. “In return, you let me stay in the bunkhouse, maybe throw in an occasional meal.”
Take him on? A man like Kane Hawthorne? Elizabeth could come up with a dozen reasons why she shouldn’t—two dozen. And not all of them had to do with her current predicament. But it was hard to ignore the single reason why she should. The fact was, he was offering her the best solution to her problems she could ever hope to have.
The money she’d taken from her brother’s apartment was almost gone, and she didn’t know when he’d be back in the country. Selling in bulk the preserves she made with her grandmother’s family recipe was her best shot at supporting herself until Matthew came back from his latest overseas assignment.
If she was willing to take the risk of hiring Kane.
She studied him. Judging from his clothes and his physique, he was no stranger to hard labor. But the fact remained that he was a total stranger. Elizabeth gritted her teeth in frustration. More than anything in the world, she wanted to not have to question people’s motives, not to see potential danger lurking in every corner. It was an exhausting lifestyle, and she resented the hell out of being forced into adopting it.
Of course, if Kane proved to be trustworthy, it might not be a bad idea to have someone like him around for a while, in case Sam or one of his hired goons managed to track her down. And if Matt surfaced during that time, then all her problems would be solved anyway.
She wavered, glancing away as she mentally calculated increased profits versus how much a man his size might eat.
Bounty Hunter Page 1
