Angus started at the sound. He had no idea where the shot had come from—just that it had happened fast. Suddenly Jinx was on the ground and T.D. was standing over her splattered with blood. Angus was instantly moving, grabbing up his gun from the ground as he rushed toward T.D.
Another shot filled the air, biting the bark of a tree next to T.D. as the man turned and ran into the pines. Angus launched himself down the hill to cover Jinx from the gunfire. He still wasn’t sure where the shots were coming from or who was firing them. He shielded Jinx, terrified that she was already badly injured by the first gunshot.
“Jinx!” he cried as he hurriedly removed the gag from her mouth. “Jinx?” As the gunfire stopped, he heard someone take off on horseback. Pulling his pocketknife, he cut her wrists free and turned her onto her back to lower her to the soft ground.
Her eyes were open. But like T.D.’s, her face was splattered with blood to the extent that he couldn’t tell where she’d been hit.
“Angus,” she said, her lips curving into a smile before her eyes closed.
“Jinx, don’t leave me. Jinx?” He moved closer. In the growing light of day, he could see where a bullet had grazed her temple. He checked her pulse. It was strong. She didn’t seem to have any other injuries, he realized with relief. He could hear a helicopter approaching. Closer, he heard someone moving through the tall grass and trees toward him.
He spun around, pistol ready, and then relaxed. “Max, Jinx has been hit.”
Max stumbled up to them and dropped to his knees next to her. Jinx opened her eyes. “Max.” The older man took her hand as her gaze shifted to Angus. “T.D.?”
“He got away,” he said.
“No,” both Max and Jinx said almost in unison.
“A helicopter will be here in just a minute,” Max said. “I’ll stay with Jinx. Don’t let T.D. get away.”
Angus saw the worry in the older man’s eyes. Unless T.D. was stopped, Jinx would never be safe. He felt torn. He didn’t want to leave her, but he damned sure didn’t want T.D. to get away.
“Go,” Max urged him. “She’ll be all right. I’ll stay with her and make sure of that.”
Swearing, Angus took off down the mountain, following the blood trail T.D. was leaving as the sun topped the mountain and fingered its way through the pines. T.D. hadn’t come at them as they’d both anticipated. Instead, he’d sent his flunkies in while he circled around to come up the back way. He’d never planned to stampede the herd. The man had only been after Jinx, letting the others be the diversion he needed.
The bad feeling Angus had had since they’d taken this job had now settled in his bones. He had to find T.D., if it was the last thing he did. As he looked into the dark shadows of the pines, he knew it could very well be just that.
T.D. RAN, slumped over from the pain. He still couldn’t believe that Jinx had stabbed him. But that was the least of his worries. He was bleeding from a gunshot wound to his upper chest and because of that, he was leaving a trail. Worse, he knew someone was behind him coming after him—just as he knew who it would be. Jinx’s wrangler.
The thought turned his stomach. Earlier, he’d had a nice drunk going. He’d felt cocky and self-assured. He’d outsmarted his so-smart wife. He’d had her in his clutches.
Now he was running scared. He could just hear his father telling him how he’d really screwed up his life good this time. He was looking at jail. Maybe even prison. Why hadn’t he let it go? Why hadn’t he let Jinx go? But he knew the answer. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
But following her up on this mountain? It had been as stupid as Travis had said. He blamed his pride. Everyone in the county knew that Jinx had kicked him out. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t stand looking like a beaten dog with his tail between his legs. He couldn’t just let her get away with that.
Now as he stumbled through the pines feeling sick to his stomach and scared, he didn’t want to be that man anymore. He wanted desperately to be different, but he had no idea how to make that happen. He felt as if he’d been forced into his bad behavior his whole life. First, by his father’s taunts. Later, by the knowledge that he wasn’t any good. He wasn’t good enough, especially for Jinx. It was why he drank. The more he drank, the worse things got, but he hadn’t been able to stop. He’d never been able to stop himself on any of it. For the life of him, he couldn’t just let things alone.
Like now. He kept running instead of doing the smart thing and surrendering. He could hear a second helicopter coming. Why not just give up? He needed medical attention. He was still bleeding. He wasn’t even sure he could get away. Why not make things easier for himself?
Because there was something in his DNA that wouldn’t let him. That and arrogance, he thought. Then again, a part of him believed he could get away. He knew this mountain. He knew how to get off it to the closest ranch. He knew how to get help from someone who wouldn’t call the cops. He could get away and save himself, and knowing that was what kept him going.
What he didn’t know was how badly Jinx had been hit. He’d felt her drop to the ground when he’d released her. There’d been blood everywhere. He hadn’t known if it was his or hers. Now he knew that at least part of it was his. But he was sure she’d been hit. Who had fired the shot, though? Not the wrangler. Maybe one of his buddies. Or maybe even Max. Max hated him, just as Jinx’s father had.
He pushed those thoughts away as he ran, one surfacing that made him stumble and almost fall. What if Jinx was dead?
The thought hit him so hard that he had trouble staying on his feet. He loved her. His heart broke at the thought that she might be gone. He knew he’d said he was going to kill her—and he might have—but it wasn’t what he’d wanted. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. He wasn’t sure he ever would have been able to.
He’d just had to let her know he wouldn’t be simply sent away like some orphan child she was tired of having around. He thought of his mother who’d deserted him when he was nine. He remembered standing at the window, snot running from his nose as he cried and pleaded for her not to leave.
His father had found him and practically tore off his arm as he’d jerked him away from the window. “I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life if you don’t quit crying. She’s gone. Accept it. I have. I never want to hear her name spoken in this house again. Now man up. You and me? We’re on our own so make the best of it.”
The memory still hurt. He had to stop for moment to catch his breath. Each breath was now a labor. What if the bullet had clipped one of his lungs? What if it was filling with blood right now?
T.D. knew he had to keep moving—even if it killed him. He took off again, holding his hand wrapped in his bandanna over his wound, aware that the bandanna was soaked with his blood.
Growing more light-headed, he felt as if he’d been running his whole life. He was a runner like his mother, he thought. She had gotten away. He feared he wouldn’t be so lucky.