Читать книгу His Holiday Bride - Jillian Hart - Страница 10

“Autumn!”

Somewhere far away in the dark she heard her name, but it wasn’t powerful enough to yank her out of her dream. Her bed was warm and her electric blanket cozy, and in her mind she was at the diner running her spoon through the hot fudge and trying not to feel a pull in Ford’s direction.

Keep your attention on the ice cream, she told herself. Ice cream is better for you, calories and all, than he is. Dudes are nothing but heartache.

“Autumn!” A full-fisted pounding rattled her bedroom door. “Wake up!”

“Dad?” The dream evaporated and she sat up. Her pillow tumbled to the floor, she kicked off her covers and rubbed her eyes. Cool air enveloped her. The numbers on the clock shone blurrily in the ink-dark room. She squinted, bringing them into focus. Two-forty-three. What was going on?

Then she heard it: a faint, rhythmic, rapid-fire sputtering. A helicopter.

“We got trouble,” Dad shouted, moving on down the hall to pound on Cheyenne’s door. “Up and at ’em!”

Rustlers. Her feet hit the floor and she grabbed her clothes from last night, pulling them on as she went. By the time she threw open her door, she was only missing shoes. She’d grab her boots on her way through the mudroom.

In the hall up ahead, Dad hammered on the last door—Addison’s—before racing downstairs. She jammed her bare feet into her riding boots and grabbed her cell from her purse.

“Here.” Frank handed her a rifle and a box of cartridges. His phone rang and he answered it, grabbing a second rifle. “I just put a call in to the sheriff and the county. They said they’d be here in ten to twenty. They’ve got the only chopper aound, and it will take a while to get in the air.”

Rifle in hand, she flew out the door and into the night. Surrounded by darkness and shadows, she ignored the nearby cow mooing plaintively, wondering what was going on, and hit the ground running. She ate up distance, whistling for Aggie. The whop-whop grew louder. She could see the faint flash of a helicopter’s safety lights above the far hillside’s crest before the vehicle nosed down to make another pass. No doubt it was rounding up their animals and scaring them into a hard run. She prayed the Lord was watching over the livestock.

Aggie nickered, hooves pounding the dirt as she skidded to a stop. No time to bridle up. Autumn ripped open the gate, caught Aggie by a handful of mane and leaped. She landed on her mare’s back as the horse broke into a hard gallop. They rode in sync, bulleting up the gravel road that stretched from the house to the long row of barns, stables and outbuildings.

Dad was behind her, calling for Rogue. His cutting horse answered with an anxious whinny. In the shadows, she caught sight of her sisters dashing full speed from the house. She searched the darkness ahead. Where was Justin? Best guess, he was headed for the rustlers.

She wheeled Aggie toward the hillside, leaning low and urging the mare into a hard canter. She heard an engine flare to life, and a headlight pierced the darkness. Justin. Halfway up the hill, her dad on Rogue passed her. No time to say anything, but she knew her father’s plan. She gripped the gun tightly in her right hand and prayed she wouldn’t have to use it.

The helicopter wheeled around to make another pass, and gunfire flashed from the loading door. Bullets zinged through the air, biting into rock and earth and kicking up dust all around them. Aggie didn’t startle but put her head down with determination, her hooves eating up ground.

Up ahead, both Dad on horseback and Justin on the ATV ground to a halt. Her dad was fast, sighting and firing first. Must have been a hit, because the rustler’s semiautomatic fired in a fast burst, bullets licking haphazardly along the hillside away from them before falling silent. The helicopter went nose up and ate distance.

“They’re not done with us yet,” Frank shouted. “You girls split up. Addison and Cheyenne, go with Justin along the section line.”

“I’m with you, Dad.” She signaled Aggie around to the field gate and unlatched it, backing the horse to swing it wide. “You didn’t take a bullet this time, did you?”

“No. Don’t you worry about me, missy.” He flashed a grin as he raced past her. “You stay behind me, you hear?”

That was her dad, always taking the lead, fearless, although years ago he’d taken two bullets to the chest chasing off rustlers. If the county’s helicopter hadn’t been on site and flown him straight to the hospital at Jackson, they would have lost him.

Please keep protecting him, she prayed, clinging to Aggie as the horse lunged up the dark, treacherous slope. Rocks rolled, earth shifted and Aggie lost her footing. For one terrible second Autumn felt them tumbling backwards. She leaned forward, resisting the instinct to dismount, and stuck with her horse.

Aggie pawed her way back onto the trail and surged forward until they were on solid ground again. Grateful, Autumn wiped grit from her face, ignored the adrenaline spiking through her system and focused on following her dad along the ridge. The helicopter, farther away now, made one low sweep. Another shot rang out in their direction. Before she could hit the safety and lift her rifle, bullets whizzed by and dirt and rock flew. Something hit her in the leg—a slight sting. A rock sliver. Her dad got off another shot before the helicopter wheeled low and began to smoke.

“Got ’em.” He sounded grim. “Trouble is, I think they got me, too.”

It was strange to be woken out of a sound sleep by the dispatch operator and to hear the words, “Cattle rustlers.” Ford felt like he was sleepwalking through an old cowboy movie as he jumped into clothes and his Jeep. Lights flashing, he barreled through the sleeping town and along the rolling countryside, startling owls and coyotes as he broke speed barriers following directions to a ranch off Mustang Lane.

Good thing he knew where Mustang Lane was. That brought up images of the pretty red-haired cowgirl he’d taken a shine to—now he was thinking like an old Western. Made it seem even more like a dream until he spotted the address he was looking for on a big black mailbox and the last name spelled out in silver reflective letters. Granger.

Autumn’s ranch. Fear gripped his gut as he gunned it, taking the gravel drive at a fast clip. It wove between a shadowed copse of trees and up a rise. Up ahead a two-story house perched, windows glowing like a beacon in the night. He followed the driveway to the side of the house and a detached garage with six doors. He hit the brakes, launched out of his seat and followed the porch light to the back of the house.

The door flew open before he reached the porch and a younger version of Autumn with serious blue eyes and red-brown hair stepped out to greet him. The college-aged girl had a streak of blood on her pajama top.

“Autumn?” He choked out, unable to ask the question. The fear in his gut cinched tight.

“You’re the sheriff? You made good time from town.” The girl spun on her heels, gestured to him and led the way toward the brightly lit back door. “Justin and my sister are out there, and they haven’t come back.”

His knees felt half-jelly as he forced his feet to carry him up the walk. Usually he was invincible, but the thought of Autumn out there facing armed thieves made him weak. He glanced around. Nothing but miles of rangeland and cattle. The paramedics were volunteers from town who were at least twenty minutes away. And a hospital? He had no idea where the closest trauma center would be.

This was a sign. He cared more about Autumn than he’d realized. He stumbled up the steps, across the porch and into the bright lights of a spacious kitchen.

“You must be Ford Sherman.” A brawny man in his early fifties sat at a round oak table with his chair pushed back, T-shirt sleeve rolled up and fresh sutures exposed. He stood and extended his good hand. “Glad to meet you. I’m Frank Granger.”

“Looks like you’ve been better.” They shook. He’d seen a wound like that before. “You took a bullet.”

“Flesh wound, mostly.” Granger didn’t look troubled by it.

“Dad, sit down.” Another red-haired young woman pointed to the chair and scowled at him. “You’ve been shot.”

“Yeah, but it’s not bad.”

“I don’t care. You’re going to sit down and stay down.” This daughter, who looked to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, dabbed a swab along tidy stitches, her stern tone at odds with the affection on her face. “You could have been killed.”

“Nothing vital got hit.”

“You still could have slipped off your horse, rolled down the ridge and died, so you will stay in this chair or I’ll rope you into it.” She dropped the swab into a wastebasket and reached for a sealed package of gauze. “I’m almost as good as Autumn when it comes to calf roping, so don’t tempt me.”

“Women.” Frank shook his head, good-natured, as he eased back into his chair and turned to the business at hand. “Out in the field, I got a few good shots in. Didn’t see a fireball, but I probably forced them down. If I did, they couldn’t have gone far. They’ve got an injured man with them and likely one on the ground.”

“I haven’t been briefed on all this.” As a country lawman, he was out of his depth. Back in Chicago they would set up a perimeter and start a search. “Anyone else hurt?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t heard from Justin, my oldest son. He’s either out of cell range or in a lick of trouble. Since I haven’t heard gunshots, I’m guessing he and Autumn are safe.”

Autumn. The worry in his gut cinched one notch tighter.

“Ow, Cheyenne.” Granger winced and yanked his arm away. “Aren’t you done yet? I gotta go.”

“Do I need to get a lasso?” the daughter threatened.

“Honey, you go right on ahead, but remember this. You can’t outrun me.” Frank winked, rolled down his sleeve and bounded to his feet. “C’mon, sheriff. Let’s go huntin’. You know how to ride a horse?”

“I’ll manage.”

“That’s the spirit.” Granger opened a cabinet and tossed him a rifle. “You’ll need this. That little Glock you’re packing might not do the trick.”

Ford’s fingers closed on the cold metal stock, and he clicked into action mode. The setting might be different, but the task was the same. This was what he knew. This was what he was good at. He led the way out the door, down the steps and into the night.

“I can’t believe this.” Autumn rode up alongside her brother on the ridge. Below rolled the shadowed meadows and lowland hills, and a herd of quarter horses huddled in the hollows. “You walked up here?”

“As fast as my boots could carry me.” His grip tightened on the binocs. “Had a blowout. Someone knifed the tires. I was lucky to get as far as I did.”

“Puts a whole new light on what happened to the truck.” Autumn slipped down, rifle in hand.

“My guess is that every tire in the place is flat.”

“Mine, too. See anything around that smoke cloud?”

“The chopper has to be down, but I can’t get a look. If we’ve got rustlers on the ground, we might have a chance of rounding them up.” He pocketed his binoculars in his bulky winter coat. “I need a horse.”

“Take Aggie, I can get Bella out of the field.” She slid to the ground. “How many men are there?”

“Won’t know for sure until we ferret ’em out, but we do know they’re armed and likely to be cranky at us for grounding them.” Justin bounded onto the mare, talking quietly to her. Aggie wasn’t used to being ridden by anyone else, and she cast a long, pleading look before Justin signaled her with his knees and pressed her forward down the crumbling slope.

Autumn stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. In the meadow, a few colts moved closer to their mamas, and mares lifted their heads nervously. Only one horse broke from the herd and paraded head up, mane and tail flying.

Bella. Autumn slipped and slid down to the valley floor, startling small creatures and dodging a stray bat. When she reached her girl, she noticed that there was foam on her withers and her sides were heaving.

“Did that helicopter bother you, too?” Autumn rubbed the mare’s nose. “Did you think you were missing out on the fun?”

A loving nicker, and Bella pressed her face against Autumn’s stomach, leaning in. Sweet. She ran her fingers through her old girl’s forelock like always and laid her cheek against the hard plane of horsey forehead. Just for a moment. A greeting between old friends.

“I missed you, too, girl.” She broke away, rifle still in hand. “Are you ready to ride?”

In perfect understanding, her friend whinnied, head up, tail flicking. They were a team. They’d always been the best team. She grabbed a fist of mane and swung up, Bella already moving. Without a single lead, the mare wheeled in the direction where Justin and Aggie had disappeared and took off, confident, racing the wind.

Fencing was down. It was hard from this distance to tell if it had been cut or torn down by running cattle. The cows could be hurt, and she didn’t have her pack on her. She flipped open her cell, but still no service. When they reached the hard path along the fence line, she caught sight of Aggie and Justin trying to gather the nervous animals.

“Helicopter!” Justin called out, pointing to the south. Looked like it was approaching the ranch house. The bird was white and well lit, the county’s south-boundary sheriff responding.

Finally. Relief flitted through her. At least they wouldn’t be stuck with an inexperienced city sheriff in this dangerous situation. Ford Sherman might well be a good city lawman, but she couldn’t picture him riding bareback in the middle of the night while sighting and shooting a rifle. Sure, he had been great in town earlier, getting Loren on the horn, and her truck towed, and interviewing anyone within earshot of the diner. But this? Probably not. A lot of men, even strong alpha men, weren’t suited to it.

“These cows aren’t all ours,” Justin called out when she and Bella ambled closer. “I see Parnell’s brand and someone else’s.”

“Why am I not surprised?” This was premeditated, well planned, and theirs wasn’t the only ranch hit. Good thing Dad had taken down the chopper. “Are we safe here?”

“Don’t know. Let’s get the cattle behind a working fence and worry about it later.” Justin flanked the herd on one side, leaving her the other.

“C’mon, girl.” She could feel Bella eager to go, and they took the near side, gathering the herd toward the downed fence. They made short work of it, moving together in rhythm, familiar and at ease. When she spotted three Parnell steers trying to break free, she brushed her heels against Bella’s side and they neatly drove the animals back to the herd. A job well done. Justin dismounted and worked the downed wire while she held the curious cattle in the field.

“Someone cut this,” Justin called over his shoulder, hauling up a fence post and ramming it back into its mooring. “They were going to drive the combined herds down the boundary road and into trucks.”

“We caught them in time.” She would have felt relieved, but the back of her neck tingled. They weren’t alone. As if Bella felt it, too, the mare stiffened. Her head went up and her ears swiveled as she scented the wind. The horse was telling her someone was out there. Autumn hefted her rifle, safety off. She sighted north, searching the rolling fields through her scope. “Justin? We’ve got company.”

“I hope it’s not the rustlers. We are seriously out-gunned.” Justin tightened a wire, raised his rifle and peered through his scope. It took him a beat to survey his side of the ridge. “It’s Dad and some stranger.”

“What stranger?” Alarm settled into the pit of her stomach. She followed the rise of the ridge with her rifle until she saw Dad astride Rogue clear as a bell through the scope. She recognized the man following him. Ford Sherman, riding one of their horses and looking confident and as sure as any western sheriff. Trouble was definitely on the way.