Seized by the Sheik

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “Just Efraim. Please.”

  “Efraim. Be careful.”

  He nodded. Pistol in front of him, he started climbing up through the eroded and crumbling rock.

  She shouldered the rifle and scanned the area through the scope. She’d ridden out here to bring him back to the Wind River Ranch, and that’s what she’d do. If there was one thing her daddy taught her, it was to do what needed to be done.

  A lesson that had served her well so far.

  The crunch and scrape of his footsteps faded into the wind. She forced herself to breathe, stay steady and alert. Next to her, Efraim’s horse tossed his head. Her mare, Sasha, pawed the ground.

  “Callie,” Efraim called, his voice rasping, as if his throat was filled with sand.

  She lowered the rifle slightly and glanced up.

  His dark head peeked over the edge of the cliff, bent over the body they’d seen from below. “I need your help.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Can you find a way to get the horses up here?”

  She tried to picture the canyon in her mind’s eye. If she wound south, the slope was more gentle. The horses should be able to handle it. “I think so.”

  “I’ll cover you as best I can. Hurry.”

  Tucking her rifle back in its scabbard, she grasped the reins and started trudging in a wide arc that sloped up to the canyon’s edge. Whoever Efraim found up on that cliff must be hurt, not dead. And knowing that gave her a little more hope that all this would turn out okay.

  The trek seemed to take forever. But except for a few slips and scrambles of steel shoes on hard rock, the horses plugged along. She turned the last corner, the point that should bring her to the level where Efraim crouched by the body. A rock face loomed in front of her.

  She let out a heavy breath.

  It wasn’t high, only about ten feet of jumbled rock rising to a wider cap formation on top called a hoodoo. But small or not, the barrier was squarely between her and Efraim.

  She could climb the side and skirt around the saddle-horn-shaped hoodoo with a little effort, but the horses couldn’t.

  She glanced around, her gaze landing on a scraggle of half-dead sagebrush. Sasha was trained to ground tie with the best of them. She wasn’t so confident about the horse from the Wind River Ranch. Without a sturdy halter and lead, she couldn’t tie the animal very securely, but maybe it would be enough.

  She looped the horse’s reins around the woody base of the sage. She dropped Sasha’s reins free next to it. “Whoa.” As long as something didn’t happen, they should be fine.

  Turning back to the rocky face, she spied Efraim staring down at her. He cupped his hand around his mouth. “Do you have something plastic? A bag? Something like that?”

  Her mind raced, trying to decipher the reason behind the request. She turned back to her horse. She kept a number of things with her when riding out on the ranch or the BLM, but plastic bags weren’t among them. She returned to Sasha and grabbed the saddlebags from the saddle. Pausing, she grabbed the rain slicker she’d tied on the saddle’s skirt and carried all back to the swell of rock and started climbing.

  Loose sand and stones skittered under her feet. She slipped twice, trying to catch herself with hands weighed down with saddlebags and slicker. A rock face about three feet high formed the final hurdle. But from here she could clearly see Efraim and the white fabric they’d spotted from the canyon floor.

  It wasn’t a shirt, as she’d previously thought, but a traditional head cloth designed to protect the wearer from the harsh sun.

  The kind of sun that beat down on the island of Nadar.

  A chill fanned over Callie’s skin despite the June heat. She focused on Efraim. “One of your people?”

  Efraim looked up, dark eyes glistening. Rusty red smeared his cheekbone where he’d swiped at his eyes with a bloody hand. “It’s Fahad.”

  NUMBNESS PENETRATED bone deep. When Efraim first realized the body lying on the canyon’s edge was Fahad, he’d almost staggered under the blow. Then training had kicked in. Cold, methodical. His cousin was badly injured, but alive. Callie and he were in danger. It was up to him to get them all to safety before it was too late.

  Fahad stared at him with dark eyes and open mouth, struggling for oxygen. With each breath, a sucking sound emanated from his chest wound. Efraim pressed his wadded-up shirt against the wound. Within seconds it was soaked with blood, warm and sticky on his hands. The sound continued.

  He looked up at Callie, climbing the last few feet of rock-strewn slope. “Plastic?”

  “I have a slicker and some first-aid supplies.” She held up a bundle cradled in her arms.

  He needed those supplies. And she couldn’t climb the last rock wall while carrying them. He rose to his feet to take them from her.

  A second shot split the air. Rock exploded next to his face.

  Efraim hit the deck. His foot hit Fahad’s rifle, sending it careening into the canyon. Still climbing the rocky slope, Callie flattened. Beyond her, a horse whinnied. Steel shoes clattered on stone.

  The horses. They were running away.

  Keeping low to the ground this time, Efraim crawled to the slope. His thoughts raced. The shot had hit the stone near him, Callie had to be merely taking cover. She had to be okay.

  Reaching the edge, he peered over.

  She looked up at him, her freckles streaked by dust, her blue eyes wide. “Here.” She pushed the bundle toward him.

  He took the saddle bags and slicker. “Stay low.”

  “I’ll climb up. I can help.”

  “No.” The last thing he wanted was for Callie to attempt to climb the ridge and get shot for her efforts. “I’ll tend to Fahad, then you can help me move him.”

  He moved back to Fahad’s side. His cousin was still conscious, still fighting. He moved his lips, but no sound came, just the sucking noise mixed with each gasp for breath.

  “Hold on. I have supplies. It will be all right.”

  His cousin gave a light bob of the head.

  Efraim folded the slicker and pulled an elastic bandage from the saddlebags. He wasn’t sure this was going to work, but he did know that if he did nothing, Fahad would die.

  He had ripped Fahad’s shirt open as soon as he’d found him. Now he pushed the tattered and bloody fabric aside and pressed the slick side of the raincoat against the wound. Grasping the bandage roll in sticky hands, he strapped it across Fahad’s chest, fitting the slicker tight against his skin. It was far from sterile, far from ideal, but it was the best he could do. He just prayed it would work.

  Something scraped rock and Callie slipped to her knees by his side.

  “I told you to stay—”

  “It will go faster with both of us.”

  He shook his head and peered down at the badlands below. “You have to go back down the slope.”

  “I know you’re trying to protect me. But faster is better. For Fahad and for both of us.” She set her chin and gripped Fahad’s shoulders. “Now, are you going to help me sit him up or not?”

  He helped her tilt Fahad toward him. Callie wrapped the rest of the slicker around his side and over the exit wound in his back. They wrapped the bandage around his chest, securing the slicker as tightly as possible to the wound.

  Fahad gasped again and again, but this time he seemed to be getting air. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and trickled down the side of his face and into his beard. Beads of sweat bloomed on his forehead.

  “Fahad, who did this?” Efraim asked.

  “Followed you.”

  “Who?”

  He shook his head, the movement barely perceptible. “Don’t know.”

  Efraim’s pulse beat in his ears, loud as gunfire. Any second another shot could crack through the canyon, a bullet could plow into one of them and end it all.

  “Have you spotted the shooter?” Callie asked.

  He took a quick glance around the canyon formations. Between the hoodoos, cru
mbled cliffs and pocks of vegetation, he couldn’t pick out the form of a man. All he had to go on was the trajectory of the shot that had missed his head. “I think he’s to the north. And I think he’s somewhat below us because he didn’t see me until I stood.”

  “Your horse. The gunshot spooked him.”

  He glanced up. He’d assumed both horses had run. “Just mine?”

  She nodded. “I’ve competed in shooting competitions on horseback, too. Sasha’s used to it. She’s waiting at the bottom of the slope.”

  He let out a breath. At least one thing had gone right in all this. They’d need a horse if they hoped to get Fahad out of here and to someone who could help him.

  “The horse will probably head for one of the ranches around here. My dad’s. Helen’s. He’ll be all right.”

  Efraim hadn’t been thinking of the horse. He’d been more concerned about their being all right. But he gave her a nod all the same.

  Callie grabbed another bandage from the saddlebags, this one a self-adhesive horse wrap. They wrapped until they’d covered Fahad’s back and shoulder.

  Now came the tricky part. “We need to move him, get him down to the horse. And we’re going to have to stand up to do it.”

  “Maybe not.” She reached for the saddlebag. Opening the second side, she pulled out a small thermal blanket. “We can drag him.”

  “Do you have everything in that bag?”

  “I was a Girl Scout.”

  He must have missed something. “A Girl Scout?”

  “They teach you to be prepared. Always good, because around here, people are few and far between.”

  They spread the blanket and lifted Fahad onto it.

  The canyon was quiet, nothing but the wind whistling through rock formations. Efraim would like to think that meant their shooter was gone, but he doubted that was the case.

  Keeping low, Callie picked up one corner of the blanket near Fahad’s head. Efraim took the other, and they slid him across rock to the three-foot drop down to the incline.

  At the base of the steep slope, the palomino mare stood, reins draped to the ground, shifting her hooves in the dust.

  Efraim jumped off the rock shelf. His boots skidded on loose rock and debris. He went down to a knee before catching himself.

  “You okay?” Callie said, her voice breathless.

  He nodded. “I’ll take him from here.” He gathered Fahad in his arms as if cradling a baby. Fahad was only five feet eight inches tall, but he was built like a bulldog. A muscled bulldog at that. Efraim’s arms ached with his limp weight. At least the sucking noise had stopped. His cousin’s breathing was still labored, but he was breathing.

  Efraim half skidded, half ran down the slope to the horse, Callie right behind him. The place she’d left the horses was protected on several sides. Except for the rock shelf above, most of the canyon plummeted downward from their perch, and afforded a decent view of the area. Not that there was anything to see.

  And that made Efraim nervous.

  He lowered Fahad to the ground and hunched down beside him.

  “How is he?”

  “He’s breathing better but unconscious.”

  “The pain. The blood loss. It probably got to be too much.”

  An understatement. He’d never had a gunshot wound, not in all his years in the military. But years ago, he’d helped a soldier who’d been shot during an uprising in Nadar. He knew how painful it could be.

  He squinted up at the sun in the western sky. They were running out of time, and there was still someone out there gunning for them. He had to figure out what to do next. And he couldn’t afford to make another mistake. “This ranch of your family’s, how far?”

  “A few miles.”

  “Can we still make it before nightfall?”

  “Maybe. Or just after.” She glanced at Fahad. “We’ll have to take things slow.”

  The sun beat down, hot on his skin. Sweat stung his eyes. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, realizing too late he had blood up to his elbows. And now, no doubt, all over his face. “You take Fahad on the horse.”

  “And you?”

  “I stay here. Cover you.”

  She shook her head, her hair blowing in the wind and lashing her cheeks like whips. “No. That’s not going to happen.”

  “What, then? We have an injured man, one horse and someone trying to shoot us.” He wished she had another answer, a better answer, but he doubted one existed.

  “You take him. I cover you.”

  “That is not going to happen.”

  “But this shooter, if he’s targeting you—”

  “Targeting me? And what if he is? You’re not law enforcement. I suppose you’re planning to use diplomacy?”

  She stepped to her horse and tapped the stock of her prize rifle for an answer, throwing his earlier gesture back at him.

  “Shooting targets is one thing. Engaging an enemy is another.”

  “You thought I was good enough a few minutes ago.”

  He shook his head. He hated to break it to her, but a few minutes ago, she’d been relatively protected. The riskier job had been climbing up to help Fahad. “I’m sure you’re a fine shot. But this isn’t the same thing.”

  She blew a frustrated breath through pursed lips. “COIN can proceed without me. It will die without you.”

  So that was it. He should have known. The COIN summit was obviously more important to her than her own life. Good thing that wasn’t true for him. “That’s not the way it works, Callie.”

  “Is this some sort of macho thing?”

  “It’s some sort of practical thing. You said your family’s ranch is the closest place to get help. I have no idea how to get there. I can, however, hold a gunman off and catch up with you once I know it’s safe.”

  She pressed her lips into a line, her chin set.

  He didn’t know Callie McGuire very well, but he already knew that look.

  She met his eyes. “We’ll both go. Together.”

  “Then we’ll both get killed. And Fahad will die from his injuries,” he said in a low voice. He glanced at his cousin. Fahad’s breathing was labored, but the slicker looked to have done the trick. For now. But with every second they spent arguing, he was getting weaker and the sun was dipping lower in the western sky. “If you want to keep Nadar in the COIN compact, we need to keep Fahad alive. His death will only give the dissenters in Nadar fuel for their movement.”

  “And your death?”

  “I’m not going to die.”

  She shook her head.

  “Fahad is losing blood with each minute we spend arguing.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll do this your way.” Her eyes focused on him like blue lasers. “But you have to promise me you’ll catch up. That you’ll be okay.”

  The slight tremble in her voice held a desperation that made his breath hitch, and for a moment, he wanted to believe she was concerned about him, personally, not merely politics and business negotiations, but him as a man.

  “Promise me,” she repeated.

  “I give you my word.”

  She scrambled to her feet. “Then help me get him on the horse.”

  Chapter Three

  This whole thing was wrong. All wrong.

  Callie swung onto Sasha’s back. When she’d ridden out to Rattlesnake Badlands at Prince Stefan’s request, she’d been aiming to talk Efraim into going back to the resort where he’d be safe. Instead, he was risking his life for his cousin’s, for hers. And unless she was willing to let Fahad die, she couldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

  “Fahad,” Efraim said, kneeling next to his cousin. “Can you hear me?”

  Fahad mumbled something Callie couldn’t quite catch. His eyes fluttered and opened. His face twisted in a grimace of pain.

  “I am going to lift you onto the horse. It might get a bit rough. Hang with us, okay?”

  Fahad just kept breathing, in and out, as if anything else was beyond his grasp. It p
robably was.

  Efraim glanced up at her. “Ready?”

  She wasn’t sure how they were going to pull this off. Fahad couldn’t lie on his back across the saddle. Nor could he drape over it on his belly, letting blood rush to his head. She slipped behind the saddle’s cantle and sat on the stiff, leather skirt. “He’s going to have to sit on the seat. That’s the only way this is going to work.” Even then, she wasn’t sure they could manage.

  Efraim knelt down. Fitting his hands under Fahad’s shoulders and knees, he lifted the man from the ground and climbed to his feet.

  Callie reached down from the saddle, and Efraim hoisted him onto the seat. Callie guided his leg over the saddle until he sat astride. She settled him on the seat and leaned his body back against her. She could feel him groan, the sound shuddering through her body. She steadied him with one hand and held Sasha’s reins with the other.

  “Do you have him?”

  Good question. With a man who had the strength of a rag doll sitting on her lap and her legs dangling at her mare’s flanks, Callie had a challenge ahead of her. She was grateful the horse was Sasha. The palomino mare could read Callie’s shifts of weight almost as if she was reading her mind.

  She looked down at Efraim. The thought of him out facing the man who did this to Fahad chilled her to the core. If only she could do something.

  He had his pistol, but a pistol wasn’t going to do much good unless the shooter was close. Balancing Fahad against her chest, she tapped the stock of her rifle. “Take this.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll need it.”

  “Between balancing Fahad on the saddle and keeping control of Sasha, I don’t have enough hands to use a rifle. Give me your pistol.”

  He unbuckled his holster. Reaching up, he helped her strap it around her waist. She pulled the rifle from its scabbard and handed it to him.

  His hand closed around hers. He lingered for a moment, then took the rifle. “Go.”

  She clucked to Sasha and the horse moved forward. Callie kept her eyes on the horizon in the direction of the Seven M Ranch, resisting the need to look around, to see Efraim taking cover among the hoodoos and cliffs, to watch as he faded into the distance.