Chapter 11  

Neill scanned the trees lining the road as they slowly made their way through the hills, straining his ears for any rustle or stirring in the underbrush that might signal an attack. He hadn’t been this vigilant since he’d been a boy, training under Travis’s watchful eye to guard the family and their land from all intruders. At least then they’d had the safety of the house and barn to retreat to when needed. Out here in the open, he, Clara, and Josiah were much more vulnerable. Neill bit back an impatient sigh. If they’d been on horseback, they could have been at the ranch by now, but Clara could never have mounted a horse, and it wouldn’t have been safe for Harrison, either. So instead they plodded along in the wagon, surrendering precious time to the man pursuing them.

Clara fidgeted beside him, lifting her head from where she’d been lightly dozing against his shoulder for the past hour. She stretched her neck, twisting it forward and back as she rubbed at the soreness with her hand. “How much longer?”

He watched her movements, simple, yet unconsciously alluring as she exposed the side of her slender neck to his view. Neill cleared his throat. “Thirty, maybe forty-five minutes if we keep this pace.” He itched to cup her nape in his hands and massage the tension from her neck and scalp, to release the weight of her hair by tugging her pins free, and to press his lips against the provocative freckle hiding behind her right ear.

Swiveling his head away from her, he ordered his attention back to the trees. As delectable as the prospect of kissing Clara was, he couldn’t afford the distraction. Not when her life and her son’s future depended on him.

“Where is your brother?” Clara asked. “I thought he was riding to the ranch with us.”

“Jim’s scouting our back trail.” Neill tossed a look over his shoulder. “He’ll let us know if anyone is following.”

“Do you think Mack could have—”

“Shhh!” Neill held up his hand, a sound having caught his ear. Clara immediately fell silent.

Josiah met his gaze over Clara’s head. He’d heard it, too. The Archer family signal, a bird call they’d perfected as children to communicate while hidden in the trees. It came again, and this time Neill placed it. Up ahead and to the right.

He caught a movement in the trees in the same location. Just to be sure, he raised the rifle he’d borrowed from Josiah and tucked the stock into his shoulder but lowered it again when Jim emerged, his horse loping toward them.

“Keep the horses moving,” Neill instructed when Josiah started to rein them in. Jim’s horse was lathered. That didn’t bode well.

Jim came abreast of them. “Older man that matches your description is heading up the path. Got another rider with him. I took the game trails to cut out some distance, but they’ll be upon us in a matter of minutes.”

Neill had played this scenario out in his head over and over during the last hour. He knew what had to be done. He gave Jim a sharp nod, tucked Josiah’s rifle under the seat and slid it down to where his friend could easily reach it, then climbed over the bench into the wagon bed.

“Neill?” Clara tried to grab his arm, but he evaded her grip. “Where are you going?” Harrison started fretting at his mama’s sharp tone. Neill hardened himself against it.

Coming up behind Josiah, he clutched the man’s shoulder. “As soon as I get Mo clear, race for the ranch. All out. Got it?”

“I’ll get ’em there. Don’t worry.” Josiah adjusted his grip on the reins, ready to whip them over the horses’ backs.

He trusted Josiah with his life, but somehow it still tore his gut out to leave Clara and Harrison in another’s care. He glanced back at Clara. A mistake. She’d turned in her seat, her eyes full of fear. For him. Shutting down his emotion, he pivoted away, grasped the side of the wagon, and started edging his way to the rear.

But he couldn’t leave yet. Not without . . .

Neill spun and lunged toward Clara. He wrapped his hand around her nape and kissed her with all the passion and love he’d been storing up over the last several days. She clutched his arm and kissed him back with a desperate enthusiasm that nearly buckled his knees.

“I love you, Clara Danvers.” His husky voice rasped between them. “And when I get back, I aim to make you mine.”

Her eyes shimmered. “I’m already yours.”

Neill pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes scrunching tightly closed at the sweetness of those words. Then he shoved away. He’d already delayed too long.

Whistling to Mo, he made his way to the side of the wagon, his step unsteady as the wheels continued rolling over uneven road. He untied the horse’s lead line and tossed it over Mo’s neck. Then, bracing one booted foot on the side of the wagon while he murmured encouragement to his gelding, Neill stood straight and grabbed for the saddle horn as he leapt onto the animal’s back.

“Go!” he shouted to Josiah.

The man needed little urging. “Hyah!” He slapped the reins against the team’s back, and the wagon lurched forward.

Neill forced himself not to watch. Instead he turned Mo around to face whatever came down the road, pulling his own rifle from the scabbard on his saddle.

“We stand together, brother,” Jim said, guiding his mount into position beside Neill.

“Together,” Neill confirmed.

A rumbling echoed from the south, growing louder as hoofbeats thundered closer.

Mo snorted and sidestepped. “Steady, boy.” Neill leaned forward and patted his horse’s neck. “Steady.”

All at once, Mack Danvers and his companion surged around the bend. Capitalizing on the element of surprise, Neill jammed his rifle butt against his hip and fired a round into the sky. The loud crack spooked the horses. They whinnied in distress and reared up, their hooves pawing the air. Mack and his comrade had their hands full just trying to stay in the saddle.

“You’re not welcome here, Danvers,” Neill shouted above the melee. “You made your offer and Clara declined. Leave her be.”

Mack wrestled his mount under control. “You want the little squaw, you can have her,” he spat. “But the boy is mine. I won’t leave without him.”

“You won’t leave with him.” Neill narrowed his focus. The man had made no move to go for his gun since he and Jim already had theirs out and ready, but there was something about his demeanor that made the back of Neill’s neck prickle.

“That boy’s my flesh and blood, Archer. The heir to the Circle D.” Mack’s mount started dancing nervously again, as if sensing his rider’s rising temper. “You’ll have to shoot me to stop me from retrieving my grandson.”

A war cry burst from Mack’s lungs, and he charged.

Neill clutched Mo with his knees and took aim with his rifle. He couldn’t let Mack steal Harrison from Clara. He couldn’t. His finger tightened on the trigger.

But he couldn’t shoot a man in cold blood, either.

And Mack seemed to know that, the blackguard. He’d taken a calculated risk, and it had paid off.

Neill wavered. The man would be upon him in a blink. He could see the light of victory glowing in his eyes.

No!

He might not be able to shoot a man in cold blood, but that didn’t mean he was helpless to stop him.

Neill flipped his rifle around, grabbed the barrel with both hands, and the instant Mack came into range, swung it like a club. Mack’s eyes went wide. Left with no choice, he dodged sideways to escape the blow, his frantic momentum toppling him from the saddle as the rifle butt grazed his skull. Neill followed, launching himself atop Mack, trusting Jim to deal with the second man.

Fists crashed into flesh. Bone slammed against bone. Hardened experience battled youthful vigor, desperation lending both men enhanced strength.

Neill’s head pounded from multiple collisions with the ground. Blood oozed from his nose, and his left eye was nearly swollen shut. His ribs ached, his hip throbbed, and he thought his right shoulder might have been knocked out of joint when Mack had flipped him over his head. Mack was in equally poor shape, gasping for air between blows. Yet when he threw his weight atop Neill and pinned him to the ground, he gained the advantage.

Neill kicked out at Mack’s gut even as the older man’s hands came up to crush his windpipe. Thoughts of Clara and Harrison darted through Neill’s mind as dark spots began to cloud his vision.

His family. God above, don’t let me fail them.