Carol Finch by Fletcher's Woman

never knew him. Believe me, he deserves to be as deep in hell as a buzzard can fly in a month.”
    When she noticed his dubious expression, she huffed out a frustrated breath. Her comments might be falling on deaf ears, but that didn’t stop her from trying to drive home her point. “It could have been self-defense,” she insisted. “I was fighting for my virtue and my life. I’m not the first woman Roark terrorized, either. My best friend, Willow, caught his fancy last month. Then she suddenly disappeared. I feel responsible for whatever has happened because I convinced her to come to town for a visit before we returned to the Chickasaw girl’s academy to begin our fall teaching session. Now she’s missing.”
    Savanna frowned worriedly. “I wondered if perhaps she was pregnant and too ashamed to rejoin Morningstar if Roark refused to marry her. Either that or Willow was injured during one of Roark’s drunken binges. Oliver Draper might’ve ordered his hired guns to clean up after his son,” she muttered bitterly.
    “You think there’s a possibility that Willow is dead?”
    Savanna nodded bleakly. “I’m hoping for the best, but I fear the worst. She could be hiding to protect herself and her unborn baby, if there is one. But if Roark became angry, she could have come to harm. His father always bailed him out and covered for him when he got into trouble.
    “I also think Buck Patterson doubted I’d need my horse after Roark finished with me. Roark kept threatening bodily harm and certain death to keep me quiet. Believe me, I made plenty of racket about Willow’s disappearance and his possible involvement to counter his accusations. Buck simply jumped the gun to edge out competition for ownership of my horse.”
    “You do have an amazing way of spinning a tale to your advantage,” Fletch remarked as he stoked the fire he’d built by the cave entrance. “Coffee?”
    “I’d rather have my clothes back.”
    He shook his raven head. “Not unless your friends get so close that we have to make a run for it.”
    “They are not my friends,” she insisted resentfully. “They are my would-be executioners. If they dispose of me, Oliver can dole out the reward money as salary to his hired guns. But I’m absolutely certain that I won’t be allowed to have my day in court.”
    “I’ll see that you have your day,” he promised.
    “Sure you will,” she scoffed. “I trust your honorable intentions as much as I trust the intentions of the vigilantes who are breathing down my neck.”

Chapter Four
    L eaving Savanna secured in the cave, Fletch mounted Appy. He followed the narrow trail to introduce himself to the five men who had made camp in a meadow. His strategy was to play dumb. If anyone asked, he hadn’t seen Savanna, but he was looking for her, too.
    When five rifles snapped into firing position, Fletch waved and smiled like a long lost friend. The rifle barrels angled downward, thank goodness. He wasn’t looking for a firefight. This was a fishing expedition.
    There were hardened expressions in the eyes of the men who stared back at him. Fletch had seen those looks on killers’ faces often enough to recognize them for what they were. He had worn the same expression many times himself.
    His profession wasn’t for the faint of heart. Kill or be killed was the name of the game—and there were no rules.
    “I’m looking for a woman,” Fletch said without preamble.
    “Ain’t we all?” This from the man Savanna had identified as Buck Patterson, the horse thief. Also, according to Bill Solomon’s warrants, this man and his friends were wanted for robbery and murder in Texas. Fletch preferredto place them under arrest, but he couldn’t drag them along while he had Savanna in custody.
    Fletch appraised the wiry-looking man who was a head shorter and seventy pounds lighter. Buck Patterson had buckteeth, which was probably where he got his nickname. He also had beady eyes and bristly whiskers. He