by D'Ann Lindun
A tingle danced up and down her spine, and she glanced over a shoulder at the marshal. His intense gaze wasn’t focused on her. Even though his seat was relaxed, he seemed to be searching behind every tree, bush and rock for Rueben. Comforted by his diligence, she turned her attention forward again.
Because she had been in a headlong dash down the mountain last night, she hadn’t taken time to mark her trail, and at times wasn’t sure she was in the right location. The two or three places they had to backtrack she thought distrust flashed in the marshal’s cynical blue eyes. If he thought for one second she would help Reuben in any way, then Shane Catlin could stuff himself.
“Are we close to the plane?” he called.
“I think so. I’m not one hundred percent sure,” she said. “There were a lot of tall ferns in the area.”
“Ferns mean water,” he mused.
“I don’t remember a creek, or a pond,” she said, “but I wasn’t paying a lot of attention.”
He looked around. “Could be an underground spring.”
“Yes.” She scanned the area, but only saw a carpet of pine needles and cones on the ground. “Not here.”
“Lead on,” he ordered.
Resisting the urge to salute, she reined the paint around and allowed him to go the way he wanted. To her surprise, instead of turning back toward the trailer, he headed uphill at a fast walk, as if he knew exactly where he was headed.
“Has this horse ever been here before?” she called over her shoulder.
“No. Why?”
She shrugged. “He acts like he knows where he’s going.”
“No reason he should.” Doubt rang in Shane’s voice, irritating her. Did he think she was making it up? This horse had a destination in mind and she figured he knew as much as she did about where to look for the plane, so she loosened the reins and let the horse go where he chose. To her surprise, he found a clear trail.
“There’s a trail here, but I wasn’t on one last night.” She bent to examine the ground.
“You see any tracks or other sign of people?”
“Looks like two sets of hiking boots,” she said.
Shane dismounted and crowded by her horse to look for himself. “Yep. Looks like tracks made by the couple I saw yesterday afternoon. Just a man and a woman out for a hike.” He glanced up at her. “Harmless, I think.”
When he slid by her, he touched her knee for balance, and a shock rocketed up her leg. What was going on with her? She’d sworn off men after Rueben. No matter how attractive the marshal, she didn’t need him, or any man, messing up her life.
“Which way?”
“I’m not sure. Gunner thinks uphill, so I guess I’ll let him go where he wants.”
“Okay.”
The gelding followed the trail as if he knew it. Isabella knew horses had incredible memories and could recall things from years before, but according to Shane, this horse had never been here. So, what was driving him?
Anyone’s guess, she supposed.
He stopped at a small stream across the trail and dropped his nose into the cold water. Isabella took the opportunity to look around. To her left, alongside the trail, she spotted ferns. “There are ferns here, Marshal.”
“Does anything look familiar?”
She rested one hand on the saddlehorn and leaned back. “No. Wait. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
He snorted. “So definitive.”
She glanced over her shoulder to glare at him. “I’m doing my best. I wasn’t exactly taking notes when I was running for my life.”
“I know you are,” he said, appeasing her a little.
Something moved in the brush, and the horses and donkey lifted their heads and perked their ears. Everyone relaxed when a doe came into sight, briefly eyeing them before vanishing into the forest.
Isabella reined the horse off the trail, into the woods. She guided him alongside the stream. Under the canopy of trees, it was difficult to see, but slowly, the terrain began to seem familiar. A big flat rock she had run across; a fallen tree she’d skirted. She leaned over for a better look.
“Do you see something?” Shane asked.
“Looking for my tracks,” she told him.
“See any?”
“Maybe.” She dismounted for a better look. Looping the reins over her wrist, she scoured the ground. There! A bent fern, then another. “Found my trail!”
Marshal Catlin dismounted and walked to her side. “I see it.”
They remounted and Isabella led the way, keeping her gaze on the trail she’d left behind the night before. As she rode, the area began to look familiar. The sun glinted off something metal—the Cessna’s wing.
“I spotted the plane,” she said. “We’re close.”
“Be careful,” Shane said. “Reuben might be lurking around. Stop before you get much closer.”
She stopped and dismounted. Pointing in the direction where she’d seen the flash of metal she said, “We’re close”
Shane tethered his horse and the donkey to trees. “I see it. Let’s walk from here.”
“Okay.” She, too, tied her horse.
“Stay behind me and move slow.”
With her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, she nodded. Stealthy and silent as a timber wolf, Shane headed toward the site. Isabella fell in behind him, mimicking his movements. He stepped carefully, avoiding any branch that might snap and alert Reuben if he were near.
Isabella’s pulse picked up as they drew close to the plane. Her hand on the reins dampened. Was Reuben here? Had he tracked her? Or was he dead from the blow on the head she’d given him?
Shane paused and drew his gun. “Gonzalez, you here?”
Only silence met his question.
“Come out with your hands up,” Shane commanded.
Again, nothing.
Motioning for her to stay where she was, Shane advanced toward the wreck. She slipped behind a large pine tree and peered around it as the marshal quietly made his way to the aircraft. In the daylight, she saw the nose had dug into the earth, the left wing also planted.
Shane motioned for her to come forward.
Hyper-aware that Rueben might be lurking, she almost tip-toed the short distance to Shane. He stood near the nose of the plane. “Is this where you found the money?”
“Yes.” She pointed through the shattered window. “In the back.”
“I’m going in there,” he said.
“Be careful. It’s creepy. And dangerous. There’s a lot of debris on the floor.”
“I will.” He disappeared inside.
While he rummaged around the interior, she scouted the area. The plane lay at the edge of a small meadow ringed by pine trees. Several of them had their tops sheared off, presumably when the plunging aircraft had torn through them. Looking at the brilliant blue sky, Isabella imagined it would be next-to-impossible for searchers to see the wreck from above.
She vaguely recalled something about a plane crash around the time of the robbery, but no details sprang to mind. Now she wondered how the stolen money had gotten on a downed plane in the middle of the woods.
Had Rueben had a deal with the dead pilot to fly him and his loot out of the country? Ridiculous. She was letting her thoughts run wild. Fear, lack of sleep and riding all day were making her delirious. She shook her head to clear her mind.
What was taking Shane so long?
“You okay?” she called.
“Yeah, just checking out things,” he answered. “You said there were cash bags in here?”
“Yes, several.” She recalled the white, now yellowing, bags stamped with a bank logo from which she had pulled a few bills.
“They’re gone now.”
A gasp slipped out of her. She had not killed Reuben and he had followed her here and taken the money. Thank God he had not caught up with her and trapped her inside the airplane.
Shane appeared in the broken window, then opened the door and jumped to the ground. He wiped his hand
s on the back pockets of his jeans. “You’re sure you saw bags of money last night?”
“Positive.” What was with this guy, doubting her at every turn? “You saw the bills I took from here.”
He studied her face for a minute. “Okay.”
She met his steady gaze. “Okay, what?”
“Just okay. Looks like Reuben found the loot and took off with it. The bags are gone at any rate.” He began scouting the ground. “Too many footprints right here to pick his out of the batch. Which direction do you think he’d go?”
“I have no idea,” she said truthfully, but after a moment’s thought she said, “Not Black Mountain. Too many people could recognize him there. Maybe over the mountain toward Durango.”
Shane scratched his chin. “One of the trails out of the meadow where I camped leads there, right?”
“Yes. Above the Clouds eventually leads to Durango.”
“Is there a shortcut?”
“There’s an old mule trail, doesn’t even have a name, over the top of the peaks.” She hesitated. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to go to Black Mountain and contact Durango law enforcement to head him off?”
“With the head start he’s already gotten on us, he’d get away. I think we need to catch him from behind.” Shane turned toward the horses, obviously concluding the conversation.
“Wait,” she called. “Don’t you want to see the skull?”
He stopped and turned around. “Yes.”
With leaden feet, she led him to the spot where she had dropped the skull last night. There, laying in the dirt, grinning up at her, was the skeletal head exactly where she’d left it. She pointed. “There it is.”
Kneeling, Shane examined the head without touching it. “Is this where you found it?”
She didn’t want to look at the bone, or think about how it had come to be there. “Yes.”
Shane rocked back on his heels and looked around. “I wonder where the rest of the body is? Did you find any more bones?”
“No.” Isabella wrapped her arms around her middle. “But I didn’t look either.”
“I’ll have to get CSI up here to look, but I don’t have any cell service up here.” He turned toward the horses. “We better ride.”
Isabella mounted the red and white paint, feeling like a character in one of her books: a bounty hunter, or a posse member. A little thrill of excitement shot through her when she looked at Shane. She might feel the part, but he lived it.
What would it be like to always live life on the edge? Be surrounded by danger all the time? Nothing like her dull days spent in front of a computer. She loved her job, but it could get monotonous at times.
A gust of wind blew across her neck and she shivered. While she’d been distracted, storm clouds had rolled in, making the forest dark and gloomy. She pulled her hoodie over her head and tied the strings under her neck. They were going to see some rain before this day was through.
Shane turned in his saddle. “There’s a slicker tied on the back of your saddle.”
“I see it,” she said.
“You warm enough?” The concern in Shane’s voice touched her. It had been a long time since a man had shown any worry over her welfare.
“Yeah.” Her teeth chattered a little.
“You’re not warm. I have another jacket rolled inside my raincoat. Let me get it.” He dismounted and quickly untied the coat from the saddle, then handed both to her.
She slipped into the wool-lined jean coat and snapped it. Two sizes too big, it was degrees warmer than her hoodie. It smelled like the man, and she couldn’t help but inhale appreciatively.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. There are gloves in the right pocket.” He remounted Wrangler. “Can you lead us to the trail?”
“I think so.” She tapped her heels against Gunner’s sides. After winding through thick trees and downed timber, she spotted the trail. “I found it,” she called. “This is Above the Clouds.”
“Do you know where the shortcut is?” Shane asked.
“If we haven’t passed it. I haven’t been up here since I was a kid. We used to hike up here—” Her voice broke. Those had been good times, innocent days. Long before Reuben became disillusioned with life and dragged them all into hell.
CHAPTER SIX
By late afternoon raindrops hit Isabella’s face and she reined in and rested a hand on her pommel. “We’re going to get wet. Real soon.”
“Maybe we better eat something before that happens,” the marshal suggested. “You see anywhere likely?”
“Not right here, but hopefully soon.” She urged the horse forward as sprinkles turned into splats. Tucking her chin into her collar, she peered through the now sleeting rain. The trail was lined by towering pine trees, keeping them a little drier than if they’d been out in the open, but there was nowhere to dismount and eat.
A cold raindrop made its way between her borrowed slicker and her neck and she shivered. It was one thing to write about one of her old west lawmen in these conditions, and quite another to live it.
A glint of something caught her eye and she glanced to her right. She reined Gunner to a stop and scanned the trees.
“What do you see?” Shane asked.
“I don’t know. Something flashed, but I can’t spot whatever it was through the rain.” She shrugged. “Probably nothing.” Still, whatever it had been nagged at her. What would flash in the storm?
A light.
“I think it might’ve been a flashlight,” she said.
“Makes sense. Where?”
“I’m not sure.” She pointed. “Over there.”
They both stared through the pouring rain, but nothing moved or glinted again. If someone—Reuben?—had a flashlight, he’d turned it off, or hidden it.
With a mental shrug, Isabella urged the horse forward. He’d taken two steps when a blast rocked the cold air.
What the—?
“Get in the trees,” Shane shouted. “That was gunfire.”
Isabella didn’t waste time asking questions and dug her heels into Gunner’s sides. The horse galloped toward the pines, Wrangler hot on his heels. Donquita raced after them, braying as if the hounds of hell were on her tail.
Once among the trees, Shane leapt off his horse and yanked Isabella from Gunner’s back. She stood shaking in his arms as the animals tore out of sight.
“You okay?” He scanned her body.
She managed to nod. “Yeah.”
“You hit?”
“No.”
“Good. Let’s get out of sight before he shoots again.” Shane dragged her deeper into the forest, into a tight stand of quaking aspen and pines. Pushing her behind the trees, he drew his weapon. “Stay here. I’m going to try and flush him out.”
Before she could protest, he slipped away, vanishing like a ghost in the fog. Isabella wrapped her arms around her middle and huddled against one of the trees. Only the steady drum of raindrops splatting on the ground made any noise.
Unsure how long she’d stood there—though she guessed close to an hour—Isabella began to worry. The storm hadn’t let up and she felt like a frozen slab of beef. Where is Shane?
A snuffle startled her.
She jumped and looked around into the wide eyes of the horses and donkey. “Oh, thank God it’s you guys. You scared me.” She grabbed their reins. “No running off again.” Marshal Catlin’s rifle was in the scabbard hanging from Wrangler’s saddle and she withdrew it, feeling instantly more secure.
Unwilling to stand in the same spot any longer, she mounted Gunner, holding the rifle with a death grip in one hand and both horses’ reins in the other. She guided the animals the direction Shane had gone.
Sure a bullet was going to take her out at every step, she inched along, moving as quietly as three equines possibly could. The wind picked up force, bending the trees to its will. Most summer storms in the mountains came in hard and fast but blew over fairly quickly. This one seemed like it plann
ed to stay into the night.
Unease tightened her skin. It seemed as if Reuben lurked behind every tree watching her. The clouds had sunk low around the peaks, making the forest dark and foreboding. Even the animals seemed uneasy, their ears flicking back and forth. She trusted their instincts to let her know if someone was lurking.
An eerie moan made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.
Just the wind. Had to be.
It came again. Stronger.
Isabella stopped the gelding and strained to locate the origin of the sound. She looked to the horses for help and both geldings had their ears pricked toward a downed, moss-covered log.
Something moved near it and Isabella stifled a scream.
Another moan was low, faint, but a clear cry for aid.
She scrambled off the horse and ran toward the tree. The lawman lay by it, his hat a few feet away. His eyes were closed and an ugly bruise rose on his forehead. She fell to her knees and touched his shoulder. “Marshal? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he groaned without opening his eyes.
“What happened?”
He blinked. “Your ex ambushed me.”
“Did you see what he hit you with?” She looked around for a weapon.
“No.” He blinked again. “Does it matter?”
“No. Just wondering why he didn’t shoot you. He’s not afraid to kill when he’s cornered.” She shuddered.
“I need to sit up,” he said.
She put her arm around his shoulders and lifted. The guy weighed a ton—all muscle and wet clothes. Together, they managed to get him in a sitting position, back against the log. He closed his eyes again.
“Don’t go to sleep,” she ordered. “You might have a concussion.”
“I know,” he muttered. “Bastard.”
She looked around. “We need to get you out of the rain. I don’t think we’re going to trail Reuben any farther tonight.”
“I have a tent,” he said. “But I need to rest a few minutes—”
“You rest. I’m perfectly capable of setting up a tent.” Before he could protest, she stood and headed for the donkey. She tied the burro to a tree and looked for a level spot to set the tent. A likely place caught her eye—under two towering pines. She removed the manti from the packsaddle and spread it on the ground, then quickly placed the tent on top of the canvas. With a grunt, she hefted one pannier from the patient donkey, then the other.
