Hand in hand they ran, silent except for the thud of their boots on the dry grass. It felt so right to have Deanna next to him again, to have her hand in his. Sean wanted to acknowledge it, to celebrate it, but there was no time to enjoy their reunion, no chance to ask or answer any questions. Escape was all that mattered.
The outdoor lights flooded the yard and lit their progress. If anyone looked, they would be seen. Sean hated the vulnerability, hated being back in the spotlight. He strained his ear to gauge how well Uncle Paul held up against Blake’s men, but the blaring house alarm made it impossible to hear. Sean couldn’t stop to look. Trust God. Trust Uncle Paul, he told himself. He had no other choice.
They would be spotted soon, and the bush where Sean had hidden before was too far away. They had to duck out of sight before they got shot.
“This way.” Sean pulled Deanna toward the stables.
“Have they seen us?”
“Not yet. But soon. We can hide in here.”
Deanna skidded to a stop. “It’s the first place they’ll check.”
Sean dropped her hand. “Got a better plan?” he asked.
“That’s your department.”
“Not anymore.”
They crashed into the dusty interior of the stables and doubled over, their hands on their knees. They gulped in the air, choking on the dust they’d stirred up. Dusty as it was, it was still cleaner than the thick smoke outside.
“You don’t have a plan?” Deanna cocked her head at him. “For real?”
Sean straightened, his hands on his hips. “I hadn’t thought past rescuing you. I didn’t expect it to be...”
“So easy?” It looked like a struggle for her to not laugh. “Did I mess up your knight in shining armor moment?”
A horse snorted behind Sean, apparently annoyed they’d dared to invade its space.
“I didn’t know Blake kept another horse,” Deanna said. She opened the stall and patted the animal’s neck. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’re friends.” Over her shoulder she told Sean, “I thought Star was Blake’s only horse. This guy must be new.”
As Sean’s eyes adjusted, the horse’s tall outline and arrogant stance stood out from the rest of the darkness. Maybe this was their answer. The silence outside made Sean antsy. Those men would find them soon. In fact, he was surprised they weren’t here yet. “We can ride him out of here.”
The whites of the horse’s eyes nearly glowed in the dark. Sean stepped closer. He squinted again, his jaw dropping. No. It couldn’t be.
“He’s gorgeous,” Deanna whispered.
“Yes, he is,” Sean agreed, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to contain his anger.
He reached out until his fingers found the brand on the horse’s hindquarters right where Sean knew it would be. He traced the two familiar letters—the straight, proud back of the L, the curved, feminine C. His finger followed the loops of the lapped circles, the symbol his parents had chosen when their marriage united Loomis and Callaghan ranches, making them more than a corporation...a family.
He could feel his body temperature rising, his blood boiling. The next time he faced Blake Ransford, that thief would regret this.
“He is a beauty, isn’t he, Loomis?” a voice mocked him from the doorway behind him. Sean swung and pointed Uncle Paul’s pistol at Blake Ransford, more than ready to shoot.
* * *
Deanna gaped at the two men as they faced off, pistols raised, her throat tight. Had they gotten this far to lose now? Sean and Blake held each other’s lives on the tips of their trigger fingers. One false move could spook either one, and it would be over. One of them, or both of them, with a hole through his body.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Blake said.
“And you’re a thief,” Sean countered.
Why hadn’t Blake pulled his trigger already? He’d had the opportunity with Sean’s back turned, but Blake had given him time to turn around, to raise his gun and defend himself. Did Blake have some twisted sense of honor? Killing is okay, but don’t shoot a man in the back? He must have his own rules, the things that allowed him to sleep at night and then face himself in the mirror the next morning.
She leaned against the stallion’s warm neck, breathing in its leathery, dusty scent, and begged God for help once again. She could not lose Sean a second time.
Blake chuckled. “You think I stole that horse. You’re clueless, Loomis.”
His words made Sean stumble, temporarily throwing him off guard. She couldn’t stand seeing Blake bully Sean like that. It was the same way he’d controlled her for so long. Without thinking, she grabbed the pitchfork leaning against the wall and then flung herself up onto the horse’s back.
“Yah!” She urged the horse out of its stall, one hand clinging to the bridle, the other raising the pitchfork like a jousting knight. Both men dived out of her way. At that same moment, a gun fired from behind her, followed by Blake’s anguished screams.
Paul Loomis stood in the doorway, his gun still raised. Blood bloomed through the hole in Blake’s jeans where Paul’s bullet had hit him in the thigh. Deanna slid off the horse and pushed the tines of the pitchfork toward Blake’s belly, forcing him farther down onto his back. Panting with pain, Blake squirmed under her. Deanna pushed harder on the pitchfork, not breaking the skin but hard enough to remind him that she could if she needed.
“Give me a reason to do it, Blake...” she growled.
Sean pointed his gun at Blake’s face. “Hand her your gun,” he commanded.
Blake’s lips thinned as he looked at Deanna. She read it in his eyes. He was through with her. He would kill her right now if he had the power to do it. “You’ll regret this,” he hissed.
“No, I won’t.” She stepped a boot into Blake’s chest and grabbed his gun. “I’ve thought about it like you said, and I’ve decided in this story, you don’t win.”
He snarled, “You’ve picked the losing side.”
“Says the man on his back.” She smirked.
Blake’s face was ashen from the pain but he managed to lift the corners of his mouth into a condescending smile. “Hear that?”
Sean jogged to the doorway and looked. “Trucks. Lots of them coming up the driveway.”
“That’s my backup,” Blake said. “As soon as Paul showed up, I called in the cavalry. Trust me—you’ll never get away.”
“Go,” Paul said. “I’ve got him.”
Sean swung atop the horse. Deanna handed him the lead rope and then let him pull her up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and melted against his strong back.
“Hurry,” Paul urged. “Don’t go out the front. Find another route out.”
“What about you?” Sean asked, the horse prancing underneath them. “They’ll kill you.”
“Stick to the plan. I’ll meet you at home.”
Blake attempted to say more, but Paul silenced him with a quick kick to the kidney.
Sean urged the horse forward with his heel, pushing it out the door. The gunfire began the moment they broke into the lit-up yard.
“Stop!” someone yelled.
Spooked by the bullets, the horse careened at top speed for the ridge. If Sean didn’t turn soon, the horse was frightened enough to actually jump over the edge.
“Where now?” Deanna shouted into Sean’s ear.
“Over,” he said.
“Over?” Her stomach lurched. “You don’t mean...”
No way. Sean wouldn’t seriously consider running a horse of this pedigree over that ridge, would he? What if the horse broke its leg? What if it tumbled and crushed them?
But he didn’t slow down. Deanna’s brain screamed to get off this horse, off before Sean took her where she most certainly did not want to go. A bullet pinged off the ground behind her, kicking up dirt, telling her the route ahead was truly their only option.
Like it or not, they were going over the edge and down the steep grade. Really, the risk didn’t matter. They were dead either way.
“Hold on,” Sean shouted.
The galloping stallion stretched its long limbs and leaped over the ridge edge while Deanna’s stomach attempted to leave her body through her throat. She wanted to close her eyes, but they refused to shut, widening as far as they could possibly go. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came from her petrified vocal cords. For a moment, she and Sean were flying. If they lived through this, Sean was going to have impressive bruises around his middle from her death grip.
Sean flattened forward and Deanna leaned hard into him, fearful that she might tumble over the horse’s head. A shock shot through her spine as the front hooves connected with solid ground. Then just as suddenly, Sean leaned backward against her, one hand gripping the bridle, the other raised in the air for balance. His strong legs, strengthened by years of bronc riding, squeezed against the stallion’s belly, holding on by sheer will. Deanna was forced to flatten completely against the horse’s rump as gravity strained against her neck and jaw.
Even for an avid horsewoman like her, this was surreal. She’d watched The Man from Snowy River so many times in Gram’s VCR when she was younger she’d worn it out. She’d been in awe as Jim Craig rode with the herd of wild mustangs straight down the sharp mountainside. And every summer of her life, she’d witnessed the crazy Ridge to River riders racing over Suicide Hill during Roundup. Still, she had never imagined herself doing it. Yet here she was.
Somehow, this gorgeous horse was defying gravity. It didn’t miss a beat, just gave into speed and instinct, and Sean didn’t pull it back. There were fewer bullets now, just flying gravel and bits of earth as each hoof struck the hillside in a rocking rhythm.
The beauty of it chased away her fear. Her pounding heart matched the beat of the hooves striking the earth. Her rushing blood matched the shuddering pants of this amazing animal in motion. It was poetry. Her muscles began to relax as admiration for the horse and for Sean filled her.
The land leveled out and the tension in Sean’s back eased a little, as well. She flipped her gaze behind them and up the ridge. Blake’s men stood at the top, watching their retreat. Their shouts had faded and it appeared they’d given up firing at them.
Who knew how many minutes of reprieve they’d have, but for now, she and Sean were free once again.
Deanna flung her head back and crowed. “You lose, Blake Ransford. You lose!”