SEAL's Vow (Iron Horse Legacy Book 4)

by Elle James

  Bastian pounded on the door once more. The engine noises were getting closer. They’d be on them in seconds.

  Knowing Jenna wouldn’t leave without Monson, Bastian leaned back and was about to kick the door in, when it opened and Monson ran out, coughing and sputtering. Smoke billowed out with him.

  Bastian hooked the older man’s arm and yelled, “Run!”

  Helping Monson as much as he could, he hustled the man across the clearing and shoved him up on Scout. “Can you ride?”

  Monson nodded.

  “Follow us,” Bastian said.

  Jenna handed Monson the reins and waited while Bastian swung up into the saddle. He reached down and gripped her forearm and slung her up behind him.

  After Jenna wrapped her arms around his waist, Bastian dug his heels into Little Joe’s flanks.

  The horse leaped forward.

  Jenna clung to Bastian as they raced through the woods.

  Every so often, Bastian glanced back to make sure Monson was following.

  The trip down the mountain went a lot faster than the journey upward, with the dirt bikes and four-wheeler riders hot on their tails.

  Bastian pressed the button on the walkie talkie he’d clipped to the lapel of his jacket. “Coming in hot. Could use some backup and firepower,” he said.

  “Roger. Gotcha covered as soon as you get close enough,” Parker fired back.

  The good thing about racing downhill through the woods was that their pursuers would be too focused on staying on their rides to manage to shoot with any accuracy. As long as they kept moving and stayed ahead of the others, Bastian, Jenna and Monson would make it to the truck and trailer on Black Water Road.

  They had to make it before their pursuers got to a point they could aim and shoot. Monson would be the first one to take a bullet. Then they’d shoot at Bastian and Jenna.

  Jenna would take a bullet before Bastian.

  He urged his horse to go faster. Jenna was not going to take a bullet. Not today. Not on his watch.

  Jenna held on tight as the horse plunged down the side of the mountain, over rocky terrain and through the trees. Several times, they turned so fast, she slid sideways and almost fell off. A lunge back in the other direction helped get her back in place.

  As the roar of motorcycle engines grew closer, Jenna shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Bless Mr. Monson’s heart, the man was right behind them, keeping up as best he could. He bounced and jolted but pressed on.

  Beyond Monson and Scout, Jenna could see dirt bikes and four-wheelers dodging around trees and brush, gaining on the horseback riders.

  Her breath caught and held until, finally, they burst out onto a gravel road, several yards away from the horse trailer and truck.

  Molly stood by the truck and shouted. “Get behind the trailer.” She leaned over the hood of bed of the truck with a rifle aimed at the woods.

  Jenna didn’t wait for the horse to come to a complete stop before she slid off his back and dropped to the ground. She fell to her knees, picked herself up and took up a position beside Molly, with her handgun braced in her palm.

  Bastian leaped from the saddle, landed on his feet and pulled out the rifle from the scabbard. He ran around the front of the truck into the woods where he dropped low and aimed his rifle at the oncoming bikes and ATVs.

  Monson rode past the truck and trailer and reined his horse to a halt. He slid out of the saddle onto the ground and ducked behind the truck bed.

  When the bikers came into range, Bastian and Parker fired.

  The lead rider fell from his dirt bike, rolled on the ground and leaped to his feet, holding his side.

  The others, apparently seeing the lead rider go down, swerved left or right and circled back.

  A four-wheeler driver swept in. The injured rider slipped onto the back of the four-wheeler and the two took off, heading away from the truck and trailer.

  The aggressors stopped just out of range of the rifles and faced Bastian, Parker, Molly and Jenna.

  Her heart beat so fast, Jenna could barely catch her breath. Was this what it felt like to be in a stand-off with the enemy in battle? She’d never been so frightened, except when she’d been down, and Corley had kicked her into unconsciousness. Even then, she hadn’t been so much frightened as fatalistic. Dying would have been easier.

  “What are they waiting for?” Molly asked.

  “They’re waiting for us to pack it in and leave,” Parker said.

  “But wouldn’t that leave us exposed to them?” Molly asked.

  “Yes,” Bastian responded. “That’s why we’re not going anywhere until they leave. Stay behind the truck. If they get by us, roll underneath the truck or trailer.”

  He didn’t have to tell Jenna twice. She was ready. And she would shoot the bastards if they started firing at any one of their party.

  The thought of Bastian being hit made her gut clench and sweat pop out on her brow. She prayed all her practice at the gun range would pay off.

  Five minutes passed, and the men on bikes didn’t come any closer.

  Some of them bunched together as if they were in discussion, then they broke apart and faced the truck and trailer again.

  She counted six vehicles, plus the one they’d abandoned, made seven riders. Three more people than her, Molly, Bastian and Parker. The bikers outnumbered them, but they didn’t have the advantage of cover and concealment.

  Another two minutes passed painfully slow. Jenna shifted her weight from one foot to another and kept her gaze on her targets.

  “Ever shoot a living being,” Molly whispered beside her.

  Jenna shivered. “No.”

  “Never been hunting?” Molly asked.

  “No,” Jenna said.

  “It’s different when the target is moving. You have to aim just a little ahead of it.”

  “Good to know.” Every target Jenna had aimed at had been stationary. She prayed she didn’t have to shoot a living human, but she would if it was a choice between one of her friends and one of them.

  Another minute passed, and the riders turned their bikes and ATVs around and disappeared into the woods.

  Parker called out, “Molly & Jenna, we’ll cover—”

  “And we’ll load the horses,” Molly finished.

  “Monson, get into the truck and lie down on the back floorboard,” Bastian called out.

  Earl Monson shook his head and started for the opposite side of the road and the woods beyond.

  Jenna snagged his arm. “You have to stay with us. We’ll make sure you’re safe.” She led him back to the truck and opened the rear door. “Get in.” She spoke firmly and added. “Please. The longer you take, the more likely those jerks will come back.”

  The older man looked to the woods and back to the truck. Finally, he climbed in and lay down on the floorboard.

  Molly had abandoned her position near the truck bed and hurried to round up Little Joe.

  Jenna crossed the dirt road to snag Scout’s reins and led him up into the back of the trailer. She tied him quickly and exited in time for Molly to load Little Joe. When both horses were in, they closed the gate and latched it.

  “Let’s go,” Molly called out.

  Bastian and Parker rose to their feet and stared at the abandoned bike.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bastian asked Parker.

  Parker nodded. “Let’s get that dirt bike.”

  As the two men tromped through the woods toward the bike, Jenna held her breath and her gun at the ready. They were quickly getting out of range of her ability to provide coverage.

  Molly came to stand beside Jenna. “What are they doing?”

  “Going after that bike,” Jenna said.

  “They might be able to identify who the rider is, if they have it,” Molly said.

  “Yeah, but what if the gang comes back while they’re that far out?”

  “I have a rifle.” Molly said.

  “Aren’t you afraid you might
hit your brother or Parker?” Jenna asked, gauging the distance as around the distance of two football fields. “I wish they’d just leave it and let’s get back to the ranch.”

  “They must think it’s importan—” Molly stopped talking as the roar of engines sounded nearby.

  The bike and four-wheeler riders roared up the road toward them.

  “Damn,” Jenna dropped and rolled beneath the truck.

  Molly did the same.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bastian and Parker running back toward them, leaping over logs and zigzagging between the trees. They wouldn’t get to them in time as far away from the vehicle as they’d gone.

  Jenna switched off her safety and aimed at the lead biker and fired a round, doing as Molly suggested and aiming in front of the speeding bike.

  A plume of dust kicked up in front of the bike.

  Missed.

  She raised her aim and fired again.

  The bullet hit somewhere on the handlebar. The bike twisted and laid down in the gravel, throwing its rider. A moment later the rider dragged himself off the gravel, his arms and legs scraped raw. He lifted his bike, kickstarted it and rode away.

  Molly fired her rifle at the next rider.

  The man jerked his hand off the handlebar and slowed.

  More shots were fired from the trees where Bastian and Parker had taken cover and were aiming their rifles at the oncoming gang.

  The riders kept coming.

  Dust rose up around the truck and trailer as the bikers blasted past them.

  Molly cursed beside Jenna. “Damned rifle is jammed.”

  Jenna fired at the wheels rolling past her, unable to focus when the dust and gravel spewed up into her eyes.

  The riders spun and raced back at the truck and trailer.

  Jenna wouldn’t let them get to Mr. Monson. The man was counting on them to protect him.

  She rolled on her side and aimed at the rider closest to her and squeezed the trigger.

  The man jerked the handlebar of his bike. He didn’t fall off, but he didn’t slow, either. He drove past the truck and trailer and continued down the road.

  The others followed.

  When the dust started to settle, Jenna could see that the bikes and four-wheelers were once again waiting out of range of the rifles.

  Bastian and Parker appeared beside the truck.

  “Get in the truck,” Bastian said. “We’re leaving.”

  “What about the bike?” Molly asked.

  “It’s not worth losing one of you,” Parker said. He climbed into the passenger seat and lowered the window, sticking his rifle out.

  “Molly, you drive.” Bastian opened the back door. “Monson, up on the seat and stay low.”

  The old man scrambled up onto the seat and bent over.

  Jenna climbed in the back on the other side of Earl Monson. “It’s going to be all right,” she tried to reassure him, though she wasn’t even certain that it would be. Like Parker, she lowered her window and positioned herself so that she could use her weapon should she need to.

  While Jenna and Bastian had been riding up into the hills, Parker and Molly had turned the truck and trailer around so that they were heading toward Eagle Rock. With the gang of riders behind them, they raced toward town, away from danger and straight to the sheriff’s office.

  Sheriff Barron listened to their story and sent a couple of his deputies out to investigate. He also alerted the fire department about the cabin on fire in the hills. They would contact the local Hot Shots who would send up a helicopter to evaluate the blaze.

  When Sheriff Barron tried to question Earl Monson, the older man curled into his coat and refused to get out of the truck or answer any questions. He sat in stubborn silence.

  “What are you going to do with him,” the sheriff asked.

  “He needs a good meal and a place to sleep,” Jenna said. “The poor man has been through a lot today.”

  “He needs Mom,” Molly said.

  Bastian frowned. “How do you know he’s not dangerous?”

  “He saved me from those people,” Jenna said.

  “He could have been the one who performed the torture,” Bastian said, keeping his voice down so that Monson couldn’t hear.

  Jenna shook her head. “He didn’t do those things. He saved me from that same fate. I know it in my gut.”

  “Are you willing to put the rest of the family at risk by bringing him to Iron Horse Ranch?”

  Jenna lifted her chin. “If you think he might be dangerous, you can drop Mr. Monson off at my place in town. I’ll stay with him.”

  Bastian’s lips thinned. “You’re not going back to your place until we know who those people are and why they were after you, and now, Mr. Monson.”

  Jenna fisted her hands on her hips. “Then what do you suggest?”

  Parker leaned into Bastian. “She has a point.”

  After a moment of staring into Jenna’s eyes, Bastian finally said, “Fine. But we’ll take shifts watching him. I don’t trust him.”

  “You don’t have to take shifts, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Jenna said. “You can put him in my room. I’ll sleep outside the door.”

  “The hell you will.” He marched toward the truck, held open the door and jerked his head toward the interior. “Get in.”

  Jenna cocked an eyebrow and didn’t move.

  Bastian closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and opened them again. “Get in, please.”

  For a moment, Jenna considered telling him to go to hell and to take Mr. Monson to her apartment over the Blue Moose Tavern. Then she thought about all that had happened that day. Mr. Monson wouldn’t be safe above the tavern. Those men had lobbed fire-tipped arrows at his cabin. They might do the same to the Blue Moose to burn Earl Monson out.

  Monson must know something, or the men in black masked gang wouldn’t have followed Jenna and Bastian into the woods, and then burned the cabin down.

  What did Monson know, or what had he witnessed that they didn’t want to get out?

  Chapter 8

  Bastian drove with Parker riding shotgun, his rifle at the ready in case they ran into more trouble on the way out to Iron Horse Ranch.

  When they arrived, Hank Patterson’s big black four-wheel-drive truck was parked in front of the house.

  “Good,” Bastian said. “Hank’s here. Maybe he’ll have some news on who might be behind these attacks.”

  “I’d bet money it’s one of the survivalist groups that has been stirring up trouble lately,” Parker said.

  Bastian’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Yeah, but which one and why?” Bastian said.

  As he, Parker and Molly climbed out of the truck, Hank, Swede, Angus, Colin and Duncan came out onto the porch. The trio Bastian had come to call the fiancées emerged behind the men: Bree Lansing, Angus’s fiancée; Emily Tremont, Colin’s fiancée; and Deputy Fiona Guthrie, Duncan’s fiancée who carried their baby Caity on her hip.

  An impressive yet somewhat intimidating mob of humanity. Especially for someone who’d been living alone in the backwoods.

  Jenna got out of the back seat and leaned into the cab. “Mr. Monson, it’s okay. I know you’re not used to having all these people around, but they’re here to help you. Won’t you come inside?”

  The old man shook his head.

  Bastian could see this was going to be a problem. Monson couldn’t sleep all night in the truck. It wasn’t an option.

  “I’m so glad you all made it back safely. And just in time for dinner.” Bastian’s mother came out of the house and down the steps, her smile turning into a concerned frown. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Bastian said. “But we have another guest we need to find a room for.”

  “Who have you brought home?” His mother’s smile was back in place as she hurried toward the truck and leaned up into the back seat. Her smile faded again as she looked at the man with the long beard and ragged clothing.

  Jenna g
ave her an encouraging smile. “Mrs. McKinnon, this is Mr. Earl Monson.”

  Bastian’s mother’s frown disappeared, and her smile returned. “Earl Monson? I thought you’d moved away. Why yes, I remember you and your dear, sweet wife, Vera.” She reached out and touched the man’s hand. “I was so sorry to hear about her passing. That was one of the worst winter storms in the history or our state.” She squeezed his hand. “Please. Come inside. I made southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  Monson’s stomach rumbled even as he shook his head and pulled his hand from beneath Bastian’s mother’s hand.

  “Please, Earl. Vera loved my fried chicken. She would have wanted you to have some.” She took his hand again and tugged gently.

  At first, the man didn’t budge.

  Then to Bastian’s surprise, Earl Monson let the McKinnon family matriarch draw him out of the truck and up the stairs into the house.

  Bastian could hear his mother as she went in. “You can wash your hands in here. I’ll wait and show you where the kitchen is.”

  Jenna came to stand beside Bastian and Molly, shaking her head. “That woman could talk a bear out of hibernation. She’s truly gifted.”

  “That’s our mom,” Molly said. “She doesn’t know a stranger and won’t take no for an answer.”

  “We should let mom feed Mr. Monson first,” Molly said. “He might feel more comfortable eating without the usual gang gathered around.”

  Bastian’s mother poked her head out the door. “You all start supper without us. Earl is going to freshen up before he comes to the table.”

  Bastian exchanged shocked expressions with Jenna.

  “How does she do that?” Jenna asked.

  Molly chuckled. “Like you said, it’s a gift.”

  They all moved into the kitchen, determined the table was too small for all of them and moved the food, plates and glasses into the dining room.

  “It’s a good thing Sadie and Emma are in LA. She’d think I didn’t love her cooking as much as I’m over here eating your food,” Hank said as he reached for the platter of golden fried chicken. “And don’t tell her I had fried chicken. She’s got me on a strict, boring diet of vegetables and tofu.” Hank shook his head. “What exactly is tofu?” He held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me. I’d rather not know. Whatever it is, it’s disgusting.”