by Cindy Gerard
She swung her right leg over the mule’s back and just that fast, was on board. She wanted to scream. He could see it written all over her gorgeous face, but she bit it back.
“A natural.” He grinned even though she had a death grip on the mane and her eyes had widened to the size of dinner plates.
“Grip with your thighs,” he whispered after he’d slung the rifle over his back. He swung up onto the bay and adjusted his seat to accommodate the boys. Keeping her mule close beside him with the belt rope, he clucked softly. His mule lumbered forward and, after a gentle tug, the gray fell in stride beside him.
“You’re doing fine,” he told her, though she still looked terrified. “Just relax and let your body ride to the rhythm she sets. It’s all about balance.”
“As long as we don’t go any faster than this, I think I can stay on,” she said, a world of determination in her voice.
“Yeah, about that . . .” He looked over his shoulder. Two dark silhouettes materialized against the slowly rising sun about one hundred yards away. Their time had just run out.
“Hang on, Princess. We have to kick this up into racing gear.”
He nudged his mount with his heels and added a firm “Git up!”
The mule gathered himself, reared up on his hind legs like he thought he was the damn Black Stallion, then burst forward at a full-out gallop. Beside him, Valentina let out a surprised yelp when her mule followed suit.
Luke had a bad moment when he thought she was going to take a tumble, but goddamn, she dug deep, leaned low over the mule’s neck, and clung like a tick.
Problem was, the mare sensed her fear and it spooked her. She turned on the after burners and would have streaked out ahead of him if Luke hadn’t had a good grip on the makeshift lead rope and reeled her back in. After he spent a few more heart-pounding moments grappling for control, the two mules finally found a compatible rhythm.
Luke took a moment to grieve for his balls, which were taking a hammering on the boniest backbone he’d ever had the misfortune to straddle. But when a barrage of automatic weapon fire cracked across the ground beside them, the state of his balls took a backseat to the danger to Valentina’s life.
“Stay low!” he shouted as they raced over the hard-packed earth, clumps of grass and divots of dirt flying under the mule’s thundering hooves.
The rifle fire kept coming in short, three-round bursts. These were no novices on the triggers. They were conserving ammo and making each shot count. And they kept hitting closer. One of these times, a bullet was going to hit the mark.
Luke glanced over his shoulder. Even though they were putting real estate between themselves and the shooters, he had to do something to increase their odds of survival. Returning fire from the back of a running mule was not the answer.
“Hang on!” he yelled and, applying pressure on his mule’s left side with his knee and using his hand to push the big guy’s head hard to the right, he managed to change their course.
Valentina’s mare wasn’t so keen on following his lead. The gray’s sides were lathered up. Her chest heaved; her nostrils flared wide as she tossed her head wildly, fighting the belt rope, as scared now as Valentina. Hoping to hell she didn’t blow and start bucking, Luke headed them toward the thick stand of trees about a quarter mile ahead.
If they could reach it, the cover it offered would buy them time to get good and gone before the gunmen caught up with them.
“He-yaw!” He slapped the bay on the rump and asked for more speed as the rifle fire picked up, bullets hitting dangerously close.
Another hundred yards. Seventy-five. Unless these guys were trained snipers or damn lucky, each yard decreased the chance of a direct hit.
As the sun grew higher, he could make out individual trees, not just a massive clump. Almost there . . .
“Oh, shit!”
A gaping gorge that he hadn’t spotted earlier yawned directly between them and the trees.
The ravine was too wide to jump, too deep and steep to try to ride through. He needed to stop these mules and stop ’em fast. Without a bridle, that was going to be a damn tough trick.
He leaned back, stretched out his legs, hooked his boot heels over the bay’s chest, and pulled like hell. All he got for his efforts was a banged-up tailbone as he bounced along that bony damn back.
Trying not to think about the ravine getting closer and closer, he shifted his weight forward again, leaned over the mule’s withers, and transferred the end of the belt on Valentina’s mule to his teeth. With both hands free, he loosened the belt he’d looped around the bay’s neck, worked it up over his ears, and slid it down over his muzzle like a modified bridle.
He tugged once to tighten the loop, then knowing he had to control the mule’s head to stop him, he jerked hard to the left. The big guy’s head swung sideways into his own shoulder, effectively swinging his hindquarters around. The action turned him in a circle and finally slowed him down. Beside him, Valentina’s little mare fought and fussed and jerked the leather belt out of Luke’s mouth.
He caught the trailing end just in time, doubled it around his fist, and managed to keep her with him as the two animals gradually slowed in a helter-skelter dance of flying hoofs and confused braying.
Just when he thought they wouldn’t get stopped in time, he somehow brought them to a jerking, bouncing trot that had his boys screaming for relief.
By the time the dust cleared and they slowed to a stop, both mules were trembling with exhaustion and fear, they were skirting the very edge of the ravine, and he was damn close to singing soprano.
“You okay?” he managed in a pinched voice as he leaned forward, bracing his palms on the mule’s withers in an attempt to take the heat off his throbbing crotch.
“I . . . think so.” Valentina sounded breathless and a little amazed that she was telling the truth.
He heaved a deep breath, was about to tell her, “Well done,” when the bay decided he’d been hospitable for as long as he could tolerate.
Luke should have felt it coming. Might have, if 99.9 percent of his attention hadn’t been fixed on his aching gonads and wondering if he’d ever father children. By the time he realized what came next, it was too late to do anything but warn Val to “Bail!” as the bay’s muscles bunched into one huge, dynamite-driven knot.
The pissed-off mule arched his back, let go a bloodcurdling bray, then threw every ounce of strength left in his half-ton body into a series of bucks that would have made Bodacious, the all-time champion bucking bull, look like an amateur.
On the fourth buck, Luke went airborne like a kite in a stiff wind, his arms and legs flailing, before gravity—the greedy bitch—sucked him back to earth.
He hit the ground face first, right at the edge of the ravine. He tasted dirt, saw stars, and felt nothing but all-consuming pain.
7
When Luke yelled, “Bail!” Val shimmied sideways off the mule just before it charged off, running and bucking. Her feet hit the ground, then her butt when her knees buckled, and she landed with a bone-rattling umph. As she sat there catching her breath, Luke’s mule blew sky-high and sent him sailing.
Her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, my God!”
It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. One second, he was sitting astride that mule like he’d been born on his back. The next, he was soaring, stretched out like a pro wrestler taking a flying leap off the top rope in a ring. Then he lost altitude like a stalled jet and plowed into the unforgiving ground.
She gasped when he hit, flinching in sympathy at the pain he must be feeling. For a long, tense moment she just stared, frozen with fear as she waited for him to move. Then realized he wasn’t going to.
She pushed to all fours and, ignoring the pain in her knee, scrambled over to his side.
“Luke.”
Nothing.
She knelt by his shoulders, touched him with care. “Luke?”
He didn’t move.
Oh, God. Please,
please, please let him be alive. If he died, she probably wasn’t going to make it out of here alive, either.
She shoved a jerky hand through her hair and glanced over her shoulder. All she saw was the backside of the mules and the flying clods of dirt as they ran back home like their tails were on fire. She didn’t see the gunmen yet. Even though they’d put a substantial distance between them, she knew they’d catch up soon. All they had to do was follow the hoofprints.
Praying for a miracle, she glanced back down at Luke. Not so much as a groan.
He couldn’t be dead. He was too strong, too vital, too . . . Indy, she thought, battling panic. She didn’t want him to die. She was just getting used to him. She might even like him. And if he did die, it would be because of her.
Riddled with guilt, she placed a hand on his back, then slid it under the rifle and his pack. When she felt his ribs rise and fall, her breath whooshed out in a rush of relief. “Thank God.”
When he groaned, she let out a little yelp of joy. “I thought you were dead.”
He grunted. “I couldn’t be . . . that lucky.” He lifted his head and very gingerly tested his ability to turn it.
“And like I . . . told you earlier,” he said around a wince of pain, “apparently, I’m not that . . . easy to kill.”
“Do you think you can get up?”
He snorted. “Princess, I’m still working on . . . breathing.”
“We really have to get out of here.”
That got a muffled curse as he painstakingly pushed his upper body to his elbows, then hung his head in his hands. “I know. Just . . . give me a minute.”
She glanced nervously over her shoulder again. Still no sign of the gunmen, but that could change any second. And the sun was climbing fast. Once it was up, they’d be easy targets. “We don’t have a minute. Come on. Let me help you.”
“Jesus, woman.” He pushed himself painfully to his knees, swayed. “You ever hear the term tender mercy?”
“You think those guys are going to show any mercy?”
He heaved a pained breath that puffed out in a cloud in the freezing air. “Good point. Help me up.”
She gave it her all, but when he tried to stand, he fell back on all fours. This was bad. This was really bad.
She had to do something. She relieved him of the rifle and his backpack, then nearly buckled under the weight when she settled both on her back.
“What’s in here?” she muttered.
“Important things,” he told her. “So don’t even think about emptying it.”
“Fine. Whatever. Now try again,” she pleaded, and helped him upright.
It was a struggle but this time he made it to his feet—then swayed like a twig in a stout wind. “Whoa.”
She caught his wrist and slung his arm over her shoulder, then wrapped her other arm around his waist to steady him.
And she’d thought the pack was heavy. He was tall and lean, but the weight on his frame was all muscle.
“Come on,” she coaxed, her sense of urgency mounting by the second. “We’ve got to move.”
“I hate to break this to you, Angelface—but my whole world is movin’.”
“All I care about is this little part of it. One step. Come on.”
“You do know that a lesser man would need life support, right? A morphine drip at the very least.”
She hoped he was joking.
“Wait.” He jerked them to a stop. “My hat.”
“Forget about your hat,” she sputtered, and would have plowed forward if his dead weight hadn’t anchored them where they stood.
“I need the hat,” he insisted. He looked like he meant to take root if he had to. “It was a gift,” he said, as if it came from the Pope or something.
She scrunched her eyes shut and breathed deep in an attempt to get a handle on her frustration. “Fine.”
She scanned the area and spotted the brown fedora about twenty feet behind them. “Can you stand by yourself?”
“Don’t be long.”
She ducked out from under his arm, made certain he was steady, then sprinted for the hat.
She snatched it up on the run, plopped it on top of her head, and scooted back to his side just as he started to list sideways.
“My hero,” he said as she propped him against her again. “Lead the way, Angelface. I’ll follow you anywhere.”
She was stronger than she looked. Tougher too, Luke realized with admiration, and picked up his pace to match hers as she soldiered on toward the copse of trees less than fifty yards away.
He felt like he’d been hit by a train. Adrenaline expended, the damn cold had started to set into his bones and pound on his bruises. More bruised than his body was his pride. He was a cowboy, for God’s sake. Had the big belt buckle he’d won on the youth rodeo circuit years ago to prove it. And he’d let a mangy mule take him down. Never should have happened.
He gritted his teeth and sucked it up. He should let her know he’d recovered enough to shuffle along on his own now. He was still dizzy, yeah, but he could probably even sprint if he had to. But they were making good time and the last time he’d glanced over his shoulder, they were still in the clear.
And there were perks to playing the walking wounded. The last time he’d been this close to a woman who turned him on this much had been so long ago, he couldn’t pinpoint the date, the occasion, or the lady’s face.
So he took advantage of the solid strength and warmth of her pressed against his side. And he thoroughly enjoyed the look of her wearing his hat. The old fedora had never looked so good.
“You doing okay?” she asked, sounding breathless as they skirted yet another rock pile. Despite the cold, her brow was damp with moisture from the exertion.
A better man would have felt guilty for contributing to the exhaustion in her voice. “I’m so good, I’ve got half a notion to burst into song. Any requests?” he added because he knew it would make her grumble and maybe smile.
She didn’t disappoint him on either count. “I’ll take a rain check on that, if you don’t mind.”
He didn’t mind at all. He was just damn happy that she’d dropped her guard enough to banter back. She hadn’t wanted to bend, but he was breaking her down with his stupid jokes. And it wasn’t just about getting her to like him. It was about getting her mind off dead bodies, men with guns, and the mystery of who wanted her dead. If they wanted her dead.
He might have had his bell rung when he’d plowed into the ground, but he was still thinking straight. And what he’d been thinking was, if those guys had orders to kill her, she’d be dead by now. Their rifles were state of the art and top of the line. If they’d wanted to shoot her off the back of that gray mare, they’d had plenty of opportunities.
So he was pretty certain that they didn’t want her dead. Their orders were to keep her alive. And yeah, he was certain someone else was calling the shots on this op. There was serious coin invested in this hunting expedition, which meant there was a puppetmaster somewhere pulling the strings.
If he had to die trying, he was going to find out who the sonofabitch was. Then he was going to feed him his own teeth after he shoved the bastard’s head up his own ass. Somewhere along the way this had ceased being about Luke and his lack of backbone, and had become all about keeping Val safe and getting the bastards responsible for terrorizing her.
“Just a little farther,” she said, encouraging him when he stumbled and almost dragged her down.
Just listen to her, playing protector. His heart got all squishy.
“Just so you know,” he said when her arm tightened around his waist, “Superwoman’s got nothin’ on you, Angelface. You’re one tough lingerie model, you know that?”
A puff of frosty air escaped when she laughed. “Yeah, all those years of wearing silk and lace make a woman mean.”
He grinned, because, damn, she had a wicked sense of humor. And because laughing was better than bellyaching. But mostly because he still carried very
vivid mental images of her wearing that silk and lace that never failed to make him smile. Or get hard.
“What now?” she asked when they reached the trees that had once seemed a million miles away.
He glanced behind them just as two dark silhouettes emerged against the great orange glow of the sun, the dark barrels of their automatic rifles silhouetted in stark relief. They were no more than a couple hundred yards away and closing fast.
“Now we find ourselves a nice little hidey-hole.”
And we pray, he thought as they ducked into the thicket to search for a safe hiding place.
Hidey-hole.
Val tried not to think about that as they alternately jogged, skidded, and slid down the steep slopes.
She was not an outdoor, commune-with-nature kind of girl. She’d never even picnicked in the woods unless it was for a photo shoot. So she’d always thought of a forest floor as being covered with ferns and wildflowers. Not the case here. Lots of deadfall. Lots of rocks. Lots of ravines and sunlight filtering down through it all.
Still, it was actually very pretty. So she concentrated on that rather than the hidey-hole. But after they stumbled upon the trunk of a monster tree that had been uprooted and blown to its side, and he gave her a thumbs-up indicating he’d found something, she had to think about it—whether she wanted to or not. And what she thought of were those horrible days she’d been locked inside a dirt cellar. She’d been ten years old, crying for her mother. No light. No love. Nothing but dark and despair and terror. And rats. And snakes. And bugs. Oh God.
She’d made it a point to never get near a dark, tight space ever since and she was minutes away from doing exactly that. A violent shudder rippled through her body.
Don’t think about bugs, or rats or spiders or snakes. It’ll only give you bellyaches.
She remembered her mother’s arms around her, rocking her, holding her, singing that silly little song. For years after she’d been rescued, she woke up screaming and sobbing, after dreaming she was locked in that cellar again.
“Hurry,” Luke urged as he followed the length of the tree trunk down a steep grade to truck-sized roots caked with moss and dirt and reaching out of the ground like giant spider legs.
