Sharon Dunn - Big Sky Showdown

“Get down then. Get off of there.” He turned in a half circle, watching the trees, using his skills to pick apart each section, probing for movement.

She slipped out of her saddle and pressed in close to him. “What’s going on?” Her voice trembled.

Zane surveyed the landscape. “The shooter is probably getting into position to line up another shot. That gives us a minute.” And a chance at escape. He glanced at Clarence, debating his options. They might be a target if they got back on him. But the mule would give them speed.

Another rifle shot penetrated the forest close to Clarence. The mule whinnied and took off at a gallop, crashing through the trees. At least he hadn’t been killed, but the shooter had taken out their best chance to get away fast.

Another shot shattered the air around them. The percussive noise beat against his eardrums and made his heart pound. The bullet stirred up the ground around Heather. She gasped and moved closer to him.

Zane grabbed Heather’s hand and pulled her toward the brush for cover. “Run,” he ordered her.

Though he saw nothing when he looked over his shoulder, he could detect the human noises behind them, heavy footfalls and the rustle of tree boughs being pushed out of the way. The shooter was on the move, coming after them.

He let go of her hand so they could both run faster. His feet pounded over the pine-needle-laden ground.

They ran for a long time without stopping. Heather kept up a steady pace. He had to hand it to her. Even after the bruising she’d suffered in the rockslide, the woman could run.

He lagged behind then slowed his pace to catch his breath. “I think we lost him.”

She stopped to listen, tilting her head. Then her gaze fell on him. “Who are these men?” Her eyes seemed to look right through him. “You know who they are, don’t you?”

A heaviness pressed on his shoulders and chest. How could he begin to explain? He narrowed his eyes at Heather. He barely knew her. What if they were after Heather for some reason? She was the one they’d tried to take captive.

Some distance away, a human voice yelped as though the man had run into something. Zane’s muscles tensed as he peered over his shoulder.

He saw Heather’s eyes grow wide with fear, and then she started sprinting down the trail, with Zane following on her heels. She jumped over a tree that had fallen across the path. Zane hurried to catch up with her.

He heard a noise to the side of him. Two muscular young men jumped out of the trees. One grabbed Zane’s hands before he could react. The other placed a hood over his head and pulled Zane’s pistol out of the holster. Zane twisted from side to side trying to get away.

The last noise he heard was Heather’s scream.

THREE

Stunned and afraid, Heather watched as the men dragged Zane deeper into the forest. She rushed to get back over the log, determined to free him.

A third man appeared from out of the trees and came charging toward her. She had no choice but to run the other way.

The horror of seeing Zane taken captive plagued her as she sprinted off the trail and into the forest. Running hard, she pushed through the tangle of trees. Despite her speed, her feet hit the ground with precision as she chose her steps over the varied terrain. Her pursuer stayed within yards of her but never gained on her. She looped back around to the trail where it would be easier to put some distance between herself and the man.

She bolted up the trail, running for at least twenty minutes before she looked over her shoulder and saw no one. The man had given up. She slowed to a jog. Now that she was safe, her only thought was to help Zane.

Aware that another pursuer might be lying in wait, she stumbled toward where she’d seen the young men drag Zane. There were at least three men, two that had taken Zane and one who had come after her. Even if one of them had been the shooter, what about the other men and boys they’d seen? Just how many people were after them? With each turn in the trail, she feared she’d be caught in another violent encounter.

But after wandering for what seemed like ages, she was less worried about a confrontation and more worried about never finding anyone at all. All the trees along the trail looked the same. If she could find the log that had fallen across the trail, she might be able to figure out where Zane had been taken. But she did not know these woods. Zane was the navigator.

A heaviness descended on her. Zane could be miles from here by now, or worse...he could be dead. Her stomach knotted at the thought. She wiped it from her mind. Giving in to fear would only make things harder.

She pushed off the tree and jogged out to the path. If she worked her way back to the clearing where Zane’s mule was shot, she might be able to retrace her steps to where Zane had been taken.

As she followed the trail, she fought against the images that threatened to make her shut down. Pictures of Zane shot and left for dead played through her mind.

She stumbled into the clearing where the dead mule still lay. Her stomach roiled at the sight, and she thought she might vomit. She whirled away, but not before she noticed that the saddlebags and Zane’s rifle had been taken.

Turning in a half circle, she wondered if she was being watched. Her own intense heartbeat drummed in her ears.

At least from here, she thought she could find her way back to the fallen log. The memory of fleeing after the shots were fired was blurred by trauma. All the same, she took off in the general direction she remembered going. She’d gone only a short distance when she heard a crashing noise to the side of her. Scrambling to find cover, she slipped behind a tree. Heather pressed her back against the rough bark as her heart thudded at breakneck pace.

She held her breath. The noise of someone moving toward her intensified. Her muscles tensed. The forest fell silent. She waited. Then she heard a familiar clomp clomp clomp.

Heather almost laughed as she raised her head. Clarence stood on the path. He jerked his head at her. The metal on his bridle jangled.

“Hello, old friend.” She rose to her feet. The saddlebags were askew, but still intact. She opened one and took out the little wooden box that contained her father’s ashes. She placed it in the inside pocket of her coat where it pressed against her stomach so she could feel that it was safe. She had been only a short time away from closing this chapter of her life. So much had changed so quickly. Tears welled up. Why had her father wanted her to come back to Montana anyway? She wiped her eyes.

Come on, Heather, pull it together.

Her eyes were drawn to a bloody gash on Clarence’s neck. The mule sidestepped when she placed her hand near the injury. She couldn’t discern the cause of the wound. It could be a bullet had grazed him, or maybe he’d scraped it on some brush. She straightened the saddlebags and placed her foot in the stirrup. Heather rode a short way when she saw smoke rising off in the distance. A camp.

She spurred Clarence to go faster.

Once they’d gotten close, she slipped off Clarence’s back. It could be another hunters’ camp doing some scouting or it could be where Zane was being held. Or the men who had been after them might be there without Zane. It could be a chance for help or she could be stepping into danger. Either way, she had to find out.

She let the reins fall to the ground, opting not to tie Clarence up. At least if she did not come back, the mule would be able to find his way back to civilization. And not coming back was a high probability.

She pressed her boots lightly on the crunchy snow, moving toward the rising smoke. Before she even arrived at the camp, she heard voices. Though she couldn’t discern the words, it was clear a heated discussion was taking place. She slowed her pace even more, choosing where she stepped carefully. The scent of wood smoke filled the air. The argument stopped and the voices fell silent.