Love on the Range: A Looking Glass Lake Prequel (12 page)

No signs of human activity. No startled birds, no flash of metal against the dying light, no soft snort of horses.

For a little while, there were only distant wolf calls and the scrapes and crackles of Marlee dragging brush down below.

But he watched anyway, hoping he’d see something—anything indicating the rustlers hadn’t noticed where he and Marlee had turned off the trail.

It was hard to say what men like that were thinking. Most cattle rustlers were cowardly thieves, stealing cattle when they were sent up to mountain pastures, or taking them a little at a time from ranch corrals in the dead of night. Most were stealthy, slinking off in the shadows like the yellow-bellied curs they were, whenever someone came close to them.

But these men were different.

Ben Rockspur had caught some rustlers in the act two weeks ago. They were loading up some of his heifers near dawn, and they’d shot at him as they’d fled. That’s why Austin had flown Silas and Cassie over the Bitterroot Range that fateful day. They’d been trying to spot where the rustlers were holing up.

Silas was like that. He always took it personally when somebody messed with his neighbors.

But these thieves weren’t like other rustlers. They were bold. And dangerous enough to open fire in order to get away with the cattle.

But rustlers following behind on a cattle drive in daylight? That was odd. It carried a high risk of getting caught.

Maybe they were more bold because the Paycoach Ranch ran the best beef around—Angus cattle. Angus fetched top dollar. Something any rustler would salivate over.

More likely, they were closing in now because they’d heard Silas was gone and they figured there would be no one to protect the herd.

Jett’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, blood pounding hard in anger. He’d protect this family’s ranch until his dying breath if he had to. Outnumbered and cut off from camp like this, he’d have to do some fancy maneuvering if he was going to out-think them.

He considered their position again.

It might be a good thing that he couldn’t see the rustlers. But it might also be very bad.

It was possible he and Marlee hadn’t fooled them. It was possible the rustlers had followed them and were near their makeshift camp now, waiting for Marlee and Jett to settle in for the evening, so they could snatch the cattle from under their noses.

His spine prickled.

Marlee was down there alone.

Jett slid over the edge and began descending as quickly and silently as possible.

Down below, Marlee had a small fire going. She wasn’t going to like this, but they’d have to put it out. They couldn’t take any chances that they’d be seen up here.

Already, he was starting to think maybe they should have gone on ahead to the camp with everyone else.

Jett grunted when his foot slipped, flinging his weight back.

Adrenaline burst through his body, blood roaring in his ears. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the ledge above him. His hands began to slip off the granite, but he dug in harder, ignoring the pain as the sharp rock cut into his hands.

Stretching, he reached with the toe of his boot. Pebbles skittered loose as he scrambled to find a toe-hold in the darkness.

But it was too late.

* * *

Every muscle in Marlee’s body ached from sitting in a saddle all day, and then dragging sagebrush and deadwood around cattle huddled in the cleft of the rocks.

This cattle drive was far worse than she’d imagined it would be. So far, she was failing at everything. Cooking. Helping with the cattle. Getting out of bed on time.

Even her body was failing, her limbs weak as she drug brush and heavy logs. Cold drove her aches and pains bone deep.

She stumbled as she drug the last piece of brush into place.

Could she make it? How much farther could she push herself? Already, she’d forced herself far beyond what she’d thought she was capable of. But she had to keep going.

With numb fingers, she gathered firewood and pine needles in the failing light, and rummaged in saddle bags until she found some matches.

When the tiny flame sputtered into life, she nearly cried. There wasn’t much she could do about blisters and an empty stomach. And she sure couldn’t waste time worrying about where rustlers might be out there in the darkness, but she could get some heat going to ease her tight muscles.

Jett probably wouldn’t like where she’d placed the fire. He’d say it was too close to the sagebrush fence, or not close enough to where they’d be sleeping, or maybe too close to the overhanging tree boughs. But she didn’t care. He could move it when he got back if he wanted to.

Something cracked in the darkness of the tree line.

Marlee froze. She held her breath, her whole body straining to hear over the thump of her heartbeat.

But there was no other noise.

It was most likely a gray squirrel, curious about her fire. She was probably just a bit jumpy. Spooked about being out here in the dark and the cold without Jett. Or anyone else.

Nothing but the cold breeze prickling along her neck.

Exaggerating any noise because she felt so vulnerable.

Ten minutes ago, she’d thought she’d heard the soft nicker of a horse coming from the trees, too. It had scared her until she’d realized it was probably just the sounds from Calamity and Fat Cat, bouncing off the rocks.

She shook herself and turned back to the fire. No sense in getting jittery.

Fear wouldn’t help her stick this out.

Marlee held stiff fingers over the heat and smoke and stared into the fire. She needed to calm down. Needed to take slow, even breaths and force her thoughts in another direction.

Like the look on Dad’s face when she’d left. The stern disapproval and the way he’d shaken his head. He hadn’t said much, but his face screamed
disappointment
. The last thing he’d said to her cut so deep, it still bled.

Don’t come back until you’re ready for a real career.

Marlee scooted closer to the fire and set her chin. Like it or not, this was her career. And if she was going to make it, she had to keep pushing.

Flames flickered lower.

She didn’t have the luxury of getting spooked at the slightest sound. And she’d get nowhere by sitting around feeling sorry for herself.

Right now, she had enough strength to get more firewood.

And enough strength to shove away thoughts of failure.

Firewood. Warmth.

“Lord, thank you for warmth,” she said through stiff lips, and then forced herself to stand and trudge beyond the firelight to find more wood.

She had just fed the fire and stretched out on her bedroll when she heard a grunt and then a shower of pebbles hitting behind her.

“Jett?”

There was no answer.

Maybe it wasn’t Jett.

She grabbed her knife roll, flicked it open and sprang up, a chef’s knife in both fists. “Jett?”

There was crashing and then a terrible sickening thud and a man’s groan.

Two scrambling steps and she was there, bending over him. Her breath came fast, and her heart thudded, blood whooshing loud in her ears.

Jett lay on his back, eyes closed, face white in the firelight and twisted in pain.

Marlee knelt, fear balling up in her stomach. “Are you okay?”

He grunted.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” she snapped. She swallowed a sob.

Fine nurse she’d make. She trembled all over.

What if he was seriously hurt? She wasn’t a medic. She had zero first aid training. There were rustlers nearby, and now Jett lay nearly unresponsive.

“I’m okay,” he said, but when he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, he gasped again in pain.

“I’ll help you—”

“Put the knives down first,” he said through clenched teeth.

But before Marlee had a chance to move, a raspy voice spoke behind her.

“Put the knives down, lady. Real slow. And step away from the cowboy.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Marlee froze, her eyes flying to Jett’s face. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, catching the firelight. The man was in a lot of pain, but his eyes were steady. They were telling her to be calm. To follow instructions.

She glared at him. The thing Jett Maddox always seemed to forget about her was that she was not a quitter.

“I’d listen, if I were you,” another voice said. “We just want the cattle, but we can’t have y’all two interferin’ with our little party.”

Stories of the rustlers whirled through Marlee’s head. These men might kill them anyway, no matter what she did. They’d shot at Ben Rockspur. And besides, no thief wanted witnesses.

She started to lower her hands. Right in front of her knees, Jett’s gun was strapped to his hip. If she was quick enough, she could pick it up when she set the knife down.

“Just drop them knives,” the first voice said. “No need to ease them down.”

“I refuse to drop them,” she hissed. “I’m not taking a chance at accidentally slicing him.”

“Suit yourself,” the voice said. “But that fall he took probably already did all the slicing he can take.”

Marlee gulped. That might be right.

All the more reason to get these men out of there so she could get Jett some real help.

* * *

Maybe Marlee had cracked.

Jett glared at her and tried to get her to read reason in his eyes. But she wasn’t paying any attention to him. Her gaze was locked on his gun.

“Gonna get us both killed.” His voice was so hoarse from pain, he could barely hear it himself.

Maybe she hadn’t heard him either. Because she didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t even blink.

Like it or not, he was going to have to somehow get moving, even though every painful movement assaulted him with waves of blackness closing in. The minute she got a hold of his gun, the situation was going to get out of control real fast.

But to his horror, he couldn’t move his arm. He tried again and again as her hand came down, closer and closer to his holster. But each time, his vision clouded over with pain, and the nausea nearly overwhelmed him.

Between the adrenaline and the pain, everything happened both fast and slow at the same time.

Marlee drilled him with one last look—her brown eyes hardened with determination—and then in a flash, she’d un-snapped the holster and slid his gun out in such a smooth motion, he wasn’t sure she’d really gotten it.

And in the next moment, she’d whirled and fired three times toward the darkness where the men lurked.

Somebody yelped, and Marlee hollered like a banshee. Silhouetted against the fire, she charged toward the darkness, hair flying, and knife-blade flashing. She cocked her arm and threw her chef’s knife hard in the direction of the yelp.

A solid thunk, and a shriek. And then dust and curses flew, and the ground shuddered with hooves.

And then her face floated up above his, curls falling over her shoulder and brushing his face as she cupped his face in her cold hands.

She didn’t look like a banshee now. Nope. She looked like a woman who was about ready to dissolve into tears.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Marlee couldn’t help it. The tears came so fast, they dripped off her chin and splashed his face before she could stop them. Jett’s face was as white as whipped cream, and his eyes kept rolling back in his head. It was too dark to tell if he was bleeding.

“Please, God, let him be okay,” she whispered.

A few minutes ago, he’d been awake enough to insist she leave his gun alone. But now, his eyes were closed, and he lay so still.

Was he even breathing?

Her arms trembled as she bent over him, holding her cheek to his lips. They barely warmed from his breath.

“Jett,” she whispered.

But he didn’t respond.

Complete helplessness closed in like a pack of wolves circling their prey. She choked back a sob and smoothed his hair back from his face. She slid a trembling finger under his jawline, searching for his pulse. It was there. But she wasn’t a trained medic. She had no idea if it was too fast, too weak, or too slow.

“All Your paths are mercy, steadfast love, truth and faithfulness.” She murmured the verse she’d read last night and as her heart reached for God’s help, the panic began to clear.

At least enough for her thoughts to come one at a time.

Should she move him? She’d heard that was a bad idea. But he was probably in shock, and it was cold and growing colder. Cold was very bad for shock. And people could die from shock.

She leaned in, pressing her flushed cheek to his as she gathered her thoughts.

Even if she did try, how could she drag him all the way over to the fire?