The Rancher (43 page)

beginning to sink in.

He felt sorry for the man. He didn’t know the physical reality of losing his sight, but he’d experienced the blinding effects of self-pity, self-loathing, and the heavy despair of loss. He wouldn’t wish that kind of heartache on any man.

The chair scratched against the floor when Mr. Grayson slid it backward to stand up. “We’ll find him.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The pass was unnaturally quiet and Abby found herself scanning the trees forany sign of trouble. A slight blur of colorcaught her eye.   Davey had been oddlyquiet on the drive and she wondered if hesensed it too.

“Davey?”

He shot her a quelling look before returning to focus on the road ahead.

“David,” she corrected. “Can we go a little faster?  Something is not right.”

“I’m...” Davey paused. “I’m sorry, Abby,” he said.

The boy’s head dropped and he turned

to   face   her,   something   perplexing

prowling about his young features.   A pained expression crossed his face, his eyes squinted.   Then, after taking an extraordinarily long, deep breath, he turned his focus back to the team of horses

and belted, “Hi-yah!”

The buckboard shot forward.

Abby grabbed a hold of the bottom ofher seat to brace herself for the sudden

flight.

“Listen, Abby,” he yelled over the noise and jostling of the wagon, “stay down,” he warned.

Crack.
 
A shot rang out and Abby watched in horror as Davey’s body flung from the seat over the side of the wagon and onto the hard rutted road. Abby’s instincts took over.  She grabbed a hold of the reins and tried to reach for the gun

sitting just behind her in the wagon.  It

was too far back.

Abby pulled the wagon to a hard stop.  Forgetting about the many layers that madeup the nonsensical dress she wore, shegripped the back of the seat and pushedherself up and over, just as another shotsounded.  Her skirt caught on one of theseat planks and she flew forward,tumbling onto her stomach on the flatboards lining the wagon bed.   Thebuckboard squealed in protest.  The woodnear the axel cracked.

Another shot.

The horses reared and anxiously startedprancing backward.   One blew hardthrough his nose and the other snorted.

Looking to her left, she spotted her Winchester rifle secured to the side of the

buckboard with two latches and reached for it. Her fingers slowly slid down the length of the cool steel of the barrel until she reached the first latch.   She had to stretch another inch before she could

release the lock.

Once the gun was freed, she pulled it close to her and closed her eyes with a silent prayer of thanks. When she opened her eyes, she relaxed her grip on the gun enough to open the barrel and check for ammunition. Eleven.

Assured the rifle was loaded, she used her elbows to crawl forward until she

reached the side railing and could see through the slats of wood. The horses still retreated  backward  and  had  almost reached the spot Davey had fallen.  Thick red pools of blood spread rapidly across

his chest.

“Whoa,” she yelled.  They seemed to recognize her voice and did as she commanded.

Abby couldn’t get to Davey withoutexposing herself, but she had to dosomething. While she hated to admit it, Cole had been right.  She had a knack forfinding trouble all right.

Whoever was after the ranch had to begetting desperate.
 
This
 
was certainly noaccident. She rolled onto her back, herrifle cocked and ready to shoot.

Cole’s handsome face fixed in her

mind.
 
Oh, Lord,
 
Abby pleaded in silent

prayer.
 
Don’t let this be the end.  Cole needs to know I love him.  I need to tell him.

Abby kicked at the back wagon door

and was surprised when it broke open on the first kick.  She slid off the back and

behind the rear wheel.  Holding the gun close to her chest, she chanced a quick scan of the horizon.  Nothing.

She took a deep breath and stood, pulling the gun into shooting position on her shoulder.  In one quick movement she had thrust herself from behind the wagon and began to fire in the direction from where the shots had come, making her way toward Davey. The team of horses pranced about, but did not bolt.

When she reached Davey’s body she turned back to the trees and fired two more shots before grabbing a hold of the kid’s booted foot and pulling him back toward the buckboard.  She tugged hard, but with the gun tucked under her arm, he

was just too heavy to move to a safer position.

A  moan,  barely  audible,  reached Abby’s ears. He
 
was
 
still alive. Another shot flew past her ear and she launched herself behind wagon for cover.  If she couldn’t get Davey behind the wagon, maybe she could move the wagon to cover him.   She slowly made her way to the horses.  Abby managed three more shots before she reached the skittish horse’s

head.  She grabbed his reins and coaxed the team backward, hopefully blocking them from their assailant’s view.

The sound of her heart in her ears wasdeafening.

She glanced at Davey and for the firsttime since he’d been a part of the ranch,thought about his family. He was so

young.  He must have a ma missing him somewhere.  Abby set her Winchester on a protruding wooden ledge just above the wagon wheel and crawled back to Davey.  She placed her arms beneath his shoulders and dragged him to the front wheel.

She grabbed her gun and reached over the wagon bed, frantically feeling for a fresh canteen. It took a moment, but finally she found the strap and yanked.  Looking behind her with squinted eyes, she unscrewed the canteen lid.

Satisfied her attacker was still to her north, she crouched down and poured some cool water into Davey’s mouth.  It burbled up and dripped down the side of his face, tinged with swirling bouts of red.

“We’ll get to the doc, David,” she reassured him. “Just hang on.”

Abby closed the canteen and set it nextto Davey’s head.  She grabbed the butt ofthe rifle and started to stand, but wasstopped by a weak hand on her forearm.

“I’m   so...sor-ry,   Abby,”   Davey’sbreaths were coming in ragged heaves,every syllable strained.   He opened hishand.  A black rag fell open and onto herdress. She stared at it, trying to reconcileits meaning in her mind.

“Shhh.”  Abby placed a finger over hislips.  “Just rest for a minute, David.  I’llbe right back.”

His grip tightened around her forearm.  “Just call me...Davey,” he gasped with anawkward lift to his lips.

“Davey,” she smiled back.

He closed his eyes and the tension inhis neck relaxed instantly.

Abby dropped her head, one small tearsqueezing from her tightly closed eyes.
 
What did you get yerself mixed up in, Davey?
 
Indignation swelled within herand in one fluid motion, she reached forher gun, pulling it instantly into positionand screamed.  She whipped her body intoa standing position and aimed for the hills.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The chilling voice behind her wasfamiliar and the cocking of a gununmistakable.

She shifted her rifle to one hand as sheraised both arms into the air.  Slowly, sheturned around to face Davey’s killer.

“You?” was all she could manage. Shock and fear both vying for control. “Why?”

“No need for answers where you’re

goin’, missy.  It’s time to say goodbye, Abby McCallister.”

She closed her eyes and the whistle of a shot rang through the otherwise still afternoon.

“At least two men are dead, another blinded. Cattle and horses are missing. Clay’s barn is burned to ash. Who else is going to get hurt before we find the man responsible for this mess?” Cole ran his fingers through his hair as he paced Mr. Grayson’s study, the apprehension in his gut growing stronger by the moment.

“You wearin’ holes in the floor won’t get us any closer, Charcoal.” Raine’s easy manner irked Cole, mostly because he was already brimming with impatience.

The study door opened. Cole’s headjerked up to see Mr. Grayson as heentered the room.

“What   happened   last   night,   Mr. Grayson?” Cole assailed him, moving tothe entrance with quick precision. “Whathappened to Wes?”

“Set yourself down, son. I wantanswers as badly as you.  Wes is like ason to me.” Mr. Grayson sidestepped Coleand walked back to his desk. “And call

me Max.”

Cole reluctantly sat down in the chair opposite Max’s desk. He leaned forward onto his knees and stared at the white haired man as he took a seat behind the

desk.

The door opened again.

“Gentlemen, this here’s Charlie.” He

nodded to the burly man who’d greeted them at the gate. “And this...well, I’d like you to meet my daughter.”

Cole stood up with a start when the door pushed open a little farther to reveal his new acquaintance. His brothers joined him and the three of them stood there and

stared.

Jenna, adorned in a crimson blouse and brown riding britches, walked through the door.  Her lips, nearly the color of her shirt, were a striking contrast against the backdrop of her ebony mane. Her beauty was remarkable certainly, but Cole had known his share of beautiful women and he knew better than to turn his back to a

vixen.

Max pulled Jenna into a one-armed

embrace and placed a kiss on her

forehead.  “Hello, my querida,” he spoke softly.

Cole lifted an eyebrow.   He reached into his pocket and rubbed the silver pendant there between his fingers.

Jenna stepped forward away from her father and extended her hand to Cole.

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Grayson,” Cole said with a slight nod, taking a hold of her hand, his politeness feigned.

“Why, how lucky are we to have all three of y’all right here in our home.” She did not take her dark brown eyes from Cole’s face and she held fast to his hand.

Fiery green eyes overshadowed Cole’s thoughts and he realized this brazen temptress could never compare to Abby, the beauty who already bore his name.

Well… almost.  The thought of her twistedhis gut until he realized it was Abby whohaunted him, Abby who was in danger. Ithad pricked at his gut for the better part ofan hour. He disengaged himself from Jenna and turned to her father.

“Time’s run out.  I need to know what

happened to Wes, Max.” Cole spoke slowly, his words more deliberate this time. “Now.”

He knew the moment Raine and Rafe

reached either side of him.  From the look on Max’s face, Cole guessed the three of them together posed a very intimidating picture.
 
Good.

With a breath of resignation, Max motioned for all of them to sit down.

“Drovers and ranch hands from all the

ranches around here gather together on

Wednesday nights for a weekly pokergame,” Max started.  “Last night was nodifferent. Charlie here said that after aheated discussion between one of yourranch hands and Wes, the two of themstepped outside to handle it.” He lookedup at Clay.