No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(100)

“Ned! Answer me, boy!” Angus’s grip on her throat tightened. She winced at the pressure and rose up on her tiptoes in a vain effort to open her airway.

“You ready to see your woman die, Shaw?” Angus shoved her forward a couple steps as he advanced toward Mal. “If I don’t see either my boy or my gold in—”

A loud bong cut off his words. Angus jerked his gaze toward the steeple. His grip loosened a fraction. Emma struck.

She thrust her elbow backward into his belly as hard as she could. Air whooshed from his lungs. His hold faltered as he dropped to his knees. She twisted away and fell to the ground, knowing Mal would never defend himself if she was in the way.

At the same time her back collided with the hard earth, Angus’s hand closed around his pistol. Emma drew up her knees. Focused on the gun. Kicked out with all her might. Her right heel connected just as a shot rang out. The gun went flying, but so had a bullet.

Malachi!

Emma frantically rolled to the side, her gaze searching. Had he been hit?

No. He was running toward her. Shouting her name. A revolver miraculously in his hand.

Brutal arms grabbed her and tried to lift her from the ground, but she refused to be the outlaw’s shield again. She rolled to her back and kicked savagely at his knee.

He groaned. Stumbled. Reached for something inside his boot.

A knife!

Mal’s footsteps pounded close. Too close. He wouldn’t see the knife. If he tackled Angus, the outlaw would gut him like a fish.

Emma could think of only one thing to do. She rolled toward Angus and grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to pin the knife to the ground. But Angus was too strong. He flung her off of him with enough force to send her through the air and crashing into Malachi. Mal’s gun clattered to the ground as he tried to catch her and break her fall.

“Knife,” she managed to croak out as Mal pushed her aside and yelled for her to get to the church.

The church? She wasn’t about to hide away while her man battled a maniac. She stumbled toward the first weapon she spied, the rifle Mal had tossed aside at the start of this negotiation.

Once she had the gun in hand, she spun back toward the two men and lifted the stock to her shoulder. Malachi straddled Angus on the ground, his hands around the outlaw’s wrist as he struggled for control of the knife. They were too close together, moving too fast. She couldn’t shoot without chancing injury to the wrong man.

Mal pounded the outlaw’s wrist into the ground. Once. Twice. He lifted it for a third blow, but Angus grabbed a handful of dirt in his left hand and flung it into Malachi’s face. Blinded, Mal couldn’t see the blow that followed—a left jab to the side of his head.

Mal crumpled. Emma whimpered. But in a blink, he rolled to his feet like a cat, having pulled a knife of his own from somewhere. With a swipe of his sleeve, he wiped the worst of the dirt from his eyes as he circled his opponent, his gaze one of fierce concentration. He was faster, lighter on his feet than Angus, but the outlaw was bigger and surely more adept at fighting dirty.

Or maybe not. Even as the thought formed in Emma’s mind, Mal proved it untrue by making a mock knife throw. When Angus flinched and dodged to avoid the fake toss, Mal charged. Brought his knee up into the outlaw’s groin and slammed his elbow into Angus’s face.

Something cracked. Angus’s nose? Blood gushed. But the outlaw wouldn’t go down. With a roar, he slashed at Malachi with the knife. Mal blocked with his forearm, bringing his own knife down into his opponent’s thigh.

Angus cursed and shoved Mal backward. Mal stumbled. Angus hurled the knife. It sank into Mal’s shoulder. Emma gasped.

Mal turned at the sound. “Get out of here!” He glared furiously at her as he yanked the blade free. A large crimson stain spread over his shirt and vest.

She turned to obey his order, then froze. While Mal had been yelling at her, Angus had grabbed one of the fallen revolvers. She’d unwittingly been his distraction after all.

The outlaw’s arm lifted. His narrowed gaze homed in on Mal.

Emma lunged toward the church. But not for safety. For a clear shot.

Remembering everything Mal had taught her, she took quick aim at the widest part of Angus’s body and pulled the trigger. The rifle’s kick knocked her backward, but it was the sound of a second shot and the glimpse of Mal dropping to the ground in her peripheral vision that sent agony stabbing through her.

“No!” She ran to him, not even taking the time to see what had happened to Angus.

But in the same instant, Malachi sprang to his feet and grabbed her about the waist. Emma was so shocked by the unexpected action, she gave a little shriek and fought him for a heartbeat when he reached for the rifle in her hand.

Not that it stopped him. He snatched the weapon from her half-numb fingers and shoved her behind his back as he took aim at the man still standing in the churchyard.

“Make a move, Angus,” Mal snarled, “and I’ll put the next bullet between your eyes.”

Angus’s gun arm hung limp at his side. A stain nearly matching the one on Malachi’s shirt seeped from his bicep down to his elbow. Emma bit her bottom lip. Apparently she’d missed her target. Though, by the look of his arm, she’d done enough damage to keep him from harming Malachi. That’s all that truly mattered. Angus’s pistol fell from his hand and dropped to the ground with a thud. His disbelieving gaze followed it, then slowly lifted.