by Janet Dean
Carly ran to the livery, trying to tamp down the panic putting a stranglehold on her throat. Henry could’ve gone into a stall and been kicked by a horse. Or perhaps fallen from a tree. Could he be lying somewhere, bleeding, unconscious—
Where was he?
Oh, Father, what a fool I’ve been to think I could do anything on my own. Help me find my son. Please.
Once she had Henry safely home, she’d change. She’d show her son he could talk to her about anything, by speaking candidly herself. If she got the chance.
Fear pressed hard and fast on her lungs, shutting off her air. Lord, help me stay calm. Help me not to think the worst.
Inside the livery, her eyes took a moment to adjust. “Henry! Are you in here?” Her voice rose, nearing a screech as she ran to Lady’s stall where the gentle mare reached her snout. Carly gave it a perfunctory pat, searching the shadows for her son. “Don’t hide from me, sweetie.”
No answer. Carly hurried on to the stall where Nate quartered Maverick.
Empty.
He’d already left for Louisville. Once again proving Nate wouldn’t be available when she needed him most. Why was she surprised? A bounty hunter was what Nate was and would always be.
Across from Maverick’s stall, a crumpled piece of paper lay in the straw. Had Henry left a note?
She snatched it up and smoothed out the wrinkles. “‘The hunter becomes the hunted.’”
What did that mean? Who would write such a cryptic message?
Her icy fingers trembled, setting the paper in motion. Stogsdill. Here. On the hunt for Nate.
Nate must’ve gone in search of the outlaw. Instead of organizing a posse, he’d gone alone.
Alone was the way he’d lived his life.
And always would.
Henry’s safety was her responsibility. With God’s help, she’d find him.
Heart in her throat, she gathered her skirts and ran from the livery. A shadowed figure stepped into her path. A scream slid past her lips. With every ounce of her strength, she shoved her hands against his chest.
He fell back, arms flailing, scrambling for footing. “Miz Richards, it’s me, Lester.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.” Carly laid a trembling hand over her pounding heart. “Henry’s missing. I think he’s run away. Could you and Lloyd help look for him?”
“We’ll turn this town on its side searching for him, Miz Richards. Least we can do. Me and Lloyd feel plum awful Henry overheard our blathering about Nate killing his pa.”
“Secrets don’t stay hidden forever.”
“Reckon so. Oh, I almost forgot.” Lester reached inside his vest. “I found this lying in the road.”
“Henry’s elephant! Where’d you find it?”
“On Second Street near the edge of town.”
A boy running away from home would not leave his sleep toy behind. Even if he dropped it, he’d notice.
But if someone had taken him by force...
Energy shot through Carly. “Saddle me a horse, Lester. Then tell Sheriff Truitt that Stogsdill might have Henry.”
Carly sprinted toward home. And the gun she kept locked in her safe.
* * *
Nate’s thoughts raced in rhythm with Maverick’s pounding hooves. How had Stogsdill showed up early? Had someone tipped him off? Did the outlaw have spies planted everywhere, enabling him to know Nate’s whereabouts? Even if Stogsdill had been at his sister’s when the telegram arrived, how had he known Nate was in Gnaw Bone? Was his early arrival merely a coincidence, or part of a plot?
The sun was setting, the glare all but blinding. Nate’s gaze swept the woods on his right, the pasture on his left, the road ahead. Stogsdill would expect Nate to look for him at the Pence farm. Instead he might hole up anywhere along this road, lying in ambush.
Something told Nate to slow his horse. Intuition? God at work? He didn’t know, but he immediately turned his mount onto the strip of grass bordering the road and the woods.
Every sense alert, he listened, his eyes searching the area, his nostrils pulling in any scent that might carry a clue. Yet he detected nothing out of the ordinary.
A horse whinnied. Maverick’s ears pricked. Nate laid a calming hand on his mount’s neck, praying Maverick wouldn’t answer. The sound appeared to come from a stand of trees up ahead, their trunks thick enough to hide a man.
Nate slid from the saddle then, gripping the butt of his pistol, he moved on silent feet. The tiniest snap of a twig would announce his presence. A few yards away, a small clearing in the woods should expose whoever might be lurking.
The hair on Nate’s neck rose. He drew his gun from the holster and inched forward.
“Stop right there, Sergeant!”
Nate froze, gun at the ready, hammer pulled back.
Stogsdill stepped into the clearing, the smirk on his face and his six-shooter visible in the ebbing light.
“Got my gun aimed at your gut, Stogsdill. Give yourself up.”
“Ain’t likely,” Stogsdill said, dragging a small figure from behind a tree. “Not when this boy makes a mighty fine shield.”
“I prayed you’d find me,” Henry said, his voice quivery, ending on a sob.
From the frantic look on Henry’s face, he was terrified. Panicked. Might try to escape. One long squeeze on the boy’s neck would silence his cries. Forever.
If anything happened to that boy, Nate couldn’t live with himself. Why had he believed he could prevent tragedies? Why had he believed he could control anything? Only God could.
Lord, help Henry keep his wits. Help me save him, please.
Nate tamped down the alarm rising inside him, fought for calm, the only way to think clearly. “You okay, Henry?”
“Yes, sir,” Henry said, tears glistening in his eyes.
“Can’t see why you’d trust him, kid, when he shot your dad dead like a dog,” Stogsdill said.
A small shudder slid through the boy’s slender body, the only indication Henry had heard.
Nate ached to wipe that ugly grin off Stogsdill’s face. But with Henry in his clutches, he’d need patience, control.
“I watched you, Sergeant, in that tender scene with this boy. Knew the kid was my trump card. Didn’t expect grabbing him to be so easy.” Stogsdill cackled. “He just stumbled into my path.”
“What do you want, Stogsdill?”
“Why you, of course.” His tone turned arctic, threatening. “You’re a burr under my saddle, Sergeant. That’ll end here, once and for all.”
“If you so much as—”
“You’re in no position to threaten me.” Stogsdill yanked his forearm around Henry’s neck.
Henry turned bulging, terrified eyes on Nate.
The desire to rip Stogsdill limb from limb tore through Nate. Think. Nate slowed his breathing, fighting for deadly calm.
“Reckon you know I’m gonna win this one. But to keep things tidier, I’ll free this boy if you throw down your gun and surrender.”
Thank You, God. “I will, as soon as Henry’s on my horse and safely on his way to town,” Nate said. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Before the outlaw changed his mind, Nate thrust two fingers into his mouth and whistled. Maverick came trotting into view, then stopped in front of Nate.
“That’s the wildest thing I ever did see. Might send the kid off on my horse and keep yours, if I weren’t so fond of my tooled saddle.”
His gaze riveted on Stogsdill, Nate reached for Maverick’s bridle.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Stogsdill said, tightening his grip on Henry. “And the kid won’t get hurt.”
“How can I trust you’ll let him go?”
“Doubting my word, are you?” Stogsdill tilted Henry’s face toward his. “I ain’t keen on hurting youngsters,” he said, dropping his arms, releasing his hold. “Get going, kid.”
Henry hesitated, as if afraid to turn his back on the outlaw, but then he shot off, legs a
nd arms pumping. Near the road, he tripped and fell face-first in the weeds.
Anna’s words echoed in Nate’s mind. Small boys trip, Nate. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Nate took a step toward Henry, intending to help the boy to his feet.
The ominous click of a cocking hammer. “Stay put, Sergeant.”
Nate straightened. He would do nothing that might risk Henry seeing Nate gunned down.
“Get up, kid.”
Henry scuttled to his feet and hurried to Nate. The fear in his eyes shredded Nate’s self-control.
Lord, I don’t care what happens to me. Please get Henry safely home.
Nate forced up the corners of his mouth into what he hoped resembled a confident smile. While inside Nate held his breath, praying Stogsdill wouldn’t change his mind. “Maverick will take you to town.”
Brow furrowed, Henry stared up at the horse. “He’s real big, Nate. Bigger’n Lady.”
“You can do it. You know how to ride. And Maverick knows you from all those visits to the livery.” Nate held out his hands. “Now step on up.”
Henry stepped into Nate’s cupped hands, first one boot, then the other, and while Nate held him, he gingerly slid his left foot into the stirrup. A gentle push from Nate plopped the boy onto the saddle, his legs dangling over Maverick’s broad back.
“I’ll turn Maverick in the right direction. Stay on the road. It’ll take you home.” He handed Henry the reins, then smiled as the boy gripped the leather ribbons properly, exactly as he’d taught him.
With his free hand, Henry grabbed Nate’s sleeve, his grip twisting, strong.
Nate gently loosened the boy’s grip. “I love you, Henry,” he said.
If Nate didn’t survive, didn’t find a way to be the father to Henry and the husband to Carly he wanted to be, he added, “Take good care of your mom.”
* * *
Carly’s heart stalled in her chest. Up ahead, Nate stood alongside Maverick, Henry on the horse’s back. Nate tall and strapping, Henry small but straight as a board, clutching Nate’s shirtsleeve.
Was Stogsdill nearby? Had Nate saved her son? Or were they in the sights of Stogsdill’s revolver?
She edged Lady off the road, swung from the saddle and led the mare into the woods, out of sight, then tied the reins to a sturdy, low branch. She crept through the underbrush, her skirts catching on brambles, slowing her progress.
As she neared her son and Nate, she could see Henry was stiff, his nod jerky, his gaze darting to the woods. Her son was terrified. Why?
“Shut up the jawing and get the kid out of here before I lose my patience.”
Carly’s steps faltered and she grabbed at a thorny branch to keep from falling.
The man from the wanted poster—the murderer, Stogsdill, the man Nate had tried to protect them from—stood among the trees.
Gun drawn.
Aimed at Nate and Henry.
God, please protect my son. Protect Nate.
She’d blamed Nate for everything. For losing the shop, for upsetting her son, for luring Stogsdill here. But, if not for her mistakes, Henry would be safely home, eating supper.
Nate laid a palm on Henry’s dusty cowboy boot dangling above the stirrups. “Give your mom a message. Tell her I love her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tears sprang to Carly’s eyes and she wobbled on her feet. Nate loved her? The man she’d fought at every turn?
She forced the thought away. She couldn’t think about that. Not now. Not when life and death hung in the balance.
With slow, easy steps, as if a gun wasn’t aimed at them, Nate turned Maverick and led him onto the road toward town, her little boy on his broad back. Was Stogsdill going to let Henry go? Oh, please, Lord!
Nate gave an encouraging smile to her son “Take him home, boy,” he said, and sent Henry off with a pat to his horse’s rump.
Henry twisted in the saddle, looking back at Nate. “I said I hated you, Nate. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know you didn’t. Now go on,” he said, his gaze following their progress.
Even from here, Carly could feel the tension in Nate’s shoulders. See his determination to get Henry safely away.
As Henry rode past her hiding spot, his eyes straight ahead, his backbone straight, Carly knew with calm certainty whatever happened here, God had her son in His hands.
“The boy’s gone.” Stogsdill stepped out of the cover of the trees, his weapon pointed at Nate’s midsection. “Time to keep your part of the bargain.”
Nate traded his life for Henry’s?
Nate straightened, turned toward the outlaw, as if making himself a bigger target than her son. Carly craned her neck. Henry was up the road but still in the rogue’s view.
“Toss that pistol into the brush, Sergeant.”
“Not until the boy’s out of sight.”
“Do it now,” Stogsdill snarled.
For a fraction of a second Nate hesitated, then tossed his gun. “What’s got you so heated up, Stogsdill?”
Stogsdill stepped closer. “First, you killed my spy in this town. Richards was the best mole I had.”
What? Max had been an informant for Stogsdill?
Of course. Those unexplained absences, the times he’d stopped at Western Union, his excuses as flimsy as silk organza, the money he’d flaunted, all added up to one thing—Max had aided a killer and profited from it.
“Then you turned my fiancée against me. Not smart.”
Stogsdill had murdered Rachel, Nate’s fiancée, yet dared to condemn Nate.
“I didn’t. You did.”
“Liar! Until you interfered, she was a sweet, compliant little thing.”
“We both know why. Do you enjoy putting bruises on a defenseless woman, Stogsdill?”
“Shut your trap! Nothing’ll give me more pleasure than seeing you dead. And the buzzards picking at your carcass,” he said, then cackled.
Devoid of humor, vile, the sound swept a chill through Carly, raising goose bumps on her arms. With hands as cold as ice, stomach tumbling, Carly edged back the hammer on her weapon.
Henry disappeared around the bend. Carly had to do something. Now! Lord, help me.
Stogsdill raised his weapon, the barrel pointing at Nate’s heart.
Suddenly in a flash of arms and legs, Nate whirled and kicked, his boot slamming into Stogsdill’s hand, sending the outlaw’s gun flying into the air, then tumbling and disappearing in the high weeds alongside the road.
Bellowing a string of curses, Stogsdill flung himself at Nate. They toppled to the ground, a tangle of thudding fists.
Edging closer, Carly shifted her gun, right, left, trying to take aim at Stogsdill. Nate’s hip was in her sights, then Stogsdill’s head. Just as she was about to pull the trigger, Nate’s back came into view. They moved so quickly, she couldn’t get a clear shot.
Oh, Lord, save Nate!
With a roar, Nate heaved. Stogsdill tumbled to the ground. Both men sprang to their feet. They circled and pummeled, chests heaving with the effort of each landed jab.
Stogsdill reared back his hand and slammed his fist into Nate’s jaw. Nate’s head jerked back, the impact of the blow sending him sprawling. Stogsdill leaped on him, ramming a fist into Nate’s gut. Nate fought for air, then bucked, trying to throw Stogsdill off him.
Carly edged still closer.
“Prepare to die, Sergeant,” Stogsdill muttered as he bent forward, grunting.
Was he choking Nate?
The gun gripped in her hand, Carly stretched out her arm, her finger on the trigger, the barrel inches from Stogsdill’s head. “Unless you want to die, Stogsdill, let him go.”
Stogsdill whirled, slamming into the muzzle of the gun. The motion jerked her backward. Her finger slipped in a reflexive squeeze on the trigger.
With a deafening boom, the Smith and Wesson fired.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A bullet whizzed past Nate’s ear.
Too close.
Then he saw her—Carly, gun in her hands, her eyes wide with fear.
If only he could whisk her away from danger, but logic kicked in, springing him into action. He launched himself at Stogsdill.
The outlaw tumbled and rolled, scuttling for the weapon Nate had kicked out of his hand and into the weeds.
With his eyes focused on the spot where he’d tossed his own gun, Nate spied the glint of metal. He dove for his revolver and lurched to his feet, aiming it at Stogsdill crouching in front of him, the outlaw’s weapon inches from his outstretched fingers.
Heart pounding, breath coming in spurts, Nate’s hand wobbled. He clenched the gun tighter, sucked in a steadying breath. “One move, Stogsdill, and you’re dead.”
Exactly what the villain deserved.
Kill him, his mind raged. Kill him for murdering your parents. Kill him for murdering Rachel.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.
While Nate warred with his conscience, Stogsdill lurched for his gun, reared to his knees and stretched out his hand. As fast as a blink, he aimed the pistol at Nate’s heart.
As if from a great distance, Nate heard Carly’s “Watch out!” and he squeezed the trigger.
A high-pitched, ear-piercing cry of pain.
Stogsdill writhed on the ground, holding his shooting hand, moaning.
The sound of hoofbeats. Someone was coming.
Could it be a member of Stogsdill’s gang?
“Carly, leave. Now!”
“I’m staying.” Her weapon aimed at Stogsdill, Carly’s eyes never left the outlaw. “You okay?”
In that moment Nate knew he’d loved Carly from that very first day when she’d fainted in his arms. Seeing her now, strong and in charge, a woman not to be trifled with, he’d never loved anyone more.
This petite woman, who had endured both a father and a husband’s tyranny, and the pain Nate had brought her, had saved him. A man who’d thought he was beyond saving.
“Where did you get that gun?” he asked.
“It’s mine. Just because I dislike guns doesn’t mean I can’t use one.”
“You never cease to surprise me,” he said, his own weapon pointed toward those thundering hoof beats. He exhaled a gust as Sheriff Truitt galloped in.
