by Becky Avella
The whites of the horse’s eyes nearly glowed in the dark. Sean stepped closer. He squinted again, his jaw dropping. No. It couldn’t be.
“He’s gorgeous,” Deanna whispered.
“Yes, he is,” Sean agreed, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to contain his anger.
He reached out until his fingers found the brand on the horse’s hindquarters right where Sean knew it would be. He traced the two familiar letters—the straight, proud back of the L, the curved, feminine C. His finger followed the loops of the lapped circles, the symbol his parents had chosen when their marriage united Loomis and Callaghan ranches, making them more than a corporation...a family.
He could feel his body temperature rising, his blood boiling. The next time he faced Blake Ransford, that thief would regret this.
“He is a beauty, isn’t he, Loomis?” a voice mocked him from the doorway behind him. Sean swung and pointed Uncle Paul’s pistol at Blake Ransford, more than ready to shoot.
* * *
Deanna gaped at the two men as they faced off, pistols raised, her throat tight. Had they gotten this far to lose now? Sean and Blake held each other’s lives on the tips of their trigger fingers. One false move could spook either one, and it would be over. One of them, or both of them, with a hole through his body.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Blake said.
“And you’re a thief,” Sean countered.
Why hadn’t Blake pulled his trigger already? He’d had the opportunity with Sean’s back turned, but Blake had given him time to turn around, to raise his gun and defend himself. Did Blake have some twisted sense of honor? Killing is okay, but don’t shoot a man in the back? He must have his own rules, the things that allowed him to sleep at night and then face himself in the mirror the next morning.
She leaned against the stallion’s warm neck, breathing in its leathery, dusty scent, and begged God for help once again. She could not lose Sean a second time.
Blake chuckled. “You think I stole that horse. You’re clueless, Loomis.”
His words made Sean stumble, temporarily throwing him off guard. She couldn’t stand seeing Blake bully Sean like that. It was the same way he’d controlled her for so long. Without thinking, she grabbed the pitchfork leaning against the wall and then flung herself up onto the horse’s back.
“Yah!” She urged the horse out of its stall, one hand clinging to the bridle, the other raising the pitchfork like a jousting knight. Both men dived out of her way. At that same moment, a gun fired from behind her, followed by Blake’s anguished screams.
Paul Loomis stood in the doorway, his gun still raised. Blood bloomed through the hole in Blake’s jeans where Paul’s bullet had hit him in the thigh. Deanna slid off the horse and pushed the tines of the pitchfork toward Blake’s belly, forcing him farther down onto his back. Panting with pain, Blake squirmed under her. Deanna pushed harder on the pitchfork, not breaking the skin but hard enough to remind him that she could if she needed.
“Give me a reason to do it, Blake...” she growled.
Sean pointed his gun at Blake’s face. “Hand her your gun,” he commanded.
Blake’s lips thinned as he looked at Deanna. She read it in his eyes. He was through with her. He would kill her right now if he had the power to do it. “You’ll regret this,” he hissed.
“No, I won’t.” She stepped a boot into Blake’s chest and grabbed his gun. “I’ve thought about it like you said, and I’ve decided in this story, you don’t win.”
He snarled, “You’ve picked the losing side.”
“Says the man on his back.” She smirked.
Blake’s face was ashen from the pain but he managed to lift the corners of his mouth into a condescending smile. “Hear that?”
Sean jogged to the doorway and looked. “Trucks. Lots of them coming up the driveway.”
“That’s my backup,” Blake said. “As soon as Paul showed up, I called in the cavalry. Trust me—you’ll never get away.”
“Go,” Paul said. “I’ve got him.”
Sean swung atop the horse. Deanna handed him the lead rope and then let him pull her up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and melted against his strong back.
“Hurry,” Paul urged. “Don’t go out the front. Find another route out.”
“What about you?” Sean asked, the horse prancing underneath them. “They’ll kill you.”
“Stick to the plan. I’ll meet you at home.”
Blake attempted to say more, but Paul silenced him with a quick kick to the kidney.
Sean urged the horse forward with his heel, pushing it out the door. The gunfire began the moment they broke into the lit-up yard.
“Stop!” someone yelled.
Spooked by the bullets, the horse careened at top speed for the ridge. If Sean didn’t turn soon, the horse was frightened enough to actually jump over the edge.
“Where now?” Deanna shouted into Sean’s ear.
“Over,” he said.
“Over?” Her stomach lurched. “You don’t mean...”
No way. Sean wouldn’t seriously consider running a horse of this pedigree over that ridge, would he? What if the horse broke its leg? What if it tumbled and crushed them?
But he didn’t slow down. Deanna’s brain screamed to get off this horse, off before Sean took her where she most certainly did not want to go. A bullet pinged off the ground behind her, kicking up dirt, telling her the route ahead was truly their only option.
Like it or not, they were going over the edge and down the steep grade. Really, the risk didn’t matter. They were dead either way.
“Hold on,” Sean shouted.
The galloping stallion stretched its long limbs and leaped over the ridge edge while Deanna’s stomach attempted to leave her body through her throat. She wanted to close her eyes, but they refused to shut, widening as far as they could possibly go. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came from her petrified vocal cords. For a moment, she and Sean were flying. If they lived through this, Sean was going to have impressive bruises around his middle from her death grip.
Sean flattened forward and Deanna leaned hard into him, fearful that she might tumble over the horse’s head. A shock shot through her spine as the front hooves connected with solid ground. Then just as suddenly, Sean leaned backward against her, one hand gripping the bridle, the other raised in the air for balance. His strong legs, strengthened by years of bronc riding, squeezed against the stallion’s belly, holding on by sheer will. Deanna was forced to flatten completely against the horse’s rump as gravity strained against her neck and jaw.
Even for an avid horsewoman like her, this was surreal. She’d watched The Man from Snowy River so many times in Gram’s VCR when she was younger she’d worn it out. She’d been in awe as Jim Craig rode with the herd of wild mustangs straight down the sharp mountainside. And every summer of her life, she’d witnessed the crazy Ridge to River riders racing over Suicide Hill during Roundup. Still, she had never imagined herself doing it. Yet here she was.
Somehow, this gorgeous horse was defying gravity. It didn’t miss a beat, just gave into speed and instinct, and Sean didn’t pull it back. There were fewer bullets now, just flying gravel and bits of earth as each hoof struck the hillside in a rocking rhythm.
The beauty of it chased away her fear. Her pounding heart matched the beat of the hooves striking the earth. Her rushing blood matched the shuddering pants of this amazing animal in motion. It was poetry. Her muscles began to relax as admiration for the horse and for Sean filled her.
The land leveled out and the tension in Sean’s back eased a little, as well. She flipped her gaze behind them and up the ridge. Blake’s men stood at the top, watching their retreat. Their shouts had faded and it appeared they’d given up firing at them.
Who knew how many minutes of reprieve they’d have, but for now, she and Sean were free once again.
Deanna flung her head back and crowed. “You lose, Blake Ransford. You lose!”
TWENTY-ONE
Sean glanced up the hill behind them. A few of Blake’s men stood along the ridge acting as lookouts. There was no doubt that the rest of Blake’s men were already following them, with more murderous intent than ever, but apparently Blake wasn’t paying them enough to do it on horseback. Sean could imagine them scrambling for their rigs like soldiers with orders, flying down the driveway and taking off in separate directions in their attempts to cut off Sean and Deanna at whatever point along the roads they chose to turn. There was only one way to go. Up.
“Yah!” Sean kicked his heels into the horse’s side, aiming for the next hill. He was going to have to outrun the fire on their left, but it was still far enough away. They could make it. They didn’t have any other choice.
Deanna’s celebration was premature, but Sean kept his mouth shut. She deserved a few moments of happiness no matter how short-lived it might be. She didn’t need him to tell her that this thing wasn’t anywhere near over. Deanna was smart enough to figure that out all on her own. All she had to do was look at the glowing horizon.
They were heading into more danger—he knew it in his gut—but there was no stopping now. They had to just keep pushing forward.
The climb was difficult, even steeper than Blake’s hill and filled with more loose rock and scrubby bitterbrush, but like they had been all day and now all night long, they were out of options. Their priorities had been boiled down to only two things: keep moving and stay alive. Worrying about whether they should be doing such and such was a waste of time. They should be climbing this mountainside because it was the only way, period.
Once they crossed that top ridge and rode into the timberline, they’d drop out of sight and they’d be on Sean’s turf. Only a few miles of wilderness would separate them from his ranch. The longing for home was almost unbearable. His chest warmed at the thought of how close he was. He was finally heading in the right direction.
None of those men chasing them could know these hills and old logging roads as well as Sean did. And once they got home, he’d have his crew to help defend them. If it was too late and his foreman had evacuated everyone already, he could find fire officials that they could trust with their story. And Uncle Paul would help them, too. Sean had to believe Uncle Paul was there like they’d planned and not lying dead on the floor of Blake Ransford’s stables. Sean needed him to be alive so he could come to the rescue one more time.
The horse stumbled, sending a flood of guilt through Sean. This horse was bred for speed and agility, for barrel-racing in an arena, not for jumping over cliffs and climbing mountains. What Sean was expecting it to do right now could almost be called criminal, but the horse regained its footing and continued to rise to the challenge. It was obeying Sean, but its ears kept flipping back and forth. Something ahead had it on high alert.
“It’s going to be okay,” Sean crooned, patting his neck. “Keep going.”
They were only steps away from the top of the hill now. He leaned forward, willing them to reach the few thin evergreens standing guard above them. In this high desert landscape, it wasn’t like they’d be entering a thick forest they could hide in, but there was something about the sight of the tall ponderosa pines guarding the top that pushed Sean to keep going. If he could cross that imaginary line, he felt like he would be able to breathe again, maybe even join Deanna in her celebrating.
But as they crested the top, Sean’s confidence faded immediately. He felt Deanna’s sharp intake of breath behind him. If it were in the daylight on a normal day, they would be looking out over a breathtaking vista of hills and ravines, scattered timber and alfalfa fields for miles and miles. They’d see where the wilderness touched the brilliant blue sky. But it was night, and it was anything but a normal day.
A stifling heat and tangible blackness enveloped them, broken only by several hot spots like the ones he’d seen from the top of Blake’s hill, only these were so much closer.
“It’s so eerie,” Deanna whispered, all the celebratory happiness gone from her now.
“It’s too quiet,” Sean said, his voice loud against the unnatural silence. “It shouldn’t be like this.”
The animals and birds and insects, the many noisemakers of the wilderness, were gone. Instinct had sent them running and all that remained was absolute silence. Sean swallowed, hard. He could hear each one of the stallion’s breaths and snorts, each one of its footfalls as the thirsty pine needles snapped beneath them.
Suddenly a loud crack filled the air and the high boughs of the tree closest to them exploded into flame, sending the horse into a desperate backpedal. Sean’s arms ached as he pulled on the stallion’s bridle, wrestling with it to stay the course instead of turning and bolting back down the hill they’d just climbed.
“Go!” Deanna begged.
He pushed the horse forward as fast as he could. Had the fire line moved here this fast? It couldn’t have. That was impossible. He’d seen it himself from the top of the hill before they jumped, still too far to the northeast to threaten them.
“It’s just an ember from one of those spot fires. We can outrun it,” he promised.
But the minute they crossed the next hill, he knew it was a lie. They were instantly face-to-face with a roaring wall of flames.
“Go back! Go back!” Deanna cried. “We’ve got to turn around!”
Sean spun the horse, racing in the direction they’d just come, his heart thudding in his ears. This was unreal. They’d have to return and face Blake’s men, but that was the lesser of two evils. Sean feared the hungry, burning monster behind them far, far more than he feared Blake’s goons at the moment.
Every direction Sean tried to run, he found more flames. Fire had wrapped around behind them, cutting off the path they’d taken only moments earlier. That’s when he knew the truth. The fire line he’d seen from Blake’s hill was a completely separate fire. He wouldn’t have been able to see this fire racing up the backside, because it was hidden behind these hills.
The dread was so heavy it pulled him to the ground. As he dismounted, Deanna protested shrilly, “What are you doing? Sean, get up here—we have to run!”
The hopelessness was crippling as he put his hands on the top of his head and dropped to his knees, but the worst part was the weight of the responsibility he felt. He knew exactly when, where and how these flames had begun. He’d been there to watch the first sparks. He saw again Rex Turner’s somersaulting truck, watched it crash into flames as it reached the bottom. In such a short amount of time, those first small sparks that had hit the flash fuel in that ravine had grown into this enormous inferno that would now become their funeral pyres.
“We did this,” he said, incredulously. “We started this fire.”
“We have to run!” Deanna insisted.
“We can’t,” Sean said, hating the sound of defeat in his voice as he said the words he knew to be true aloud. “There isn’t anywhere left to run. We’re trapped.”
* * *
Deanna slid off the horse and fell to her own knees behind Sean. She could see for herself there was no escape route.
“God help us,” she whispered. It wasn’t a command, not even a request really. She simply had to acknowledge that He was her only hope. All her big words about needing nothing but herself were laughable now. There was no pulling yourself up by the bootstraps and beating a force like this. She had never felt so small in her life.
Whenever she’d heard the stories of refugees like Sharon Grabe, they all had been just that: stories. Now that she was facing the unimaginable herself, she doubted she’d live long enough to tell her own story.
The fire’s roar was as loud as if
she were standing on the tarmac of a major airport. The vibration rattled her bones. The tops of the trees above her all burned and her eyes streamed with tears. She fell prostrate on the ground, searching for clean air and the words to beg God for their rescue. All she could do was whisper the word help. She couldn’t comprehend the enormity of the power about to swallow her. Only God was big enough now.
The heat was unbearable and the visibility terrible. She could hardly see Sean next to her. She caught occasional glimpses of the horse prancing in huge circles, crying and kicking its feet in the air as it came to each wall of flame blocking its escape. She and Sean had tried their best to hold on to its bridle and to keep it calm, but it’d finally broken away from their hold, too strong and dangerous in its panicked state for them to contain. Compassion filled her. She prayed that it would be spared suffering. That they all would be.
How would she ever stand the pain of burning to death? Deanna put her hand to her chest, trying to hold in her exploding heart. As she did, her hand grazed one of the plastic buttons on her blouse. It was so soft her thumb and middle finger touched as she squeezed it. “Sean!” she said, horror-struck. “My buttons are melting!”
No matter how scared those men and their guns had made her feel, it didn’t compare to this sheer terror. She screwed her eyes tight. Maybe she would die of fright before the flames got to her.
Please, God. Please.
TWENTY-TWO
Sean had failed at everything.
He’d set out this morning to find the missing horse and now he’d lose it to these flames. He wouldn’t reach home ahead of the fire like he’d promised Uncle Paul. He would die less than a mile away while other men battled for the survival of his land. And the mystery that had plagued him for six years would go unsolved. He’d never know what had happened to his dad.
The regret that saddened him the most, though, was Deanna. Not only had he failed to win her heart, he’d have to watch her suffer a horrible death, helpless to stop it.