“On three.”
______
“One.”
Sarah gripped Eric’s hand for all she was worth. She couldn’t let herself think about what they were about to do. She just had to feel, trust.
“Two.”
She mimicked Eric’s posture, knees bent, muscles coiled like springs. Time stretched forever, slow and painful. Finally he opened his lips a third time.
“Three.”
They sprang over the crevasse and into the open, racing for the stand of pine. Her boots skidded on rock and tripped over prickly pear, but she kept her legs under her, kept them moving, kept hold of Eric’s hand.
A crack echoed off stone. Another.
They plunged into the forest’s edge. From the ridge the trees had appeared closer together. Dense. Now she could see how sparse the forest really was. Some pines ravaged by past fires were bare as matchsticks thrust into the sky. Others had needles, but were too young to provide decent cover.
They kept moving. Sarah’s breath panted raw in her throat. She tried to make herself breathe deeply, sucking in all the oxygen she could with each breath, but still her lungs craved more.
Eric picked and dodged around rocks and through brush. Finally the forest grew darker, the understory more sparse until only a bed of dead needles cushioned the rocky soil beneath their feet.
Instead of stopping, Eric ran on. No longer a mad dash, but a steady jog. Sarah gamely kept up. The gunshots coming from the top of the ridge still echoed in her ears, even as they slowed, stopped. They had been too close. Too real. Those moments before Eric had led her to shelter had scared her as she’d never been scared before, and every cell in her body seemed to still be shaking from it.
Her breathing settled into a steady rhythm. In and out. In and out. Blood hummed through her arms and legs. Hair stuck to her face and neck, sweat slicking her skin.
They ran on, through forest then open space. They hiked over ridges and rappeled down steep slopes. By the time Sarah made it down the cliff near the waterfall, she was starting to feel like a pro. Either that or she was so exhausted she was becoming delusional.
Her side stung with each breath as if a knife had been jabbed between her ribs. “I have to stop. Just for a second.”
Eric paused as if listening for the sound of pursuit. Finally he nodded and led her to the side of the stream. He handed her one of the water bottles Layton had provided and slugged back the other himself. Once they were empty, he refilled them from the stream, slipped them back into the pack and propped a hip on the slope of a felled log.
Even though the sharp pain in her lungs had lessened, Sarah’s whole body still ached, and she knew if she sat for long each of those overtaxed muscles would stiffen, making things worse.
But a few minutes would be nice.
The sound of water washing over stone lulled her like the mellow tones of New Age music. She breathed in the fresh tang of pine and plopped her elbows on her knees. “Did you find anything? You know, on the body?”
“Like stolen money or drugs? No.”
She leaned forehead to hands. “Then the hike up to Saddle Horn Ridge…it was all for nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“We don’t know anything we didn’t know before.”
He scanned the rough landscape around them, always on guard. “We know several things.”
“Like what?” At the moment, she couldn’t think of one.
“We know there’s a body.”
Yes, they knew that, all right. The rotting flesh, the sickening smell…she suppressed a shiver. “So? We have no proof he’s part of this at all. He might just be a hiker who fell.”
“He was no hiker.”
“How do you know?”
“First, he was wearing the wrong boots.” He glanced down at the cowboy boots on her feet. “You know from experience those wouldn’t be the first choice for a hike.”
She couldn’t disagree. She studied the confident line of his mouth. “I get the feeling there’s more?”
“He was murdered.”
The word sent a jolt of energy through her she didn’t know she still possessed. “How do you know?”
“There was a bullet hole in the back of his skull. And…” He hefted the backpack up on the log beside him, unzipped it and pulled something out. He handed her a silver belt buckle.
“This is from the body?” She held it by the edges, balancing it between two fingers, not sure she wanted to touch it.
He pointed to the lettering surrounding the bucking horse. Cody Nite Rodeo. “We learn the name of the bareback champion in 1978, we identify our murder victim.”
She turned the buckle over in her fingers. Maybe things weren’t so hopeless. Maybe they could still find a way out. Thanks to Eric. “And from there, we figure out why he was killed.”
Eric nodded. “And who killed him.”
“You’re thinking the sheriff?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “At the very least, he’s trying to cover it up.”
“So this whole thing…it’s not about stolen money or drugs at all?”
“Maybe not.” He gestured to the buckle in her hands. “Is there a list of the cowboys who’ve won awards like this? Something that goes back to 1978?”
“Pro rodeo results are listed on the PRCA Web site. But this is a year-end award for the Cody Nite Rodeo. I doubt there’s a list online. Especially one that goes back to 1978.” She searched her memory. She wasn’t certain, but…
“What is it?”
“Back when I was barrel racing and Randy had just started riding bulls, I remember one place had the champions listed on the back of the grandstand. Like an honor role of sorts. I always dreamed of my name being up there someday.”
“You think it was Cody?”
“I don’t know, but Layton used to take Randy and me to the Cody rodeo pretty often.”
“Then let’s go to Cody.”
“How? Walk? That should only take… forever.”
“If we had to travel by road the whole way, that might be true. But as the crow flies…we aren’t as far from Cody as you think.”
Sarah scanned the topography. She’d gotten so turned around on their hike up to Saddle Horn Ridge and even more confused in their escape. “Where are we, exactly?”
He pointed to a narrow pass between two peaks. “Cody is that way, maybe thirty miles.”
She looked down at his stocking foot. The bottom of his thick sock had worn away in spots, and the rusty color of dried blood colored the tattered edges. “Still a long way to walk.”
“Maybe we can find a ride.” One corner of his mouth turned up.
She wanted to return the smile. Eric seemed as if he had thought the whole thing through, as if he had it all figured out. But while it felt good to have him with her, to be able to rely on him, to not have to handle everything herself, she knew things weren’t so simple and clear-cut. And for all Eric’s crooked smiles and confidence, she had the feeling he sensed that, too.
CHAPTER NINE
ALTHOUGH THE BRIEF STOP FOR rest and water had helped, by the time they’d descended into the foothills, Sarah’s bones ached with a fatigue from which she couldn’t imagine recovering. Of course, Eric had it worse, traveling with only one boot. He hadn’t said a word on the long hike down the mountain, but she’d been aware of his limp, which was growing more pronounced by the hour.
If they were where Eric said, they should find ranches and green hay fields flanking the river ahead. Civilization compared to the land they’d just crossed. Maybe there they could find the ride Eric had so cockily promised.
She sure hoped so, because she didn’t know how he was going to manage to walk much farther.
The first ranch they came to seemed locked up tight. No sign of life stirred in the house. The small barn, corral and fields were vacant, and the garage didn’t have so much as a bicycle inside. “Must be a summer place,” Eric said.
Sarah nodded. The
beginning of June was summer in most places, but not necessarily here in the mountains. And even though the countryside was enjoying a nice growth spurt before the July sun dried the landscape to a dull brown, summer vacation and tourist season didn’t really get cooking in this area until later in the month.
They moved on to the next ranch. Instead of hay fields, cattle dotted the valley. “Now we’re talking,” Eric said. “They must have some kind of vehicle.”
“You’re thinking of stealing a car?”
He nodded.
“Do you know how to do that?”
“I’m hoping I can figure it out.”
She hoped so, too. And that the ranch didn’t have dogs keeping watch. And that the rancher didn’t have a gun. It seemed they were hanging a lot on hope. “There has to be a better way.”
“You come up with one, I’m all ears.”
They circled the house and crouched behind a clump of big sage. From this angle, they had a clear view of the barn and other outbuildings. And in the middle of the gravel drive, a truck idled, hitched to a four-horse stock style trailer.
“I told you we’d find a ride. He even left the keys in and the engine running.”
Movement stirred in the barn’s open doorway.
“Wait.” Sarah grabbed Eric’s arm as if to stop him, even though he hadn’t moved.
A dog trotted out, tail held high. Behind him, a man emerged leading a saddled horse. Lead rope loose in his hand, he stepped up into the trailer. The horse followed, horseshoes thunking on steel, as willing as if he was walking into his stall in the barn.
After a moment, the man jumped down from the back of the trailer. He closed the back gate and headed for the house, dog on his heels.
Clean Wranglers. Bright, striped button-down shirt. Perfectly shaped hat and a nice pair of boots. No cowboy dressed that well for day-to-day work. And although the saddle on the horse’s back was no silver-encrusted monstrosity you sometimes saw in pleasure horse shows, it was as clean and spruced up as the man who would sit in it.
She glanced at the sun, hovering over the mountains, poised to take a plunge. “You wanted to go to Cody? To the rodeo grounds? I think that horse would probably be willing to share his ride.”
A smile turned both corners of Eric’s lips. Two days worth of stubble shaded his chin. Evening sun slanted low through the sagebrush and sparkled in his green eyes. “I could kiss you.”
A jitter lodged beneath her ribs.
“I mean, it’s a good idea.” He focused on the trailer.
She nodded. She knew that’s what he meant. But somewhere dangerous inside her, she wanted it to be more.
______
Like every place in Wyoming, it took much too long to drive to Cody, even though it was the closest town. Exhaust from the old truck swirled in the wind. Sarah’s hair lashed against her cheeks.
She and Eric squatted to the side of the saddled horse and peered through the trailer’s slatted sides. The jolting motion made her grateful she hadn’t eaten in a good number of hours. Even though they were sheltered behind a solid kick board rimming the lower half of the trailer, the wind felt more like a gale in October than a spring night in early June. By the time they reached town, it seemed Sarah couldn’t do a thing to smooth the tangle on top of her head other than shave it off and start fresh.
The truck turned left and followed the light flow of traffic on the west strip, the road leading to the Buffalo Bill Dam and Yellowstone National Park. Sunset sparkled on the Shoshone River as the sun slipped behind the mountains. Hotels on the strip boasted few cars in their lots, the early tourist season trickle just a warm-up for the flood of people who would flock to enjoy the parks and a slice of the west come July.
The rodeo grounds loomed on the right, lights blazing. Tonight was rodeo night, as was every summer night in Cody. Even though Sarah hadn’t attended in years, some of her ranch hands…“Oh, no.”
Eric’s head whipped around. “What?”
“Keith and Glenn.” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of them. She only wished she was more aware of their plans. “They’ve been competing in team roping. They might be here tonight.”
The truck turned in to the exhibitors’ entrance and circled to the back of the arena.
Eric leveled a calm gaze. “If they see you, are they the types who will turn you in?”
She didn’t have to think too hard about Glenn Freemont. “Glenn is. Between his fascination with crime novels and cop shows on television, I suspect a career in law enforcement is his secret dream.”
“And Keith?”
Keith Sherwood was another story. “Keith would probably prefer to shoot us himself.” She supposed she should feel lucky that he didn’t carry his assault rifle to rodeos, although she was sure he’d have an assortment of rifles in the rack in his truck along with a handgun or two.
“No loyalty, eh?”
“Glenn hasn’t worked for me long. And I imagine Keith believes you killed Randy. He might even believe I was there, too, at this point.” They had no clue how large the news story about the murder and subsequent manhunt had grown in the past day. Maybe the entire state would be gunning for them. And here they were, riding smack into the middle of a crowd of people, any one of whom could identify them, call the police, or worse. “This was a bad idea.”
“It’ll be fine. We’ll be in and out before anyone sees us. We’ll just have to avoid the competitors.”
“Not such an easy thing to do when we’re driving right into the middle of them.”
They entered the gate and bumped through a rutted lot between trucks, horse trailers and motor homes. Sarah peered through the slats in the back gate and focused on the small grandstand above the bucking chutes, a place called the Buzzard’s Roost. Below were the stock pens. The scent of manure and the warm tang of horse sweat surrounded her like a favorite blanket. She took a deep, bracing breath. The trailer’s jolts slowed as the truck circled.
Now came the tough part. Getting out of the trailer unseen. “Ready?”
Eric nodded. He rose to his feet, careful to stay tight to the side of the trailer in case anyone was behind them.
Sarah focused on his bloody sock. Another problem she’d forgotten about. “You might be a little noticeable walking around with only one boot.”
“I have an idea.” He motioned for her to move to the back gate. Once she took her spot, he placed his hands around her waist.
His touch felt familiar, comforting, but also disconcerting. Her body seemed to sway toward him on its own, leaning against the pressure of his hands, molding to his touch.
Stop it.
She focused on the slowing trailer, scouted for stray riders warming up their mounts behind the trailer parking area. If anyone spotted them jumping from the trailer, they would be sure to ask questions. Questions she and Eric could never answer.
“As soon as your feet hit the ground, make for that rig over there.” He extended a finger, indicating a motor home with a four-horse slant hitched to the back. “There shouldn’t be anyone there. I just saw them leave.”
“Okay. Ready.” Sarah tensed. The trailer bumped, jolted and stopped.
Eric lifted her as if she weighed nothing. She grasped the trailer gate and swung her legs over. She hit the ground knees bent and running. The force shuddered through her bones.
She reached the other rig before the driver opened his pickup’s door. Eric was right behind her, limping as fast as his feet would move. They opened the trailer dressing room and ducked inside.
A dog’s bark sounded from outside. A whistle split the air.
“Just in time.” Sarah panted.
Eric checked out the tiny window in the dressing room’s door. “All clear. No one seems to have noticed except the dog.”
Sarah struggled to catch her breath. The rodeo had to be close to starting time. Likely most of the competitors had already drifted closer to the arena.
She glanced around the cramped and da
rkened space, the typical dressing room, tight and full of a jumbled form of organization that made sense only to the people to whom it belonged. She breathed in the warm fragrance of leather and focused on a pile of boxes just to the right of Eric’s shoulder. “Boot boxes.”
Eric shifted and stretched to reach. He opened one box, then the next, so close to Sarah in the tight space that they had to do an intricate dance around each other to accommodate each movement.
Finally he pulled a pair of boots from a box and let out a soft grunt as he pulled one on.
“How does it fit?”
“A little big on my good foot. But the other foot is so swollen, it’s perfect.”
“How about your head? I can still see some blood in your hair.”
He added a black felt cowboy hat she found stuck in a corner and he was ready to go. “Don’t you need something?”
“I’m fine,” she said, although she didn’t feel very fine at all. She glanced around the space. “Doesn’t look like there’s a woman that goes with this rig.”
“Maybe we’ll spot something on the way out.”
She hated stealing gear like this, especially since there was no way they could get it back to the poor guy when they were done. But it couldn’t be helped. She didn’t know how much cash Eric was carrying, but her wallet was sitting on her kitchen counter, right next to her cell phone. When she’d gone out to do chores two evenings ago, she didn’t exactly expect to need either.
By the time they emerged from the dressing room, the man who’d acted as their unknowing chauffeur was nowhere to be seen. His dog barked from the rolled-down window of the pickup. Eric slung the backpack onto one shoulder. It didn’t go with the outfit, but that couldn’t be helped. They didn’t exactly have a place to stash it. They strode through the exhibitors’ area as if they belonged there.
A man in a silver belly Stetson and button-down shirt stood at the gate leading to the arena, making sure only those with tickets or competitor’s numbers found their way through.
Fugitive (A Rocky Mountain Thriller Book 2) Page 7