Cowboy In The Crossfire(4)

"You'd better be right, mutt." Blake hurried after the animal, swinging his light toward a small gully that lined his long driveway.

Nothing was visible from the road. When he reached the edge and shined the beam into the ditch, Leo leaped toward a small, snow-covered figure, huddled out of sight of the driveway. Blake slid down the frozen dirt and turned her over. If it hadn't been for her son and the dog, Blake may never have found her in this mess. She was soaked and freezing, but a small puff of air escaped her nose. Thank God.

He lifted her into his arms, and she moaned, squirming, pushing at him. "Ethan--"

"Your boy's fine," Blake said. "Now stay still or we'll both freeze to death."

"Blake?" She clutched at his collar feebly. "Please. Help us."

Blake's ears had gone numb, but he could have sworn she said his name, although with this wind he couldn't be sure. He could barely feel his hands, even through the gloves. She must be closing in on hypothermia. He had to get her inside. Fast.

He struggled up the gully, his boots losing traction even though she didn't weigh more than a minute. Each step was treacherous. Leo raced past Blake to the porch light as he slugged his way home. The wind and sleet slammed at him from the side. He stumbled, jostling her to maintain his balance. She whimpered in his arms.

Blake's legs stung with cold. Each step took more and more effort. He squinted toward his house. The curtain pushed back, and a small face pressed to the front window. The ranch house looked unbelievably far away. By the time he reached the porch, the woman in his arms quivered uncontrollably.

The boy flung open the door, his face streaked with tears. "Mommy? Is she...dead?"

Blake shouldered past the kid and laid his mother on the sofa. What kind of youngster asked a question like that? Ignoring his own tingling hands and feet, he shrugged out of his coat, tossed it and his Stetson on the chair, and knelt beside the unconscious woman. "Is your name Ethan?"

Wide-eyed, the boy nodded.

"How old are you?"

He held up five fingers, and Blake nodded. "I thought so. What's your mom's name?"

"Mommy."

Not much help there. Blake pulled the scarf and hat from the woman's face. A tumble of wild, auburn curls fell to her shoulders. He rocked back on his heels in shocked recognition.

Amanda.

He couldn't believe it was her. The woman he'd nearly lost his senses to beneath the mistletoe one very memorable Christmas Eve. The woman who'd tempted him beyond endurance. The woman he'd known he could never have because she was his best friend's sister. And she'd almost died.

"Amanda?" What was that bastard Vince's sister doing in the middle of an ice storm four-hundred miles from home?

Ethan scooted under Blake's arm and laid a small hand on his mother's cheek. "Mommy?" he whispered. "Wake up. Please. I'm scared."

At the boy's plaintive words, Blake nearly doubled over. Had his four-year-old son said the same thing to his mother after the accident? Blake knew from the autopsy report his ex-wife had died instantly, but Joey had lived for several minutes after their car had been blindsided. His son had been alone, frightened and dying, probably begging for his mother to wake up. Maybe calling for his father to save him. But Blake hadn't been there.

Well, he was here now. For Amanda. He ripped off her gloves and clasped her hands. Ice-cold. No way could he warm her in these wet clothes. He unzipped her insubstantial coat. The right side of her shirt was soaked in blood.

"What the hell?"

He pushed the denim aside and stared at the injury just below and outside the soft curve of her left breast. He recognized a gunshot wound when he saw one.

Blake grabbed a clean dish towel from the kitchen and pressed it to the gash, causing Amanda to moan. "Get your coat on, kid. We're taking your mom to the doctor." One look out the window told him the ride would be an interesting trip. The visibility had deteriorated even more in the last few minutes. "Hopefully I'll get us to the hospital in one piece."

Amanda stirred restlessly on the couch.

He nabbed the microphone from the sofa table. "Parris, this is Blake." The static from the line shattered the night. "Deputy, you there?"

Amanda tugged at his arm with a weak but desperate grip. "No hospital," she whispered. "Hide us. Please. Or we're dead."

The stark words ricocheted through Blake as she struggled to sit, then collapsed in his arms. He eased her down, and pushed back the curls surrounding her face. She was hurt, and vulnerable, and she couldn't tell him why. What had she gotten herself into that she'd risk her life to stay hidden?

He glanced at Ethan. With the gunshot wound, Blake had to give her the benefit of the doubt. If she was telling the truth, he refused to put the boy's life in jeopardy.

"Sheriff? You heading out on patrol?" The ghost of a voice broke through the crackling radio.

"Not yet. Parris, let me know if you or Smithson see any strangers wandering the town. I'll get back to you."

He knelt next to the sofa and studied his unexpected visitor. Amanda had changed in the last six months. Thinner, her skin nearly translucent. Circles beneath her eyes, but still so beautiful, he had to remind himself to breathe. She'd obviously been through hell. Blake motioned to the boy whose eyes had grown wide and fear-filled. "Ethan? How did your mom get hurt?"