Call Of The White Wolf
A Gunshot Wound Sent John Wolf Straight To Paradise.Paradise Valley, that is, where an Irish hellcat with the face of an angel had rescued five orphans…and offered him a life that was more than just duty and danger. But would the truth of his past make their future together impossible?More legend than lawman, more man than most, John Wolf was a U.S. Marshal who named himself Apache in his soul. And Tara Flannigan knew from the moment she rescued him that he'd bring trouble–and temptation–to her little patch of heaven on earth!
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“You didn’t have to kiss me at the blasted table!” he erupted
“What good would it do to kiss you in private?” she asked reasonably. “That would defeat the whole purpose of letting the boys know my interest lies elsewhere.”
“With that piddly peck on the mouth?” he said, then smirked.
“What was wrong with my kiss?” she demanded, offended.
He swooped down and hoisted her to her feet. Then he bent her over backward and gave her a kiss that was half frustration, half hungry need, half revenge…well, whatever. He couldn’t calculate fractions when his brain shut down the instant he tasted her deeply, felt her supple body pressed intimately against his masculine contours. His heart slammed against his tender ribs when she responded rather than shoving him away—which is what she should’ve done if the damn woman had a lick of sense!
Praise for Carol Finch’s previous titles
Cheyenne Moon
“Excellent! Cheyenne Moon will captivate readers with its exhilarating pace and remarkable characters. Another keeper!”
—Romantic Times Magazine
Once Upon A Midnight Moon
“Definitely a great book to curl up with. Unplug the phone, disconnect the doorbell and enjoy!”
—Romantic Times Magazine
Promise Me Moonlight
“…should be promise me banter, love, steamy romance and a great read! Buy 2 and lend one to a friend!”
—Heartland Critiques
#591 MY LADY’S TRUST
Julia Justiss
#593 DRAGON’S DOWER
Catherine Archer
#594 GOLD RUSH BRIDE
Debra Lee Brown
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
CAROL FINCH
Call of the White Wolf #592
Other works include:
Harlequin Duets
Fit To Be Tied #36
A Regular Joe #45
Mr. Predictable #62
Silhouette Special Edition
Not Just Another Cowboy #1242
Soul Mates #1320
This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children—Christie, Jill, Kurt, Jeff and Jon—with much love. And to our grandchildren—Blake, Kennedy and Brooklynn. Hugs and kisses!
Contents
Chapter One
Arizona Territory, 1878
John Wolfe had been dreading this day for two years. No matter how many ways he turned it around in his mind, feelings of guilt and betrayal twisted in his gut like a shot of bad whiskey. He tried to ignore those tormenting emotions while he lay sprawled on a slab of rock, slithering forward like a snake so he could peer over the ledge. But the moment he saw his adopted Apache brother kneeling below him, sipping water from the trickling spring, another wave of guilt and betrayal buffeted him.
When a man was forced to turn against one of his own it made him feel like the worst kind of traitor.
Silently, John unholstered his Colt, then took Raven’s measure down the sight. Dead or alive, John’s commander had told him. Made no nevermind to Jacob Shore. But it mattered to John Wolfe. It mattered a helluva lot. When a man had a foot planted in each of two contrasting civilizations, walking that fine line and trying to pretend indifference was pure hell.
John had taught himself not to feel, not to react and not to care that he was as white as he was Apache. Yet seeing Raven in the valley below was like tearing open a wound that had never really healed, no matter how much he tried to pretend it had.
Well, he was here to do a job, distasteful though it was, and he’d better get at it.
“Don’t move,” John commanded in the Apache dialect.
Raven froze, his cupped hand halfway to his mouth. Water trickled between his fingertips and ran down his bronzed arm. The Apache raised his eyes and squinted into the bright light of sunset to locate John on the outcropping of stone above him.
John knew the exact instant Raven recognized him. Tension sizzled in the evening breeze like lightning. Slowly, Raven rose from his crouch, his body taut, his expression rife with loathing.
“So the white-eyes sent you for me, did they, Brother?” Raven spat derisively. “Ah, but who else could they have sent? Who else knows the Apache’s mind and the Apache’s way better than an Apache turncoat?”
Raven’s words were like an embedded knife twisting in John’s spine. Willfully, he ignored Raven’s mutinous glower and hateful words. He kept the Colt trained on Raven’s heart, wondering if this renegade still had one left after all the crimes he’d committed these past two years.
With an economy of movement that was ingrained and practiced, John contorted his body until he was sitting upright, his booted feet dangling over the ledge. His pistol never wavered from its target on Raven’s heaving chest.
“I’m taking you back to the reservation at San Carlos, Raven,” John told him grimly. “I can drag you by your heels or with your hands in chains. But if you ask me, it is not a good day for you to die.”
“I was dying a torturous death at that pigsty of a reservation,” Raven growled in reply. “But you knew that feeling yourself, didn’t you, Brother? You cut off your braids, stole civilian clothes from the army commissary and sneaked away from the reservation to turn white again. You turned your back on The People, on the clan that took you into its fold to feed you, clothe you and train you to become a mighty Apache warrior.”
