by D'Ann Lindun
The palomino slid on to the creek bottom where he scrambled to his feet and shook off like a big, wet dog.
Two more shots rang out, and from somewhere down the trail, a horse neighed.
Jamie rolled to her stomach and moaned at the pain in her leg. If her ankle wasn’t broken, it was sure enough sprained.
Nothing but the whipping wind in the trees met her ears until Sunshine called for his companion. The other horse answered, further away this time. Sunshine took two steps forward, his ears pricked. No. No, he could not run off and leave her here like a crippled duck.
Jamie attempted to stand, but her ankle wouldn’t hold her and she collapsed in the mud. She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Sunny,” she cajoled, “come here.”
Ignoring her outstretched hand, the gelding snorted, lunged up the hill and disappeared down the trail at a hard gallop with Hammer on his heels barking like a hellhound. Damn dog. She ought to shoot him.
Later.
Where was Austin? He hadn’t made a sound. Had the shooter hit Austin? Was he up on the trail hurt? Or worse? Did she dare call out? Or would that give away her location to the shooter? God. Think, Jamie, think. What would Dad do?
He wouldn’t lay here and die. He’d been shot in the back of the head and he’d struggled to live. She would, too.
“Austin,” she called softly. “Are you all right?”
Nothing. Where was he? Why wasn’t he answering? Did the shooter have him pinned down? She couldn’t help by laying here. She was unarmed. Exposed. Her rifle was still in the scabbard attached to her saddle; her pistol lay several yards up the hillside. She had to find that gun.
Using her hands and elbows, she began to drag herself up the steep hillside. Pushing with her good leg, inch by slippery inch, she wallowed through mud and leaves. A pig in a trough would be less filthy, but getting dirty was the least of her worries. Staying alive topped her priorities.
Her gloved fingertips touched something hard.
Her gun.
Almost crying in relief, she grabbed the barrel of her pistol and pulled it to her. Her excitement quickly turned to despair. One of Sunshine’s hooves had ground the weapon into the earth, filling the barrel with mud.
Useless.
She stuffed it into the pocket on her chaps and continued to wiggle. Rain came again, pounding relentlessly over her. She began to feel like an old shirt in the washing machine, stuck on the cold cycle.
Gritting her teeth, she continued upward.
After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled herself back onto the trail. Resting her face in the crook of her elbow, she gasped like a fish out of water. Bad analogy. She might not be a fish, but she sure as hell was in water. Would this infernal rain ever stop?
With a mighty groan, she pushed herself to her knees. Her ankle screamed a protest and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. When the red haze in front of her eyes faded, she glanced around for Austin. She caught a glimpse of his bright yellow slicker at the edge of the trail half a dozen yards up the trail.
“Austin?” she called softly.
No response.
Her heart pounded unevenly. Was he dead? Walking to him was out. She began to crawl again, the same way she made it up the hillside—one painful inch at a time.
When she reached Austin, he lay on his back, eyes closed. His hat had landed several feet away, exposing a purple goose egg across the side of his forehead. With trembling hands, Jamie removed her gloves and placed her fingers on his neck.
His pulse beat slow and regular.
Alive!
Relief flooded her and she blinked back tears. He was alive, but wounded. The fall had probably knocked him out because a flat rock next to his head had a smear of blood across it. With a careful touch, she parted his matted hair. Along with the goose egg, he had a small gash across the side of his head. The cut wasn’t deep, but bleeding profusely like most head wounds.
She always carried a bandana in her pocket, and she retrieved it now. Easing it around his head where it would stop the bleeding, she tied it in a secure knot. “We’re sitting ducks right here,” she told her unconscious patient. “If that maniac comes back, there’s not much I can do but let him shoot us.”
Unless Austin still had his sidearm.
After she unbuttoned his long black duster, she reached inside for his gun. Her fingers curled around the handle.
She yelped when his hand grabbed her wrist.
“If you wanted to undress me, you could have waited until I was awake.” He attempted a smile and groaned. “What happened?”
Relief filled her. “Somebody shot at us, and apparently hit you in the head. Sunshine went over the side of the hill and landed on my leg.”
Austin’s fuzzy gaze sharpened. “You hurt?”
“My leg isn’t working real well, but I don’t think it’s broken. Just badly sprained.”
“Can you walk?” He struggled into a sitting position and his face paled.
“Not at the moment.” She pushed his chest. “Stay still. Your head is bleeding pretty bad. I don’t need you passing out on me again.”
“Where are the horses?”
“I don’t know, exactly. They ran down the trail. I’m hoping they stop to graze.” She prayed. Because without a horse, she wasn’t getting out of here.
“How long since we were shot at?”
“Not sure, exactly. Ten or fifteen minutes, I guess.” She indicted the falling rain. “It’s hard to gage time without the sun.”
He closed his eyes.
“Austin.” She raised her voice. “Austin!”
He winced. “Don’t shout.”
She lowered her voice. “Sorry. I just don’t want you passing out on me again.”
“I’m fine.” His eyes stayed shut.
“Right.” She snorted. “You’re just fine.”
“I could use some coffee,” he admitted, finally opening his eyes.
“That isn’t going to happen until we find the horses.” Coffee sounded pretty darn good. Even better with a strong shot in it. No time to worry about what they wanted. They had to figure a way out of this mess. “We need to move.”
“I know.” But he made no attempt to do so.
A few minutes passed before he said, “I don’t think I can carry you.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” she shot back. “I’ll make it on my own.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said. “And I’m not sure I’ll make it too far without passing out.”
“We can’t lay here in the rain and drown,” Jamie countered. “So, somehow, we’ve got to get off this mountain.”
“Or get some shelter and wait out the storm.”
“I don’t see any shelter other than trees, and right now, they’re not offering up a lot of comfort.” She chewed her bottom lip. “We need a fire, to get warm.”
“A tent.”
Their eyes met and held.
“Yuk,” Jamie said slowly, “but it would keep us dry.”
“It’s not far. We can make it there.” Austin replaced his hat with a grimace and clambered to his feet.
He swayed.
Jamie wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to topple over again. “You better wait a few minutes.”
He tightened his lips. “I’m fine. Let’s get you out of the middle of the trail.”
She placed her palm in his bigger hand and let his determination pour through her for a moment. Then, with a rush of resolve, she stood. Pain screamed through her ankle when she touched her foot to the ground. A groan slid out of her. She could do this. Had no choice.
“Put your arm around my waist,” Austin instructed. As soon as she did, he steadied her. Even injured, he stood solid as a barn. She allowed herself to lean into him and absorb his strength.
With a deep breath, she said, “I’m ready.”
Jamie didn’t know how they did it, his head bleeding, her leg feeling like it might fall off, but somehow they managed to hobble
up the trail. At times it narrowed too much for them to stand side-by-side and she fell behind him, using his narrow waist as an anchor to hop along.
Probably only around a quarter of a mile, the distance seemed quadruple that amount. By the time they reached the site, Jamie was trembling both from fatigue and cold. Austin didn’t seem a lot better. He was pale, and although she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure with the rain, it looked like a sheen of sweat covered his skin.
He guided her to a big tree, eased her onto her butt and handed her his pistol. “Cover me while I get the tent.”
“Okay.” She glanced around, but saw no one. What had she expected? The killer to come strolling out of the trees with his hands above his head?
She snorted. Like that was going to happen.
Bringing her focus back to Austin, she watched him skirt the edge of the meadow. For someone aiming a gun on him, it would be harder for them to hit him dodging through the trees, than if he cut straight across. He gathered the tent and walked her direction.
Jamie kept her gaze moving, looking for anything. But only the blowing trees and endless rain stirred.
Austin dropped the tent in front of her. “Hold that side while I stake the other. The wind’s so strong it’s going to be tough to get this thing to stand.”
With a nod of compliance she did as asked.
Working together, they had the small tent upright in a flash.
“I’m going back for the rest,” Austin said. “Watch my back.”
Not a problem, she thought as he walked away. Although covered by his long duster, his backside was fine. Along with the rest of him. From the top of his Stetson-clad head to his booted feet, there wasn’t anything not to like.
Startled by the direction of her thoughts, she brought her mind back to the danger they faced. A killer now stalked them. For all she knew, he might have a bead on her right now. She scanned the area again. Where was Hammer when she needed him? Darn dog. Next time he could just stay home.
If there was a next time.
She immediately shut off that line of thought. They were going to get out of here alive, they were going to catch the killer and they were going to make him pay to the fullest extent of the law.
Austin carried the backpacks and sleeping bags into the tent, then reappeared in a few minutes. “Let’s get you inside.”
“You mean us,” Jamie said.
“Yeah. Us. But I need you to get changed first.”
“Oh.”
Instead of answering, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her inside the tent. He’d already unrolled the sleeping bags and had them spread out, one on the bottom, one on top. He placed her on them. At her curious look, he said, “I thought it would be warmer to make a double bed.”
“Oh.” She instantly grew warmer at the thought of sharing a bed with him. He’d promised to make love to her in a bed—
He pointed at the backpacks. “There’s clothes in them. Something might fit you. You can change while I’m outside.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll worry about that later. Now, get into some dry clothes.” He ducked outside.
She peeled off her wet, muddy gloves and laid them palm side up to dry. Dragging the pink and black backpack to her, she opened it. The idea of wearing the victim’s clothes gave Jamie the creeps. But she shivered uncontrollably now. If she didn’t warm up, she could get hypothermia and die.
Inside the backpack she found a pair of gray sweatpants, a black hoodie and two pairs of wool socks. The socks did it. She might be squeamish about wearing someone else’s clothes, and especially those of a missing person, but the idea of warm feet overruled her creeped-out feeling.
Removing her mud encrusted raincoat, coat and sweater was doable, but with her frozen hands, Jamie couldn’t get the front snap on her bra undone. Finally, she left it on and pulled the stranger’s hoodie over her soaked head. It smelled faintly like pot. If she wasn’t freezing, she would have laughed at the irony.
“Never thought I’d be wearing evidence.”
Her chaps buckled in front. Although she tried and tried again, Jamie couldn’t make her hands work to get the buckle undone. Frustrated, she flopped back.
“You ready?” Austin called.
“Yeah.”
He pushed the flap aside and entered. His gaze raked over her borrowed hoodie and muddy chaps and boots. “You’re still in your wet clothes.”
“I can’t get them off,” she confessed. “My hands are frozen stiff.”
Without comment, he knelt in front of her and removed the boot off her uninjured foot, then her wet sock. He lifted her injured ankle into his lap. “This is going to hurt.”
“I know.” She bit her lip while he tugged the boot over her foot. Removal of the sock hurt almost as much.
“You did a number on it,” he said.
He wasn’t kidding. Already swelling, turning purple, her ankle was a mess.
“I need to wrap it.” He grabbed the second backpack and dragged it to him. “I bet there’s a First Aid kit in here.” He dug around for a minute and pulled out a small white box. “Let’s see if there’s an Ace bandage. Yep. Score.”
He stood and pulled her to her feet, too. “We’ve got to get these muddy clothes off you before you get hypothermia.”
“I can do it,” she protested as his hands moved to the snap holding them closed. Although she had on four layers—chaps, jeans, long johns and undies—his hands so close to her very personal area made her squirm.
“If you could do so, you would have already removed these wet clothes.” He moved with clinical efficiency, unbuttoning the snap, then unzipping the leg enclosures. He set the soaked leather leggings aside. “Put your hands on my shoulders so you can step out of your jeans.”
“They’re not that wet. I’ll be okay.”
“Will you stop arguing? I’ve seen a woman’s bare legs before, so I’m not going to go all crazy like and jump on you at the sight of your legs.” His voice was husky.
She bit back a nervous laugh. “Okay.”
She could chalk up being cold making her tremble, and not his hands on her waist. Austin seemed completely oblivious as he unbuttoned her jeans, then slid the zipper down.
“Use me to steady yourself.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t notice her shaking increased when she placed her palms on his broad shoulders. Heat seeped into her hands, shooting up her arms and through her body. What was it about this man that made her stomach turn all squirmy and her breathing come fast? She lifted her injured foot and he gently slid the damp denim over it. He left on her dry long johns.
“Now the tough part. You’ve got to stand on your other foot long enough for me to slip your other pant leg off.” He waited for her to steady herself and lift her good foot. She gasped as her bad leg took all her weight. “Steady. I got you.”
After he tossed the wet clothing on top of her chaps, he grabbed the gray sweats. “One more time.”
Gritting her teeth, she managed to put weight on her bad leg long enough to slip on the borrowed sweats. “I’ve got to lie down.”
He unzipped the sleeping bag and helped her lay on it. Then, as carefully as if she were a baby, he lifted her ankle into his lap and wrapped it. Jamie tried not to think how close her toes were to his private parts as he slipped a pair of socks onto her icy feet. As cold as they were, touching him there might not be such a good idea. He might never recover.
She giggled.
He glared at her. “Something funny?”
Instantly, she sobered. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I’m sorry. How’s your head?”
“Fine.” He tucked the sleeping bag around her. “Get warmed up.”
She took a closer look where she’d bandaged his head. “Let me see your injury.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Let me see. If you pass out again—”
“Okay, okay. You�
�re worse than a mother hen.” He sat beside her as she struggled into a sitting position.
Trying to be as gentle as he had been, she untied the bandana. His hair had matted to the wound and she didn’t attempt to mess with it. The bleeding had stopped. “I think it’s better, but you need to rest.” She retied the makeshift bandage.
“I’m a little tired,” he admitted.
Guilt shot through her. He was hurt, too, but had put his own needs second to help her climb the trail, then gathered the tent and other supplies and made sure she was warm. “Lay down. I’ll keep watch.”
She moved to get out of the bed and he shook his head. He laid his Ruger at the head of the bedroll. “Scoot over. We’ll both rest.”
Her mouth opened and closed as he dropped his slicker and raincoat. As his hands moved over his belt buckle, she squeaked. “Okay.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
A dog barking alerted January and Kyra to another person nearby.
Kyra’s eyes went huge and round. “Oh my God. He’s out there. We’ve got to get out of here before he gets us.”
January tried to calm her racing heart. “He has a dog?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see one, but that doesn’t mean anything. Kyra shook so hard she could barely get the words out. “A dog can track us.”
“Stay put,” January ordered. “I’m going to see what’s out there.”
Kyra looked around with a wild look in her eyes. “Do you have a gun? A knife? Anything?”
“I don’t.” January’s own hands began to shake. Memories of what Dominic had done filled her mind. She’d sooner die than live through that again. Her gaze fell on the little coffee pot. About a cup full of hot water remained in it. She pointed. “If you have to, use that. Throw it in anyone’s face who comes through the door.”
Huddled in the corner, Kyra looked like a trapped rabbit in a snare. “Okay.”
“I’ll be right back.” January tried to give her a reassuring smile as she shrugged into her coat and slicker. “If something happens, start walking. Give me an hour at most, then go.”