Ry watched Josie leave the room, giving himself a mental kick for his clumsy handling of the situation.

Why had he pressed her so hard? Her dream of escaping Knotty Pine was a driving force with her, probably all the more so since she’d had to put it on hold for so long.

She was a wild pony, yearning to trade the lush grasslands and security of the herd for a pair of wings. If only she could see it came with a price—a view of the world from a lonely distance, and sometimes, living life in a gilded cage.

Well, if her dream was that important to her, then he’d find a way to give her a taste. A journey of some sort—it would be his Christmas gift to her. But he’d do it in such a way that she would have a safety net. And maybe help her see how wonderful her life here was by comparison.

MILLS & BOON

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WINNIE GRIGGS

is a city girl born and raised in southeast Louisiana’s Cajun Country who grew up to marry a country boy from the hills of northwest Louisiana. Though her Prince Charming is more comfortable riding a tractor than a white steed, the two of them have been living their own happily-ever-after for thirty-plus years. During that time they raised four children and an assortment of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles and 4-H sheep.

In addition to her day job at a utility company and her writing career, Winnie serves on committees within her church and several writing organizations, and is active in local civic organizations—she truly believes the adage that you reap in proportion to what you sow.

In addition to writing and reading, Winnie enjoys spending time with her family, cooking and exploring flea markets. Readers can contact Winnie at P.O. Box 398, Plain Dealing, LA 71064, or e-mail her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.

The Christmas Journey
Winnie Griggs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Delight yourself also in the Lord; and he shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass.

—Psalms 37:4–5

To my dear friend Joanne Rock, who dropped everything to give me a much needed “fresh eyes” read and invaluable assistance in brainstorming when I needed it most.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

November 1892

Knotty Pine, Texas

“Hey!” The reedy voice coming from inside Wylie’s Livery and Bridle Shop thrummed with outrage. “You can’t take those horses ’til you settle up with Joe.”

Ryland Lassiter halted outside the entry and swallowed an oath. Sounded as if a disagreement was brewing inside.

The last thing he needed was another delay. This trip had already taken too long. He wasn’t about to sit cooling his heels, waiting for the railroad tracks to be cleared—not when he was this close.

Ry reached into his coat and fingered Belle’s letter. There’d been an air of desperation in her plea to see him, a sense of urgency that gnawed at him. And the closer he drew to Foxberry, the stronger that feeling grew.

Pushing back the worry, he tugged on his shirt cuffs. Might as well wade in and do what he could to help settle matters. The quicker he could get going again, the sooner he could find out what was going on with Belle.

A burst of rough laughter from inside the stable added impetus to his decision. That first voice had been a boy’s, but these sounded older and about as friendly as cornered badgers.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, Ry stood inside the wide doorway. His jaw tightened as he spied a boy of ten or so squaring off against a pair of sneering thugs, looking for all the world like David before Goliath.

Unfortunately, this would-be giant-slayer didn’t have so much as a sling to do battle with.

The larger of the two men, a barrel-chested brute with a scraggly mustache, shoved past the boy. “Outta my way, kid. Those are our horses and we aim to get ’em.”

The man’s heavy-handed move forced the boy back a step, but the youngster kept his balance and gamely thrust out his jaw. “You can’t take them until you settle your bill,” he insisted, hands fisting at his sides.

Ry silently applauded the boy’s pluck.

But the pair of philistines didn’t share his admiration. The second oaf, whose crooked nose and scarred cheek gave him a more villainous appearance than his partner, scowled. “Like we already said, we settled up with Joe this morning.” The man’s voice rasped like a dull saw on a stubborn log.

The boy crossed his arms. “Joe didn’t say nothin’ about it.”

Mustache stopped in the act of opening a stall gate. “You calling us liars?” He swiveled toward the boy, jabbing his fist into his palm with a forceful thwack.

That did it. Ry couldn’t abide bullies. And he was pretty sure the good Lord hadn’t put him here at this particular moment just so he could stand by and watch.

Clearing his throat he strolled forward, casually nabbing a pitchfork from a pile of straw. “Good day, gentlemen. Is there a problem?”

The pair froze, then turned to eye him suspiciously. Ry held his genial smile as he mentally gauged his options.

As he’d expected, once they got a good look at his tailored clothes and “citified” appearance, their cocky grins reappeared. Better men than these had mistakenly equated polish with softness. His years at law school had added the polish, but he was still a born and bred Texan, able to stand with the best of them.

“No problem,” Scarcheek finally answered. “The boy’s confused is all. You just stay out of the way, and we’ll be done in a minute.”

Not likely. Another three unhurried steps placed Ry between the youth and the two men. He pulled out his pocket watch and flicked it open with his thumb.

As expected, both men’s gazes latched onto the gold-cased timepiece with a covetous gleam.

“I don’t know.” Ry glanced down, then closed the heirloom with a snap. “It appears this is taking a good deal longer than a minute, and I’ve already wasted more time in Knotty Pine than I cared to.”

Scarcheek met Ry’s relaxed opposition with a lowered brow. “Unless you want to get them fancy duds and that pretty-boy face of yours messed up, you’d best stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”

Ry flashed a self-deprecating smile. “Well, now, that could be difficult. You see, it’s an unfortunate failing of mine that I find there are so many matters that do concern me.”

Scarcheek drew his pistol and pointed it at Ry’s chest. “Don’t know where you come from, Mister, but around here that’s not a very healthy attitude.”

Ry’s smile never wavered as he coolly calculated his next step. Using the pitchfork to knock Scarcheek’s gun out of his hand would be an easy maneuver. Handling Mustache, who was just out of reach, was a bit trickier. He’d hoped the sight of his watch would tempt the bully to step closer. Still, a few agile moves and a bit of finesse just might help him avoid a bullet while he disarmed the man.

He hoped to handle this without drawing his pocket pistol—the fewer bullets zipping around, the less chance of the boy getting caught in the crossfire.

Bracing himself, Ry shifted his weight and tightened his hold on the pitchfork. No time for doubts. But, as his mother had liked to say, there was always time for prayer.

Lord, I know I don’t say it often, but Your help is always welcome, and right about now would be a good time to provide a distraction.

No sooner had Ry formed that thought than the metallic click of a cocked rifle sliced through the tense quiet of the livery. “What’s going on here?”

“Joe!” The boy’s shout signaled both relief and warning.

Then everything happened at once.

Scarcheek spun around, gun raised, just as the boy started toward the newcomer, putting himself directly in the line of fire.

Fueled by concern over the boy’s safety, Ry swung the pitchfork with a speed and force that surprised even him. The blow connected with Scarcheek’s wrist, drawing a yelp and string of curses from the man as the gun went flying.

Before the gun hit the floor, Ry dropped the pitchfork and dove for the boy, tackling him to the ground. Covering the boy’s back with his own body, he left the newcomer’s line of fire clear to take care of Mustache if need be.

“Hands where I can see them.” The rifle-wielding local’s command carried the cold hardness of a marble slab.

With the sunlight at their rescuer’s back, Ry couldn’t make out many of his features. All he got was the general impression that this Joe fellow was a wiry young man who radiated a give-no-ground toughness.

Deciding it was safe to let the squirming stableboy up, Ry stood, though he kept a restraining hand on the lad’s shoulder. Now that everything seemed under control, he was actually feeling a bit proud of the way he’d handled himself. He still had it in him, it seemed.

Joe’s gaze shifted briefly toward the two of them. “You okay, Danny?”

“I am now.” The boy rubbed an elbow as he glowered at Mustache and Scarcheek. “They was fixing to take off without paying what they owe.”

“Is that right?” The inquisitor turned back to the surly pair, tightening his hold on the rifle. “You two planning to leave town without settling your bill?”

“Look here, no need to get all riled up.” Scarcheek cradled his wrist against his chest. “Clete and I were just pulling the kid’s leg a bit.” He shot Ry a hot-for-vengeance look. “Before this stranger stuck his nose in, we was about to pay up.”

Danny stiffened. “Hey! That’s not—”

Ry squeezed the boy’s shoulder, cutting off the rest of his protest. Joe was obviously in charge of the livery and it would be best to let him control the stage for now. Ry did, however, slip his free hand into his coat, palming his pistol. Wouldn’t hurt to be ready if things turned ugly again.

He felt rather than saw Joe’s gaze flicker his way. Apparently his movement hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought.

Then the livery operator’s focus returned to Scarcheek and Mustache. “Well, you can hand over the cash now or decide which horse you’re going to leave as payment.”

Scarcheek scowled, then called over his shoulder. “Pay up, Clete.”

Mustache reached into his pocket and pulled out some crumpled bills. He took a step forward, but halted when Joe shifted the rifle, pointing it dead center at his chest.

“Just set it on that barrel.” There was a flash of teeth as Joe gave a wolfish grin. “Being as you two are such reliable souls, I’ll trust it’s all there.”

Confident and cautious. Ry’s assessment of the man raised another notch.

“Now, get your horses and gear, and move on.” Joe lowered the rifle, but Ry doubted anyone in the stable thought he’d lowered his guard. “And don’t plan on doing business here again.”

With dark looks and muttered oaths, the men complied, and in short order were leading their horses into the street. The look Mustache shot Ry as he brushed by was pure venom.

Ry released his hold on Danny and the boy bolted to Joe’s side.

The livery operator dropped an arm around the lad’s shoulder never taking his gaze from the unsavory pair as they rode off.

Retrieving his hat, Ry brushed at the brim. He’d give them another minute to reassure themselves, then maybe he could finally get down to the business of renting a rig. Now that the little melodrama was over, he was more anxious than ever to be on his way. While Novembers in Texas weren’t nearly as cold as those in Philadelphia, the days were every bit as short. He needed to make good use of what daylight was left.

Belle had said in her letter that he was her last hope—an ominous statement coming from the down-to-earth girl he remembered. She’d been like a sister to him back when they were growing up and he still felt that old tug to look out for her.

As he watched the man and boy, something about their pose niggled at him, like a faintly off-key passage in an otherwise flawless aria. What was it…

He shook his head, letting go of the puzzle. He was not going to get diverted again.

They turned and stepped into a pool of light, giving him his first clear look at the rifle-toting, overall-wearing, hard-mannered livery operator.

Ry stiffened and felt his world tilt slightly off-kilter.

It couldn’t be.

But the proof was there, standing right in front of him—barely perceptible curves under masculine attire, long lashes over flashing green eyes, ruddy but smooth cheeks that a razor had obviously never touched. And if he needed further proof he got it when Joe’s hat came off, releasing a long, thick braid.

No, not “Joe,” but “Jo.”

He’d let a woman face down two brutes while he just stood by and watched.

Chapter Two

Josephine Wylie marched back inside the livery, still madder than a dunked cat. If those two mangy curs had done anything to hurt Danny—

Her eyes lit on the fancily-dressed stranger, and she suddenly had a target for her anger.

He stood staring at her with a dazed look—like he’d just swallowed a gnat. But then he smiled and stepped forward. “I believe introductions are in order. I’m Ryland Lassiter.”

She ignored the hand. “You’re also a flea-brained fool. What in Sam Hill did you think you were doing?”

He stiffened, slowly lowering his hand. “I was coming to the aid of that stalwart young man at your side.”

Hah! Did he think he was going to win her over with his highfalutin talk and that toe-tingly deep voice of his? She planted her fists on her hips. “By going up against two gun-toting varmints with nothing but a pitchfork?”

“Now see here—”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish his protest. “Mister, you might be the biggest toad in the pond where you come from, but that don’t mean beans around here. If you want to risk your own hide, that’s your business, but your blamed fool actions put Danny in danger, too. That’s either pebble-brained stupidity or grizzly-sized disregard for others, neither of which I can stomach.”

“Nor can I.” The man’s words were controlled but she didn’t miss the flash of temper in his storm-gray eyes. “I also can’t abide bullies. When I arrived, Danny was already trying to face them down. I only—”

“What!” Jo’s heartbeat kicked up a notch as she swung around. “Daniel Edward Atkins, is that true?”

Danny’s face reddened even as he thrust out his jaw. “They owed us for a week’s feed and stabling. With Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up, we need that money.”

This was her fault. She shouldn’t have left him alone knowing those two polecats had mounts stabled here. He could handle a lot of the work right enough, but at eleven he just wasn’t old enough to understand all the consequences of his actions. If anything had happened to him while she was at the feed store…

Jo leaned forward, baring the full force of her frown on the unrepentant boy. “I’ve told you before, nothing’s worth getting shot over. If someone gives you this kind of trouble, let it go and we’ll get Sheriff Hammond to handle it afterward.”

The boy kicked at a clod of dirt. “I’m big enough to hold my own.”

Jo blew the stray hair off her forehead with an exasperated huff. If only that were true. Someday, Danny would be old enough to take over and she’d finally be free to go her own way. But today’s actions only proved how far away that day was.

Offering up a quick prayer for patience, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Danny, I got to know you’re going to mind what I tell you when I leave you in charge.”

He gave a reluctant nod, then glanced past her, reminding Jo they weren’t alone.

And that she had some crow to eat.

Someday, Lord, I’m going to learn to get all the facts before flying off the handle. Your teaching about thinking twice before speaking once is a sure-enough tough one for me to learn.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned to the gent who’d introduced himself as Ryland Lassiter. “Looks like I owe you an apology, Mister. And a big thank-you to boot.” She thrust out her hand, not sure if he’d take it after the way she’d lit into him.

But he seemed willing to let it go. Taking her hand, he gave a short bow before releasing it. Well, wasn’t he a fancy-mannered gent.

“Apology accepted. And there’s no need for thanks. It’s you who actually saved the day. Miss…” He cocked his head to one side with a questioning smile.

“Wylie. Josephine Wylie. But everyone just calls me Jo.”

“Well, Miss Wylie, I’m glad I could be of service.”

Miss Wylie—she couldn’t remember the last time someone had called her that. Certainly not since her pa died and she took over the livery.

She was suddenly very aware of just how unladylike she looked in her overalls and boots. Certainly not like any of the prim-and-proper misses a fancy gent like him must be used to.

Jo turned and hung the rifle on a set of pegs near the door, as much to hide her sudden discomfort as anything else. He probably thought she was a bumpkin who didn’t know how a lady was supposed to dress or act.

Then she gave herself a mental shake. There was absolutely no reason why she should give a fig what he thought of her. He was likely just passing through Knotty Pine—she’d never see him again once he went on his way.

When she turned back around she was ready to look him in the eye again. But she glanced at Danny first. “Time you headed up to the house. Cora Beth has your lunch ready by now. And the train’s been delayed, so we picked up a couple of boarders for tonight. I’m sure she’s going to need your help getting everyone settled in.”

With a nod, Danny turned to his rescuer. “Thanks for your help, Mister.” He flashed a cocky grin. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

The man nodded with a smile. “I’d be happy to have you on my side anytime.”

With a wave, Danny left the livery, whistling as he went.

Which left her alone with Mr. Lassiter.

Her first apology had been a bit grudging. Time to fix that. “Sorry I snapped at you. You stepped in to help Danny when you could’ve just stood by, and for that I’m beholden. No telling what those two snakes would’ve done if you hadn’t come along.”

He shrugged and gave her another of those let’s-be-friends smiles. “I did what needed doing. Danny’s more than just your stableboy I take it.”

She nodded. “Foster brother.”

“Well, he was brave to stand up to those thugs the way he did.”

“Pigheaded, more like.” She tilted her chin, irritation flaring again. “He might’ve gotten himself killed.” Just the thought of what could have happened set her stomach churning.

“He’s just a boy.”

“But you aren’t.” Fool greenhorn. Didn’t he realize how serious that little dust-up had been? Her hands fisted at her sides as she fought the urge to shake a finger in his face. “I know you mean well, and it might be different where you come from, but it’s best you learn that in these parts there are men who’d as soon shoot you as look at you.”

His jaw tightened. Probably didn’t like getting lectured to, but it was for his own good.

“Where I come from,” he said, each word dropping like a stone, “is Hawk’s Creek Ranch, about eighty miles northwest of here.”

Jo’s head went up and her hands unclenched. He was a Texan? And a rancher to boot. Well, he sure as fire didn’t look or dress like any rancher she’d ever met.

“And no,” he continued, “as it happens, it isn’t any different from Knotty Pine, at least not in the way you mean. I find bullies are pretty much the same wherever you find them.”

Wherever you find them. She knew he hadn’t meant anything by that, but the words still carried the bite of a scorpion sting.

“Now, if you don’t mind getting down to business,” he said, “I would like to rent a rig and I’m in a hurry.”

Getting down to business sounded just fine to her. She leaned back against a stall and met his gaze head-on. “When do you need it, for how long and where are you headed?”

“The when is right now. The where is Foxberry and I’m not certain how long I’ll be gone, but it will likely be about a week.” He raised one brow. “Do you have a rig for lease or not?”

She had the feeling this gent was used to getting his way. Too bad she’d have to disappoint him. “Sorry. The buggy and buckboard are both leased out for the day. The buggy’s due back by suppertime, though, if you want to wait.”

He impatiently brushed a bit of straw from his sleeve. “I don’t.”

Jo straightened. “Look, I reckon you came in on the train. I heard there was a problem with the tracks up around Tatter’s Gully. It’s happened before. They ought to have it fixed by noon tomorrow.”

“Like I said, I’m in a hurry.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it just enough to take a dab of the polish off his dandified looks.

She approved of the change.

“If there are no carriages, what about renting me a horse and saddle?” He nodded toward the two animals still in the stable. His tone had been polite, but she saw the muscles in that square jaw of his tense. Impatience flashed in his see-through-you eyes.

She didn’t much blame him for wanting to be on his way. She’d been dreaming of getting out of Knotty Pine for what seemed her whole life.

Jo retrieved the pitchfork and leaned on it, studying her would-be customer. He was a sure-enough puzzlement. Obviously well-heeled. And not a bad-looking man if you liked the broad-shouldered, smooth-as-worn-leather type. But he wasn’t a too-good-to-get-his-hands-dirty gent either. Knew how to handle himself, too. That had been a slick move he’d made, knocking the gun from Otis’s hand and then covering Danny’s back.

“Let’s see,” she said, thinking out loud, “Foxberry is about a day’s ride—assuming you’re an experienced rider.” She paused and he nodded stiffly. Not that she’d expect him to answer otherwise. “It’s just past noon so you won’t get there today. Let’s say three days for the trip there and back then, and maybe five days’ stay. That means you’d have the animal tied up for about eight days, give or take.”

Jo rubbed her chin, ready for a bit of dickering. “That kind of time won’t come cheap. You sure you wouldn’t rather wait? My family runs a boardinghouse and I’m sure my sister has a comfortable room we can rent you for a fair price.”

Mr. Lassiter pulled a wallet out of his coat. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. Name your price so I can get going.”

Jo’s knuckles whitened as her grip tightened on the pitchfork. He could just whip out that wallet of his and go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And he didn’t even seem to realize how lucky he was. Much as she hankered to get out and see something of the world, she’d never traveled more than twenty miles from Knotty Pine in her entire twenty-three years.

Lord God, it just ain’t fair.

“One hundred dollars.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d even realized what she was going to say.

“A hundred dollars?” His eyes narrowed. “I could practically buy the animal for that price.”

Too late to back down now. “Not one as good as these. Besides, I don’t have any guarantees you’re going to return the animal, do I?” She ignored the way he’d stiffened. “Like I said, you’d be better off waiting for the train.”

To her surprise, he pulled out a wad of bills. “Here. Anything to get on my way.”

Realizing her jaw had dropped, Jo hurriedly closed her mouth. This fool was actually carrying that kind of money around with him? And a hundred dollars didn’t even clean him out—the wallet was still plump when he stuffed it back into his jacket. “But—”

He’d grabbed her hand and the shock of that physical contact shut her up. He slapped the money into her palm, then moved to the stalls.

Guilt pinched at Jo’s conscience. She’d expected him to haggle a bit—not actually agree to her outlandish price. It just wouldn’t be right for her to take all this money.

She bit her lip, staring at his stiff back. How could she give some of it back without sounding like a henwit?

I know, Lord, it’s my own fault for letting envy get the best of me.

Stuffing the money in her pocket, Jo followed him to the far end of the livery. “Of course,” she said as casually as she could, “you’ll get half of this back when you return the horse.” Much as she tried, she couldn’t stop the heat rising in her cheeks.

He shot her a look she couldn’t read. Then he nodded and pointed to the larger of the animals. “I’ll take this one.”

“That’s Scout.” The knot in Jo’s stomach eased as she settled back down to discussing business. “I’m afraid he’s a bit fractious—doesn’t take to strangers much. You’d be better off with Licorice.”

He shrugged. “He’s the better of the two horses. And I’ve handled more spirited animals before, both Texas-bred and foreign. I’ve even helped saddle-break my share. So I think I can manage Scout here just fine.”

Jo clamped her lips closed. There he went, hinting about his travels again. That was the worst part about this job. Watching other people come and go, hearing about all the places they’d been or were headed to, while she just stood and watched life pass her by. Would she ever be able to act on the plans she and Aunt Pearl had made?

Without waiting for assistance, Mr. Lassiter began gathering tack. He moved with an ease and sureness she had to admire. But he also seemed in an awful hurry. Made you wonder if he was running from something or to something.

“You manage this place all on your own?” he asked, not pausing from his efforts.

“Yep. Lock, stock and barrel.” Somebody had to support the family and for now she was it.

“Seems a mighty big responsibility.”

She stiffened. “For a woman, you mean.”

He glanced up and his expression reflected friendly curiosity, nothing more. “No offense, but I admit I find it an unorthodox arrangement.”

Did he believe this was how she’d planned for her life to turn out? “It’s a family business—my pa passed it on to me.” She jutted her chin out. “Like you said earlier, we do what needs doing. I can handle it.”

He grinned. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

For some reason that response bothered her more than anything else he’d said since they’d started this strange conversation.

She jammed her hands in her pockets. Did he think less of her because she wasn’t some soft, helpless female who needed a man looking out for her?

Not that she gave a hoot for his opinion. After all, she barely knew the man.

Jo did her best to ignore the niggling voice in her head that chided her for not being completely honest with herself.

Chapter Three

As he saddled the horse, Ry eyed the livery operator from the corner of his eye. Why in the world was she so prickly?

True, he had mistaken her for a man at first, but she didn’t know that. And he’d stepped in to defend her brother at no small personal risk. Why, he hadn’t even haggled over the outrageous price she’d demanded for the use of her horse.

Still, he couldn’t forget he’d actually let this woman—a member of the fairer sex for all her rough edges—face down a pair of armed thugs while he’d stood by.

His gut clenched every time he thought about it. It was an unforgivable act, going against everything he’d been taught about duty and honor. So he was willing to give her more than the usual bit of leeway.

He felt her gaze studying him as he worked, could almost see the questions forming in her mind.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I suppose you’re anxious to get your business taken care of so you can spend Thanksgiving at home.”

Home. Ry paused, patting the horse absently. Lately he’d been trying to figure out exactly where that was—in Philadelphia with his grandfather or Hawk’s Creek with his brother and sister.

Sometimes he was torn between the two. Other times he felt as if he didn’t belong in either place. And holidays hadn’t felt special or festive in a very long time.

He gave himself a mental shake. Time enough to work through that problem after he saw Belle. And Miss Wylie was watching him curiously, expecting a response. “My family’s not big on holiday celebrations.”

That earned him a surprised frown, but no further comment. Instead, she moved across the stable and grabbed a bedroll. Retracing her steps, she hefted it onto the stall next to him. “Quinlinn is between here and Foxberry. You should reach it well before dark, but if you end up having to sleep on the trail you’ll need this. Gets cold at night this time of year.”

He grinned. “Believe me, this is mild compared to New England.”

Far from setting her at ease, his words deepened her scowl. It had been a while since he’d found it so difficult to coax a smile from a woman. But it seemed he couldn’t say anything to charm this one.

Well, so be it. The bedroll would come in handy since he wasn’t planning to stop in Quinlinn. He’d push on as far as he could until darkness made traveling dangerous, then get up with the first lightening of the sky. The sooner he reached Foxberry, the sooner he could get the answers he wanted.

He had to hand it to Miss Wylie, though. He gathered she was her family’s provider—a responsibility she appeared to take seriously. Even if life had set him on a different path, he could certainly respect that.

How big a family was it? He’d already met Danny and she’d mentioned a sister. Were there more?

“You got any kind of weapon with you?”

He raised a brow at her unexpected question, then reached into his coat and pulled out his pocket pistol. “I carry this when I travel.”

She surprised him with an unladylike snort. “That peashooter won’t be much protection on the trail.” Moving with quick strides, she retrieved the rifle she’d wielded earlier. “Here, take this. Never know what kind of varmints you’ll meet up with—and I don’t mean just the four-legged kind.”

Ry slipped his unjustly-maligned derringer back inside his coat. The double-barreled pocket pistol was more formidable than it appeared. “Don’t you need that rifle yourself?” He wasn’t about to compound his first blunder by riding off with her best means of protection.

But she shrugged off his concern. “I’ve got another one.” A nod toward the far wall indicated a second rifle.

He studied her a moment, noting her earnest expression, the tightly concealed concern lurking in her eyes. It appeared she was making a peace offering and it would be rude to brush it aside.

He took the weapon. “Thanks. I’ll return it when I bring the horse back.”

She nodded. “Once you leave Quinlinn in the morning, it’ll be an easy half day’s ride to Foxberry.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t imagine you’ve had lunch yet.” She fiddled with a straw she’d plucked from the pitchfork. “If you were of a mind to remedy that before you head out, you could head over to the boardinghouse. Just tell my sister I—”

Ry held up a hand. “Thanks, but I’ll just purchase a few supplies from the mercantile and head out.” The itch to be on his way had returned with a vengeance. He’d wasted too much time already.

He mounted the horse, gathered the reins and turned to say a quick goodbye. Then paused.

She’d shoved her hands in her overall pockets and stood watching him. For just a moment, despite her outspokenness, Ry sensed something wistful, something almost vulnerable about the unorthodox female. He had the strangest urge to climb back down and lift some of the weight from her shoulders.

Which was strange. She wasn’t at all the sort of girl he was usually attracted to.

Then she straightened and her eyes narrowed. “You take good care of Scout, you hear. I raised him from a colt and I’d take it poorly if you let something happen to him.”

So much for his instincts. There was nothing vulnerable about this woman. If he offered to help her she’d no doubt throw the offer back in his teeth. And Belle, who actually wanted his help, was waiting in Foxberry.

“Don’t worry.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll treat him as if he were my own prize thoroughbred. See you in about a week or so.” With that, he set the horse in motion.

Jo felt another stab of jealousy as Mr. Lassiter turned to go. What must it be like to just pick up and head out anywhere, anytime you took a notion to? Someday she’d find out.

Or so she prayed every night.

She rubbed the side of her face. I truly am trying to be patient, Lord. But I’m twenty-three and not getting any younger.

With a sigh, she let it go and watched Mr. Lassiter ride the short distance to Danvers’ Mercantile. One thing she could say for the man, he sat a horse well. Seemed to have a knack for appearing both relaxed and in command at the same time.

Seemed he’d do all right with Scout, after all.

At least he wouldn’t have the weather to worry about. November was one of those changeable months in these parts. You could have mild weather one day and frost the next. This was one of the sunnier days.

Jo watched him step past the table of pumpkins and gourds Mr. Danvers had set up out front and enter the mercantile. With a shake of the head, she decided she’d wasted enough time worrying about the stranger, and turned back to the livery. Then frowned.

Otis’s and Clete’s horses were hitched in front of the saloon. Now, why in blue blazes were they still hanging around town?

She retrieved the second rifle and carefully loaded it. They probably wouldn’t be back to bother her, but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. Especially if those polecats were getting liquored up.

Jo sat at her worktable where she had a clear view of the street, and picked up a harness that needed mending. From here she could watch both the mercantile and the saloon.

A few minutes later Mr. Lassiter stepped back out on the sidewalk. Sure hadn’t wasted any time. He quickly attached a bundle to Scout’s saddle and gathered up the reins.

Yep, something had definitely lit a fire under that man.

As if he felt her watching, he glanced up and his gaze locked on hers. Even from two blocks away, Jo felt the impact of that look down to the tips of her toes.

Land sakes—what was it about this man that could irritate her, confuse her and make her want to squirm all at the same time? And if he thought she would look away first he could just—

A wagon passed between them and the connection was broken. When Jo’s line of sight was clear again, Mr. Lassiter had already mounted up and was headed out of town. Not wanting to be caught staring again, Jo managed to watch his progress without looking directly at him.

When he passed in front of the livery, Mr. High-and-Mighty Lassiter gave her a brief tip of the hat, but didn’t bother to pause or speak. Which was just fine with her. She didn’t care if he paid her any notice or not.

After he’d passed by, she slammed the bridle down with a thunk and stood, stretching her muscles. She suddenly felt restless, felt the urge to do something physical.

Then she stilled. Someone else was watching Mr. Lassiter leave town. Otis and Clete lounged outside the saloon, all but licking their chops, nudging each other like a pair of weasels who’d spied a way into the chicken coop.

Even after they stepped back inside the saloon, Jo couldn’t shake the notion they were up to no good. And that Mr. Lassiter was their target.

She retrieved her lunch pail and absently picked at her meal, not tasting a single morsel.

Sure enough, ten minutes later Otis and Clete swaggered out of the saloon, mounted their horses and rode off in the same direction as Mr. Lassiter.

Otis glanced her way and the ugly smile he flashed sent alarm skittering up her spine like a frightened centipede.

She had to do something. But what?

Jo tugged on her earlobe. Business wasn’t exactly brisk right now. She could likely afford to leave things unattended for a bit.

A few minutes later she was marching down the sidewalk, her pace just short of a trot, trying to figure out exactly what she’d say to Sheriff Hammond.

Otis and Clete had caused enough trouble in town lately that she was sure the sheriff would be inclined to believe they were up to no good. But she didn’t really have any proof, other than a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. And even if he agreed with her that Mr. Lassiter was in danger, would he be willing to take action now that they were headed away from Knotty Pine?

A few minutes later Jo marched back into the livery, as frustrated as a frisky dog on a short leash. Just her luck—Sheriff Hammond was out. No telling when he’d be back either. And she just couldn’t shake the feeling that every minute counted.

She might be wrong about this whole mess, but fool or no she had to find out what Otis and Clete were up to. If those two varmints ambushed Mr. Lassiter she didn’t have a whole lot of trust in his ability to hold his own.

Heavenly Father, help me figure out what to do.

She tugged on her ear again, trying to come up with a plan. A heartbeat later she spied a familiar towheaded boy on the sidewalk, and as quick as that made up her mind. “Tommy, I need you to do me a favor. Head up to the boardinghouse quick-like. Tell Danny I need him back here for a spell.”

With a nod, the boy set off at a run.

Jo grabbed a saddle and headed toward Licorice’s stall. She set to work, praying alternately that her suspicions were wrong and that she wouldn’t be too late.

By the time Danny arrived she was ready to go.

She gave him a smile she had to force. “I need to ride out after that Lassiter gent. He forgot something.” Like watching his back. “Think you can keep an eye on things while I’m gone? It might take a while to catch up with him.”

Danny’s chest puffed out. “You can count on me.”

Jo ruffled his hair. “Especially when it means you get out of doing chores for Cora Beth, huh?”

Danny answered with a prisoner-set-free grin.

“Don’t forget what I said about not getting into any dust-ups while I’m gone.” She patted Licorice and casually retrieved the rifle.

Danny frowned at the firearm. “You expecting trouble?”

“Just being careful.” Jo mounted up. “Mr. Lassiter’s had a good head start so tell Cora Beth not to worry if I’m late for supper.”

Before Danny could ask more questions she headed out.

As soon as Jo was clear of town, she nudged the mare into a trot. Otis and Clete hadn’t seemed in much of a hurry to catch up with Mr. Lassiter. Even no-account slugs like those two would know better than to bushwhack the man too close to town. Sheriff Hammond would be on them like a hungry hound on a meaty bone.

No, more’n likely they were going to hold back for a while. Which meant she had a chance to—

Jo eased Licorice to a walk. To do what?

Otis and Clete were between her and Mr. Lassiter. What would she do if she caught up with them before they caught up to him? And how much time did she have?

She did some quick reckoning. They’d wait until they were well out of Knotty Pine, but would want to strike before Quinlinn. Up ahead a piece, the trail cut through a stretch of woods where there wasn’t even a farmstead in hollering distance. Even though it was November, there were plenty of leaves left and the brush was thick enough to provide good cover if a body had need of it.

Past that the trees gave way to Whistler’s Meadow. Just a small clearing really, but a spring cut through it, and most folks stopped to refill their canteens and water their horses.

The cowards could use the tree line for cover. Even if Mr. Lassiter didn’t stop, just slowed a bit, they’d be able to pick him off, easy as shooting a penned colt.

Jo nudged Licorice into a trot again as a plan took shape in her mind. She’d hang back just a bit. But as soon as she got close to the meadow, she’d fire a few shots in the air, then hightail it for the cover of the woods. That ought to put Mr. Lassiter on the alert, make him aware he wasn’t alone. For a man as sharp as him, that ought to be enough.

Dear Lord, please let me get there in time. And give that fool Samaritan the smarts to recognize the warning shot for what it is.

By the time she neared the meadow her back and neck were stiff with tension, and her head pounded with the effort to stay alert to everything around her. So far she hadn’t seen any hint of a scuffle or heard any shots.

She slowed Licorice to a walk. The meadow was about a quarter mile ahead. Time to make her move if she was going to do it.

Jo pulled the horse to a full stop and lifted her rifle. The road ran nearly straight from here to the meadow. She stared hard, trying to make out what lay ahead. Otis and Clete weren’t the smartest curs in the pack—not by a long shot. Surely she’d see some sign if they were there.

Nothing seemed out of place. A crow cawed in the distance, some squirrels scurried in the nearby trees—just normal forest sounds.

Had she imagined bugaboos where none existed? Had her own yearning for adventure set her mind to creating one for her?

Or what if she’d guessed wrong about where they would spring the ambush? If she fired now, would she be tipping her hand?

A second later she spied the glint of sunshine reflecting off metal. A gun barrel!

Praying again that her plan would work, Jo quickly fired off a shot. Two other shots rang out before the echo died.

A high-pitched squeal of pain followed closely behind the blasts. Her heart in her throat, Jo abandoned her plan to duck for cover. Instead, she urged Licorice into a gallop, full tilt ahead. Sounded like the man needed reinforcements.

If her shilly-shallying had cost Mr. Lassiter serious injury she’d never forgive herself. The least she could do was race in, fire a few shots to distract the bushwhackers, and then get out before they could react.

She refused to believe she might already be too late.

Chapter Four

Ry grimly took stock of the situation from his position behind the fallen horse.

He thanked God for the hunter who’d fired that shot. If the sound hadn’t caught his attention it would likely be his blood staining the ground instead of Scout’s.

The horse jerked, making a feeble attempt to get up. Ry patted the animal’s back. “Easy boy.” Scout’s muscles quivered under his hand.

Ry’s jaw clenched at the animal’s struggle. Those gunmen had a lot to pay for.

But he couldn’t collect on that debt if he stayed belly to the ground with only the horse for cover. His pistol wouldn’t do him much good unless the highwaymen got a whole lot closer, something he’d rather they not do.

If he could just get to the rifle Miss Wylie had loaned him…

The scabbard was tantalizingly close, yet too far to reach without giving the unseen enemy a clear shot. Silently apologizing to Scout, Ry pulled against the saddle with one hand, tugging at the weapon with the other. The rifle slid a few inches, then stopped.

More shots rang out and a searing pain exploded through Ry’s shoulder. With an oath, he flattened himself to the ground again.

A quick check revealed that the bullet had passed through the fleshy part of his upper left arm. Lots of blood and it felt as if a hot poker were pressed against his skin, but the wound probably wasn’t serious. Leastways, not nearly as serious as things were going to get if he didn’t yank that rifle free.

“He ain’t firing back.”

That sounded like Scarcheek’s voice hissing across the clearing. So this wasn’t a random attack.

“You reckon he’s hit, or just playing possum?”

That had to be Mustache.

“Only one way to find out.”

The gunmen didn’t try to hide their approach. They’d be on him in a minute and he had no doubts about what would happen next.

He had to get hold of that rifle! If he could fire before they were on him, he might have time to get off two shots.

Keeping as flat as possible, Ry ignored the pain in his arm, grasped the rifle with both hands, and yanked for all he was worth.

But it was no good, not from this angle anyway. He pulled out his derringer and prepared for the worse. He wouldn’t make this easy for them. Sorry Belle, seems I’m not going to be there for you after all.

A moment later, two man-sized shadows blocked the sun.

“Well, looky here. Pretty Boy done got all mussed up.”

Ry twisted his neck to see the two men looming over him, their ugly grins and rifles pointed at his back. He slowly raised himself to a crouch, carefully keeping his pistol hidden. He might not live to see nightfall but at least one of these cowards was going down with him.

“That’s right.” Scarcheek made a menacing motion with his rifle. “Up where I can see your face and hands.”

Tension coiled inside Ry. His muscles bunched, ready to spring. He had to make this move count.

It would be the only one he had.

“Ayyiiieeeeee!”

The shrill war cry shattered nerves already drawn taught. Scarcheek and Mustache whirled around as a wildman swooped into the clearing, riding at breakneck speed straight toward them.

Thank you, God.

Scout made another spasmodic attempt to rise and Ry dove for the rifle. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he jerked the weapon free an eyeblink before the horse collapsed again.

The mounted banshee fired two shots that missed their marks.

Mustache returned fire and the one-man cavalry charge leaned lower in the saddle. The rider’s hat went flying and a tawny braid flapped free, whipping in the wind like the tail of a kite.

Miss Wylie!

Was the woman insane? He’d wring her neck over this fool stunt.

If they lived long enough…

Seeing the men take aim at his rescuer, Ry gritted his teeth against the throbbing in his arm and tried to simultaneously fire his rifle and position himself between the gunmen and Miss Wylie. His first shot found its mark and Mustache went down with a grunt.

But a second shot echoed his own and Ry whirled in time to see Miss Wylie’s horse go down.

It was getting more difficult to hold the gun steady, but Ry pushed harder, moving between her and Scarcheek, firing again.

He swore when he took a misstep and his shot missed the mark. From the corner of his eye he saw the horse get up.

But not Miss Wylie.

At least he’d turned Scarcheek’s attention back toward him. If only it wasn’t too late…

Ry fired again. Or at least attempted to. Either the rifle chamber was empty or it had jammed.

Tossing the useless weapon aside, he dropped to one knee, barely dodging another bullet as he jerked out his derringer and fired.

This time there was a satisfying report.

Unfortunately, Scarcheek was a split second faster.

Jo shook her head, trying to clear it, as she pushed up from the ground with both hands. The fall had knocked the wind clear out of her. Her entire left side, from shoulder to hip, felt bruised and battered. Looking up, she spotted Licorice, tail high, galloping back toward home.

Bam! Bam!

She flattened again, twisting around to see where the shots had come from. She saw Mr. Lassiter’s back first and then Otis beyond him. How had the greenhorn got himself between her and that snake in the few seconds since Licorice had stumbled?

As she watched, Mr. Lassiter went down, hitting the ground with a jarring thud.

No! Her heart stopped and then stuttered painfully back to life.

Dear God, please, let him still be alive.

It took her a moment to realize Otis had turned his attention back her way.

“Well, now,” he said nastily, “first I get to give Pretty Boy the comeuppance he deserves, and now you land in my lap too. Must be my lucky day.”

The words cleared the last of the wool from Jo’s head and she frantically looked around for her dropped rifle.

He snickered. “Don’t even try to go for it or I’ll shoot you where you sit.”

There! The rifle was just a few feet away. “Don’t know that it matters much,” she said, trying to give herself time to think. “You’re just going to shoot me anyway.”

“Maybe. Hadn’t decided yet.” He moved closer, keeping the gun pointed at her. She winced when he paused to give Mr. Lassiter’s leg a vicious kick. “I thought we might have a little fun first.” He licked his lip in a disgusting manner. “See if there’s really a woman under all those man’s clothes.”

His leering words made the decision for her. She’d rather chance getting shot than endure the fate he was planning.

She scrambled on all fours toward the weapon, hearing Otis laugh as if at a bawdy joke, knowing she’d never reach it in time, but driven to try anyway.

As she dove the last few feet to the rifle, Jo braced for the bullet, prayed he’d miss, or if not, that it would kill her clean.

She flinched when she heard the anticipated shot, but felt nothing, not even the bullet’s impact.

Had he missed?

Her hand closed reflexively on the rifle to the sound of Otis’s screams and vile oaths.

She flipped onto her back with the weapon aimed and ready, but instead of finding the brute still bearing down on her, he stood clutching his side, blood streaming through his fingers, his rifle lying useless on the ground.

She looked past him and saw Mr. Lassiter, pale and unsteady on his knees, but blessedly alive and strong enough to aim his pistol at Otis. He’d apparently managed to get a shot off, one that had saved her life.

Relief washed through her in giddy waves as she got to her knees. If Otis had been able to carry out his threat—

She fought down the sour bile rising in her throat.

Otis, still spitting out a stream of curses, reached down for his rifle.

“Don’t,” Mr. Lassiter rasped.

Otis froze, his hand less than a foot from the weapon.

“The way I see it,” her wounded hero continued, “is that no matter how good a shot you are, between Miss Wylie and me, one of us is bound to get you before you can get both of us.”

Otis looked from one to the other of them, then slowly straightened, one hand still clutching his side.

“Smart move.” Mr. Lassiter made a sideways motion with his weapon. “Now step away from the gun.”

Otis moved back several paces.

“Far enough.” Mr. Lassiter’s eyes flickered her way briefly before returning to the low-down skunk still moaning over his wound. “Are you all right, Miss Wylie?”

“I’m fine.” The way he insisted on addressing her so respectful-like after all her carryings on today struck her as oddly sweet.

Now why was she thinking on things like that at a time like this? That fall must have rattled her more than she reckoned.

She stood, trying not to wince at the pain from her bruised muscles. Nothing broken at least, but she’d be moving gingerly for a few days. “Just bruised up a bit,” she reassured him.

“Think you can find something to tie up our friend with?”

“Be my pleasure.” She started toward Scout, but kept a watchful eye on Mr. Lassiter. He held his gun pointed at Otis, but he didn’t attempt to stand. His shirt was soaked with blood, his forehead was beaded with sweat, and as she watched he swayed, then leaned heavily back on his haunches.

The man had to be keeping himself upright by sheer willpower.

She pushed herself to move faster, trying to ignore the fire that licked at her ankle with each step. But she’d only covered half the distance when she saw his aim waver.

“Mr. Lassiter!” Changing course, she made a beeline toward him, but before she could reach him, his eyes fluttered closed. He swayed, then slowly crumpled to the ground.

Jo charged across the last few yards, her pulse pounding an urgent rhythm. This was her fault. She should have done more to warn him, should have intervened sooner.

He had to be okay. She would not have his death on her conscience.

An eternity of seconds later, Jo dropped to her knees beside him, braced for the worst. A part of her registered the sound of Otis’s retreat, but he’d left his rifle behind so she let him go. Right now Mr. Lassiter’s well-being was more important than getting vengeance on that bucket of pond scum.

Jo gently brushed the hair from his brow. The low moan that greeted her was the sweetest sound she’d heard in quite some time.

No time to savor her relief, though. He might be alive, but he was far from okay. He hadn’t opened his eyes and his breathing was thready. The red stain that drenched his shirt was getting darker by the minute. Even more worrisome was the blood that matted one side of his head.

Gorge rose in her throat but she sent up a prayer for strength. This wasn’t the time to act like some prim and proper twit—Mr. Lassiter needed help and right now she was all he had.

Jo gently probed his head where the blood seemed thickest. Yep, there was the wound. Nothing lodged there—best she could tell the bullet had grazed him, gouging a furrow as it went. No way to know how serious it was until Doc Whitman got a look at it.

Trying to remain alert in case Otis circled back, she turned her attention to Mr. Lassiter’s arm. Using her pocketknife, she cut open his sleeve to get a better look. The source of all that blood was quickly found—a nasty hole in his upper arm, an ugly, gaping thing that oozed a sluggish stream of blood.

Tightening her jaw, she gingerly examined the wound.

When Jo found the exit hole on the other side of his arm, she swiped her sleeve across her forehead and got her breathing back under control. At least she wouldn’t have to try to dig the blamed bullet out.

Now that the initial gut-churning shock was behind her, Jo’s control snapped back into place.

First order of business—stop the bleeding. Between the two wounds, and pushing himself to defend the two of them, he’d lost entirely too much blood.

Had he really thrown his already-injured-body between her and Otis? The man was either the flea-brained fool she’d called him earlier or one of the most heroic men she’d ever met.

Maybe both.

If he hadn’t stopped Otis—

Her mind rebelled, refusing to finish that thought.

Setting her jaw, she cut his now useless sleeve completely off, then did the same with his other one and both of hers. Taking a few precious minutes to wet one of the strips in the stream, she used it to clean his injuries as best she could. Then she formed pads with the remaining cloths and bound them in place.

Sitting back, Jo stretched her leg to ease the throbbing. She watched her unconscious hero closely for a few minutes, then nodded in satisfaction. The blood seemed staunched, for now at least. It would be nice, though, if he’d open those gunpowder gray eyes again, even if it was just for a moment. Long enough to assure her he’d be all right.

She took a quick glance around. They seemed to be out of any immediate danger. Otis was long gone and Clete hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen.

She squared her shoulders and slowly turned to her right. Like a coward, she’d been avoiding what she knew had to be done.

Rising heavily, she headed toward the fallen horse that had served as Mr. Lassiter’s living shield.

Chapter Five

Scout had quit struggling, but his muscles quivered with each labored breath. It was obvious the animal’s injuries were irreparable, his time left extremely painful. Jo felt the hot tears come as she knelt to stroke the horse’s neck.

The horse she’d raised from a colt gazed at her with pain-filled eyes as she gently finger combed the tangles from his mane.

Heavenly Father, help me through this ’cause I don’t think I can do it on my own.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. With a final pat, Jo wiped her eyes, stood and aimed the rifle.

A heartbeat later, it was over. She lowered the gun, still holding it with both hands. The weight seemed almost more than she could bear.

But mourning was a luxury she couldn’t afford right now—time to refocus on the needs of the living. She paused by Mr. Lassiter’s side long enough to assure herself he was still breathing, then, steeling her nerve, Jo limped over to where Clete lay. Doing her best to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she rolled the body over. A quick look was all it took. The beefy outlaw was quite dead.

Everything had happened so fast when she charged into the meadow. She hadn’t aimed, just fired, trying to draw attention from Mr. Lassiter. Could one of her bullets have done this?

That thought broke the last thread of her control and she found herself on all fours, heaving.

It was several minutes before she could straighten back up.

Determined to be practical, Jo averted her gaze from Clete’s unseeing stare and pulled out her pocketknife again. Making quick work of it, she cut large strips from his shirt. It felt like grave robbing, but it wasn’t as if Clete had any more use for the shirt, and it was a sure bet she’d need additional bandages for Mr. Lassiter before this was over. And with evening coming on she couldn’t afford to sacrifice any more of their own clothing.

She wadded up the swaths of cloth, then retrieved the dead man’s rifle, using it to ease herself back up with a groan. Yep, she’d be feeling the effects of that fall for several days.

Playing a hunch, she studied the wooded area where Clete and Otis had hidden earlier. Catching a glimpse of movement, she gave a satisfied smile. Sure enough, a few minutes later she found Clete’s horse, tethered to a low branch just inside the wood.

Thank goodness Otis hadn’t bothered to take the animal with him. With Licorice halfway back to Knotty Pine and Scout dead, this horse would give them some much needed options.

Once she had the mare tethered near the stream, Jo returned to Mr. Lassiter’s side, wiping his face with a damp cloth. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could think to do at the moment. His breathing seemed stronger, but he was still unconscious and pale as moonlight.

She hated feeling so all-fired useless. He needed more than puny old wet cloths. He needed a doctor, and the sooner the better. But all she could do for now was make him as comfortable as possible.

Jo rubbed her calf, trying to ease a bit of the throbbing. Too bad there wasn’t anyone here to see to her comfort.

Oh, well, like it or not, being the one to do the looking after had become her lot in life.

With a sigh, she stood and began gathering wood to make a fire, one that would not only ward off the coming chill of evening but would also create lots of smoke.

Whenever the search party came looking—she refused to believe that wouldn’t happen soon—she wanted to make finding them as easy as possible.

Ry stirred, then grimaced. His head throbbed as if a judge were pounding a gavel in his skull, and there seemed to be a branding iron pressed into his shoulder. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, then fisted his hands against the pain that shot through his leg. Thunderation! It felt like he’d been mule kicked.

Was that grass under his hand? Had his horse thrown him? He couldn’t think straight—his mind felt thick as sludge. He tried opening his eyes, but only managed slits.

Then the memory of what had happened came stampeding back and his heart slammed in his chest as he struggled to get up. He had to make sure Scarcheek didn’t get to Miss Wylie—

“Whoa there.” A hand pressed him gently but firmly down.

Relief surged through him. That had been her voice. She was okay. Thank You, Lord!

But where was Scarcheek? He renewed his efforts to get up. “My gun!” Was that croak really his voice? “Where—”

She cut off his words by pressing him down again, this time wiping his brow with a damp cloth.

“Easy. No need to get stirred up. We’re in the clear now.”

Had his last desperate shot found its mark? If only he could remember…

As if reading his mind she answered his unvoiced questions. “Clete won’t be bothering anyone—not ever again. And Otis is long gone. High-tailed it out of here, bleeding like a stuck pig, as soon as he saw you fall.”

Realizing he’d obviously blacked out, leaving her to deal with a hornet’s nest on her own, he wanted to howl in frustration and self-disgust. How long had he been unconscious?

Whatever had happened, it was a good thing the gun-wielding outlaw was gone. He couldn’t even sit up right now, much less fight off anything more threatening than a gnat.

He studied Miss Wylie, looking for signs of injury. “What about you? Your horse fell—”

“Got bruised up a mite, nothing serious.”

Her tone was light but the strain in her expression told a different story. Was she hurt worse than—

The memory of Scarcheek’s threat suddenly slammed back into him. He grabbed her wrist. “Did he touch you? So help me, if he did there’s no place far enough—”

“Whoa there, hero.” Her smile was more genuine this time. “Otis never laid a hand on me. Thanks entirely to you.”

Hero—hah! Ry suppressed a groan at her attempt to make him feel better. Still, he couldn’t help but admire her courage and fortitude.

This woman was unlike any he’d ever met. How could she find something to smile about after all she’d just been through? Most women he knew would be hysterical, would be looking for him to comfort them.

Aware that he was still squeezing her wrist, he released her and leaned back. He realized there was a bandage on his head and another on his otherwise bare arm.

A woman of many talents, it seemed, and one who didn’t let squeamishness get in the way of doing what had to be done.

She reached beside her and lifted a canteen. “How about a drink of water?”

At his nod she rested the canteen on his chest then twisted around, reaching for something he couldn’t quite see. “First, let’s try to get you propped up a bit.”

A second later he realized she was maneuvering a saddle into place behind him.

“Easy now.” She slipped a hand under his neck, supporting him while she nudged the makeshift prop under his shoulders. She was surprisingly strong. No doubt due to her work at the livery. Funny how nice those callused hands felt against his skin.

He tried to keep the wince from his expression as the movements dug the branding iron deeper into his shoulder. He wasn’t going to add to her already piled-high worries.

“There now,” she eased him back, “how does that feel?”

“Better, thanks.”

“Good.” She held the canteen to his lips, once more supporting his neck. The water tasted heavenly and felt even better going down. The liquid smoothed away the sawdust lining his mouth and throat. He couldn’t get enough of it, as if he were a parched bit of earth that hadn’t seen rain in months.

“Easy now,” she repeated, a touch of humor in her voice, “There’s a whole stream of this stuff over yonder so there’s no need to worry we’ll run out before you’re quenched.”

Her teasing surprised an answering grin from him. “Are you maligning my table manners, Miss Wylie?”

She shrugged, her expression bland. “Not me. I’m used to being around animals that drink from troughs, remember?”

Ry chuckled at her unexpected dry humor. At least the day’s events hadn’t robbed her of her spirit.

“And there’s no need to be so formal, especially considering the fix we’re in. Just call me Jo.”

He hesitated, not wanting to offend her, but not certain he wanted to comply. The use of Miss Wylie had been a deliberate effort to make up for his having mistaken her for a man, even if she wasn’t aware of his gaffe. Calling her Jo, a man’s name, just didn’t sit right with him after so ungentlemanly a blunder. But she didn’t seem like a Josephine either. “What if I call you Josie instead?”

A flash of surprise crossed her features. But her only response was an offhand “I reckon that’ll do.”

“And of course you can call me Ry.”

With a nod, she raised the canteen to his lips again. He took care to drink more slowly this time, taking the opportunity to look around. She’d built a fire while he was out, one that was emitting enough smoke to cure a side of bacon. A second saddle lay on the ground next to him and what looked to be the rest of the tack and gear from two horses was placed in neat piles nearby.

A whicker drew his gaze toward the stream. A horse stood tethered there. Not the horse she’d charged in on and certainly not Scout. How in the world had she managed to find another mount out here?

Then he spied what was unmistakably a body covered by a couple of horse blankets.

His gaze shot back to her.

Her smile was gone and her jaw tightened. “It’s Clete,” she said. “I thought covering him up was the decent thing to do.”

Ry leaned back against the saddle, glad for its support.

Her fingers fiddled with the cap of the now empty canteen. “I didn’t see him go down. I don’t know which one of us—”

“It was my shot,” he said quickly, realizing what she feared.

“Oh.” She searched his face for a moment, then the tension in her eased. She stood and waggled the canteen. “Better refill this.”

Ry shifted again, chafing at his weakened condition as he watched her limp toward the stream. She was hurt, yet she hadn’t spoken a word of complaint. How long had she been sitting there, wondering if she’d been responsible for taking a man’s life?

His opinion of her character rose another notch.

“How long was I out?”

“About thirty minutes or so,” she called back over her shoulder. “Had me worried for a while.”

Again, her light tone didn’t quite cover the underlying strain. He knew it wasn’t all due to the physical pain and exhaustion she must be feeling. The emotional turmoil she’d been through had taken its toll as well.

She paused to check on the horse before stooping with some difficulty at the stream to refill the canteen. Her action reminded him of what had happened to Scout. Had the animal died of its wounds, or had she been forced to deal with that, as well?

Either way, he had a lot to make up for. Starting now.

“Only thirty minutes, huh?” he said as she returned. “It appears you made good use of the time.”

She shrugged. “I’m used to keeping busy.”

That he could believe. “Well, you’ve set up a tight little camp here.” Pulling on every ounce of strength he had, Ry propped himself up on one elbow. “I ought to be comfortable enough while you head back to town.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Take that horse and ride to town. You can send a wagon back for me. There’s no point in us both just sitting here hoping someone will come along.”

“Uh-uh. Whether we like it or not, we’re in this together. I’m not leaving here without you, not after all the trouble I went through to save your hide.”

“And you can finish the job by sending a wagon back for me.”

“What if Otis comes back?”

Exactly. He had to make certain she was well out of harm’s way. “Look, Josie, you said yourself Otis was long gone. Besides, I’m not hurt so bad that I can’t hold my own for the time it’ll take you to get to town and send help back. Just leave me one of those rifles and I’ll be fine.”

She snorted. “Fine my left foot.” Thrusting a rifle at him, she walked off, positioning herself several yards behind him. “Okay, hero, I’m Otis. Defend yourself.”

Ry struggled to sit up and at the same time swivel his body to face her. He failed miserably. On both counts.

“Might as well quit trying.” The edge of irritation in her voice exacerbated the ache in his head. “If I was Otis you’d already be dead. And that’s with lots of warning to boot.”

She stood over him, glaring. “Hang it all, Mister, there’s no shame in admitting you’re hurt. It’s just plain selfish, too—making more work for me. Look at you. All that tomfool twisting and turning set your arm to bleeding again. At this rate we’re going to run out of bandages before we can get you to the doc.”

Even if he’d had the energy to take offense, Ry knew she was right. For a moment he didn’t even have the breath to speak.

He flopped back with a thud that amplified the pounding in his head. It was getting colder too. He couldn’t suppress the shiver that wracked his body.

Josie removed the rifle from his grasp, her brow furrowing. “How are you feeling?”

“Thoroughly useless.”

She patted his hand, as if he were some wet-behind-the-ears kid who needed comforting. “Sorry I lit into you that way—ain’t your fault you don’t like being stove up. My ma used to say that trying times were God’s way of keeping us humble and reminding us to look to Him for our strength.”

She leaned back. “Just think of it as taking a bit of time off from all that rushing around you’ve been doing.”

Belle! Hang it all, with everything that had happened he’d forgotten all about her cry for help. If only she hadn’t been so cryptic about what she needed from him.

“Can’t afford to take time off right now.” He shivered again. So cold. So tired. “Belle needs me.”

He closed his eyes to keep the spinning sky from drawing him into the maelstrom.

Belle. Josie. Different as night and day. In fact, the only thing they had in common was that they were facing big troubles.

And he was powerless to lift a finger to help either of them.

Chapter Six

Who was Belle?

Jo tried to ignore her curiosity and concentrate instead on keeping Mr. Lassiter from passing out.

His eyes drifted closed again and she chewed on her lip. How serious were his injuries?

“Come on, Mister—Ry—try to stay awake. Just until help comes. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

His eyes fluttered open. “Sorry. Feeling drowsy.”

“Talk to me. Where you traveling from?”

“Philadelphia.”

“Hah! I knew you weren’t a rancher.”

That got a reaction from him. “Not calling me a liar, are you? I said I was raised on a ranch. My family’s still there.”

“But not you.”

“My grandfather lives in Philadelphia. I stayed with him while I went to law school.”

“So which do you call home, the ranch or Philadelphia?”

His face creased in annoyance. “Too many questions.”

She tried another tack. “So why were you in such an all-fired hurry to reach Foxberry?”

“Still am. Supposed to meet someone there, someone who asked for help.”

“You came all the way from Philadelphia to answer a call for help? Must be an awfully good friend.”

“She is.”

She? Was it this Belle woman he’d mentioned?

He lifted a hand, then let it drop. “Sounded urgent. Hadn’t heard from her in years. She must be desperate.”

He shifted again and winced. “What makes you so sure help is coming?”

Jo threw another stick on the fire. “Whenever Licorice gets spooked she heads straight for home. As soon as she shows up without me, Danny’ll put out the alarm.”

“And if she doesn’t get there this time?”

“My sister’s the worrying type. By now she’s started hounding the sheriff and won’t let up until he sends someone out to look.” If only she hadn’t told Danny she might be late. No point worrying him with that little bit of information though. “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you to a doctor soon enough.”

“Not worried. Just thinking we should make use of that horse.”

“We already talked about that. I’m not leaving you here alone.” She tugged on her ear. “I could try making a litter I guess. We have most of the materials—the bedroll, rope, leather from the bridle.” She glanced toward the shrouded body and shivered. “I could even use the horse blankets if we needed ’em. Just have to try to cut a few saplings for the poles—”

“Or we could ride double.”

She studied him. “Do you think you could mount up?”

His mouth tightened. “I might need a hand, but I could do it.”

“I don’t know if we should put you to the test until we have to. There’s still time for help to get here before dark.”

His jaw clinched and she could tell he wasn’t happy with what he was about to say. “Look, I’ll be honest. Right now I believe I have the strength to do this, with your help. But I’m not sure how long that’ll last.” He stared at her with fiercely determined eyes. “So if we’re going to mount up, it had better be soon.”

Jo glanced toward the trail from town. No sign of help. The temperature had already started dropping and it’d be dusk soon.

She also didn’t care much for the flushed look of his face. If he developed a fever things could go from bad to worse in a hurry. He was right. Time to fish or cut bait.

The thing was, she wasn’t just worried about getting him up on the horse, though that was going to take more than a bit of effort. Was he really up to the long ride back to Knotty Pine? He’d admitted his strength was fading. His wound could start bleeding again, or worse, he could fall off. If that happened they’d be worse off than before.

What a pickle!

Jo drew her shoulders back. Better to leave the hand wringing to Cora Beth. It wasn’t a great choice but it was the only one they had. The last thing she needed was to be caught out here after dark, with Otis roaming around somewhere.

“Okay, let’s give it a shot. You conserve what strength you have while I put out the fire and get the horse ready.”

He nodded.

“Just try to stay awake.” Grabbing the fallen branch she’d been using as a makeshift cane, Jo levered herself up. She’d probably be sore for the next few days but she’d put up with worse aches before. And it wasn’t anything like what Mr. Lassiter was dealing with.

She still had trouble thinking of him as just Ry. Funny thing how he’d insisted on addressing her as Josie instead of Jo. No one had called her that before. Ma had always used her given name of Josephine, and her nieces called her Aunt JoJo. But to everyone else she was just plain Jo.

Josie. Kind of had a nice ring to it. Not too frilly or fancy sounding, but definitely recognizable as a girl’s name.

The thought struck her then that she would finally have a story of her own to add to her journal. Not that this was the way she’d wanted it to happen, but it was an adventure just the same.

Heavenly Father, I know I’ve been praying for an adventure and now that I’ve found myself smack-dab in the middle of a humdinger of one it don’t seem quite right for me to be asking You to end it so soon. But I guess that’s what I’m doing.

Mr. Lassiter don’t deserve to suffer just ’cause I want some excitement. Especially since he pushed himself so hard to save me. So please, whatever it takes, keep him safe.

Ry roused to the feel of a damp cloth on his forehead.

He opened his eyes to see Josie staring down at him, her face creased in worry.

“You sure you want to try this? We can always wait a little longer for help to come.”

“I’m all right. Just resting.”

Doubt flashed in her eyes at his obvious fib.

“Let’s see if you can sit up first,” she temporized.

Determined to reassure her, Ry steeled himself and pushed up with his good arm, doing his best to ignore the spinning sensation. He gritted his teeth, chafing at this unaccustomed feebleness. If he hadn’t had her hand at his back he might not have made it.

After a moment he felt steady again and took his bearings. He must have been out for more than the few seconds he’d thought. She’d managed to douse the fire without him even noticing.

“First we’re going to put that arm of yours in a sling and secure it against your chest so we can keep from jarring it as much as possible. Won’t do to have you bleeding to death on me.”

Where had she found those strips of cloth? His eyes flashed to the blanket-covered body in sudden understanding. The woman not only had gumption but she was cannily resourceful.

“That was a mighty vicious kick Otis gave you,” she said, bringing his gaze back around. “You sure you can stand okay?”

That explained why his thigh hurt so bad. “I’ll manage.”

“Have you ever ridden bareback before?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. ’Cause I figure that’s our best chance of getting the two of us on that animal.

Made sense. Riding double with a saddle was not a comfortable proposition.

“Problem is, without stirrups we need a mounting block. There’s a fallen tree over where I’ve tethered the horse. If you use me as a crutch, can you make it?”

He eyed the distance separating him from the horse. About ten yards. Might as well have been a mile. “I’ll make it.”

“Good.” She studied her handiwork with the sling. “How does that feel? Not too tight is it?”

“It’s fine.” Enough talk, time for action.

“Okay then. Whenever you’re ready, put your good arm around my neck and I’ll help you up, nice and steady.”

Bracing himself, Ry nodded and did as he was told.

By the time he finally stood upright, he was as winded as a racehorse after a gallop and drenched in sweat.

Josie supported him, not saying a word or clucking over him in useless sympathy. He appreciated her patience and restraint.

He was also determined not to lean on her one jot more than necessary. He just needed her to provide an anchor when the waves of dizziness hit.

He’d be hanged if he’d let any of his injuries stop him. It was imperative that he get her away from here, and it seemed the only way to budge her was to go with her.

Lord, let me make it to that horse without giving this woman more troubles than she’s already had.

He let her lead him across the short patch of ground, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other. And on not falling.

When they reached the makeshift mounting block he paused, gathering every bit of energy he still possessed for the effort ahead.

Before he could move, she spoke up. “Now this is going to be the tricky part. I’ll need to ride up front so I can guide the horse. That means I should mount first. Can you support yourself while I do that?”

Ry nodded. It had to be done, so he would do it. He’d always prided himself on his horsemanship—time to give it a real test. Mounting with no stirrups and only one good arm would be tricky under the best of circumstances. Doing it while he was weak as a babe and she was already taking up a good chunk of available space would ratchet it up to a whole new level of difficulty.

He moved his arm from her shoulders to the horse’s back, aware that she kept her hand on him, ready to assist if he should fall.

“Steady now. Once you’re ready I’m going to let go so I can mount up. I’ll help you up after me as much as I can.”

He took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.” Almost before he had time to draw a second breath she was up on the horse. She scooted forward then reached down. “I’ll hold the horse as steady as I can. Take my hand so I can help pull you up.

The next few minutes were fragmented splinters of motion. He grabbed hold of her hand, then found himself chest first over the back of the horse, pain clawing through his injured arm and shoulder. The next thing he knew he had somehow gotten his leg over the horse without any memory of doing so, and was maneuvering himself into an upright position.

Which brought him face-to-face with his next dilemma.

“This isn’t the time to worry about niceties,” she said, obviously reading his mind again. “Ain’t no way you’re going to be able to stay on this horse without holding on to me. We’re not budging from here until that arm of yours is around my waist.”

She was right of course. Still, it felt like taking liberties he wasn’t entitled to. “Yes, ma’am.” He eased his right hand around her surprisingly trim waist, but managed to hold himself erect, keeping several inches between his chest and her back.

She set the horse in motion. “I’m going to try to keep a slow, steady pace. This probably won’t be the most comfortable ride you ever took, but it’ll be best if we go straight through without stopping.”

“I agree.” He swallowed an oath as the horse tossed its head before settling into a steady rhythm. “The sooner we get back to town, the better.” He wasn’t certain he could climb back up on this animal if he ever got off of it.

He’d just have to live with the fact that they were headed back to Knotty Pine and not toward Foxberry. For now, Josie’s needs would come before his, and even before Belle’s.

Jo wasn’t ready to celebrate just yet. Getting him up on the horse had only been half the battle. The other half would be keeping him there until they reached town.

The man had a lot of grit, she’d give him that. Not many would have managed to come through that ambush and lived to tell the tale.

She’d been well aware of his efforts to spare her during their walk across the clearing, and again when he’d mounted up.

Even now, with his hand around her waist, she could feel his effort not to lean against her. If she’d had reason to question whether he was an honorable man before, she could set her mind at ease now.

Probably be best to keep him talking so she could gauge how alert he was. Besides, she liked the sound of his voice. “Tell me about that family of yours back on the ranch.”

“I have a brother and a sister, Griff and Sadie.” His voice had slowed and deepened, his Texas drawl coming out. And she could feel the warmth of his breath stir the hair at her nape.

She told herself the shiver that fluttered her shoulders was due to the dropping temperature. “I said tell me about them, not name them.”

“What do you want to know?”

“The usual stuff. Are they older or younger than you? Are they married? What are they like?”

“Both younger—Griff by two years, Sadie by five. Neither is married.”

He paused and she wondered if he would give her any more information.

“Griff takes after Pa—a rancher through and through. Hawk’s Creek is in his blood and you couldn’t pry him away with a crowbar.”

So, was he implying that he himself wasn’t so tied to the land? She could sure relate to that. God had made this world way too big to limit yourself to one little patch of it.

“Sadie’s what you’d call impetuous. She’s a bit on the clumsy side, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She’s as comfortable at a barn raising as she is at a ladies auxiliary tea.”

Sounded like someone she’d get along fine with. “How often do you see them?”

“Two, three times a year.”

It was like wresting a bone from a dog to get any information out of him. Did he hurt too bad to talk? Or did he just not like the questions she was asking? “Tell me about the ranch.”

“Hawk’s Creek? It’s just north of Tyler. Covers about six hundred acres all told. My family raises some of the finest Hereford stock around. Not to mention cutting horses.”

There was an unmistakable touch of pride in his voice. Sounded like he still had a fondness for the place. “So how did you end up going to law school?”

“Long story.”

His voice was getting deeper, his words dragging. She had to keep him alert. “Seems we’ve got nothing but time. Talk to me.”

“My grandfather’s a lawyer and prominent member of Philadelphia society. Mother was his only child.”

He paused and she leaned against him briefly. She could almost see him pull himself back together.

“She was the apple of his eye,” he continued. “He didn’t like it much when she up and married my pa and moved to Texas. Took it even harder when she died without ever moving back.”

“And?” she prodded, placing her hand on top of his at her waist.

“Grandfather always wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. The year I turned sixteen, he asked my father to send one of us boys up to Philadelphia to spend a few months with him. Truth be told, I think Pa felt guilty over having deprived Grandfather of his daughter. Whatever the reason, he agreed.”

“And you volunteered.”

“It was only supposed to be for the summer.”

That sounded almost defensive.

He shifted but his hand never moved from her waist. “When summer was over, Grandfather wanted me to accompany him on a trip to Boston. When we returned he needed help researching a major case. Then he wanted to show me his lodge up in the Adirondacks. The entire fall stretched out that way, one ‘one more thing’ after another, and it was Christmas before I made it home.”

The offhand, almost resentful way he cataloged his travels, as if he’d just taken a not-too-enjoyable walk around the block, flabbergasted her. She’d give her eyeteeth to have such an experience. “Sounds like he went all out to give you a taste of what your mother’s world had been like.”

“I never thought of it that way.” He seemed to ponder on that a moment before he went on. “Anyway, before I left Philadelphia, he asked me to consider returning to attend the university and perhaps enter law school. It was hard to leave because I knew he was lonely and that in a way I was a tie to his daughter.”

“Is that the only reason you went back?” Surely life in a big city like Philadelphia would have spoiled him for something as simple as life on a ranch.

“Things had changed while I was away. Pa relied more on Griff to help run the ranch. Sadie was growing into the lady of the house. Pa spent more time with his work than with the family. Everything appeared to be running smoothly without me.” He shifted slightly. “I just seemed like more of an outsider there than I had at Grandfather’s.”

Much as Jo wanted to get away from Knotty Pine and see the world, there was something sad about his story. Family was so important. No wonder he hadn’t answered when she asked which place he called home.

“Don’t know why I just told you all that,” he said gruffly. “Must be woozier than I thought.”

“Is your pa still around?”

“No. He died two years ago. Griff runs the ranch now.”

Did he resent his younger brother for stepping in to the oldest son’s role? Or was he relieved not to have that burden?

They rode in silence for a while. Jo figured as long as his grip on her waist was firm enough he wasn’t in any danger of drifting off.

And it definitely was firm, though not uncomfortably so. At least not in the usual sense. His hold wasn’t the least bit inappropriate. He merely used her to steady himself. He’d have held onto a sack of flour the same way. Even so, something about the near-embrace made her feel safe, secure, protected in an almost intimate kind of way. She’d never experienced such feelings before.

She’d always done her best to discourage any thoughts the men in Knotty Pine might have of walking out with her. After all, she had big plans to travel some day, and marriage would only get in the way. She needed wings, not roots.

Not that the menfolk had lined up to come courting. She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman men looked for in a wife. Too outspoken and independent, she supposed.

Funny, though, how that didn’t seem to bother Mr. Lassiter…

She gave her head a shake, not comfortable with where that line of thought might lead. Time for more talk and less thinking. “So nowadays you spend most of your time in Philadelphia? Do you get to travel to other places?”

“Sometimes.”

“Like where?”

“There’s that hunting lodge in the Adirondacks my grandfather owns—we spend several weeks a year there. And I’ve been to most parts of New England at one time or another.”

“Ever been to another country?”

“Once.”

His one word answers were less than informative. “Where to?”

“Greece.” He seemed to be speaking with an effort. “A client hired me to check on some legal aspects of an estate he’d inherited there.”

Greece! She had a world map in her room, one of her dearest treasures. On it were pins marking all the interesting-sounding places various travelers had told her about. This was the first one from Greece. “The good Lord willing, I aim to do my own share of traveling some day.”

“Is that so?”

She hadn’t realized she’d voiced that thought aloud. No shame in it though. “Yep. Just as soon as Danny’s old enough to take care of the livery on his own I plan to set out and see as much of the world as I can.”

“By yourself?”

“Sure. Other women have done it. Look at Ida Pfeiffer and Nellie Bly and Isabella Bird. And my own Aunt Pearl.”

“If any woman can, you…”

The slurred words drifted into something incoherent as his grip on her waist slackened.

“Mister!” She grabbed his hand. She had to keep him on this horse.

If he slid off there’d be no getting him back up.

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