Free Native Wolf by Glynnis Campbell

damned if the woman wasn’t still trying to run off, scrambling down the muddy hill in the opposite direction.
    He had to admire her initiative and her moxie, but she was headed for trouble. Without the horse, he doubted she could find her way home. White women weren’t used to surviving in the wilderness. If she didn’t die of hunger, she’d probably get herself killed by a mountain lion or a rattlesnake.
    He couldn’t leave her to her own devices. It was his fault she was in the middle of nowhere. It was his obligation to get her safely home.
    Fortunately, it wouldn’t be hard to catch her. She was a tiny thing. He could easily outrun and overpower her. So he crossed his arms over his chest, in no hurry, and waited for her to tucker herself out.
    She flashed him a few fretful glances, continuing her descent until she’d almost reached the bottom of the hill.
    Then he sighed and walked patiently toward her.
    Claire knew she was doomed. Without Thunder, she didn’t stand a chance against the half-breed. He was bigger, stronger, and faster than she was. But she refused to surrender. After all, Kit Carson wouldn't surrender. Davy Crockett wouldn't surrender. Buckskin Bill…
    Her eyes widened as she saw he was coming for her, walking as if he had all the time in the world, which was more unnerving than if he’d come at a run. Giving a little squeak of panic, she redoubled her efforts, resorting to scrambling away on her hands and knees when she took a tumble in the mud.
    She’d just reached the valley floor when she was suddenly hauled up by the scruff of her neck like a stray kitten. She gasped, flailing against her captor, hoping to twist free. But all her squirming didn’t seem to affect his grip in the least.
    Forgetting her promise, she sucked in a breath to yell for help, in case some stray miner was in hearing distance. But he must have anticipated that, for he quickly shifted her in his arms and buried her face against his chest, muffling her cry.
    To her alarm, she got a mouthful of bare flesh. She sputtered and beat at his restraining arms, horrified to be in such a shocking position. But it did no good. Smothered against his body, her shrieks of outrage came out as barely audible squeals. And the louder she tried to scream, the tighter he clutched her.
    Realizing he wouldn’t let her go until she stopped screaming, she forced herself to cease. But that made her even more aware of their impropriety.
    Never had she been in such intimate contact with a man. Where her mouth pressed against his taut muscle, his skin was distressingly warm and real. As he continued to confine her there, she found to her horror that she could feel his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Her own rapid breathing moistened his skin, and she could smell…and taste…the faint salt of his sweat. It was…mortifying.
    Just about the time she was sure she could endure no more, he finally spoke. His voice resonated in his chest and sounded almost as ragged as she felt. “Are you going to be quiet now?”
    She nodded, eager to be out of his embrace.
    “You promise?”
    She nodded once more.
    Slowly, tentatively, he loosened his grip on her, though he kept one hand bunched in the shirt at the back of her neck. She pulled back, and her lips released from his chest—almost, to her humiliation, like a kiss.
    “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed,” he scolded in a harsh whisper. “Don’t run off again.”
    She might have promised not to make noise, but she hadn’t promised not to fight him. She renewed her struggles, pounding at his chest and kicking at his legs. She might as well have been battling a bull. The half-breed only grunted and hoisted her up again, leaving her swinging at empty air.
    He muttered something in his own tongue and then hefted her across his shoulder, holding her there by gripping her backside in a most indecent manner. She would have fought her way free, but just then he began trudging