Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(63)

Kevin straightened. Found his knees could hold him and staggered for the door. A posse was a great idea. But he wasn’t waiting for anyone to gather anything.

Outside, he yelled, “Which way did they go?”

One man pointed northwest. “Been gone a few minutes is all.”

Someone else said, “You’re bleeding bad, mister. Better let the doc fix you up.”

“They’ve got my wife.” He ripped the reins loose from the hitching post, swung up on his horse, and kicked the tough critter into a gallop from the first leap.

He bent low over his saddle, almost lying down. It helped the horse make good time and kept him from falling off. He needed both.

Storming out of town, his mind was wild with fear. Win, he had to get to Win. Her father had kidnapped her. The man was using his own child as a hostage. They’d known he was evil, but this twisted Kevin’s belly into a knot.

Groping for the source of the blood, he found a bullet crease in the back of his head. He’d had one of those before in this stupid territory. He tugged the kerchief off his neck and pressed it to the fast-bleeding wound. The pressure hurt so bad it nearly made him pass out. He clung to the horse, fighting for his vision to clear.

At last it did. He was a decent tracker and saw two horses that’d veered off the main trail he’d taken out of town. Fresh tracks, deep. They had Win and Rachel. Two men, each riding double, which would tire the critters out faster.

Dead ahead was one of the roughest stretches Kevin had seen since coming to Wyoming Territory. Honestly, Wyoming was shaping up to be little improvement over Kansas.

And then he thought of his wife. That was something he’d never had back home. He had to get to her, had to save her before her father did something no father should ever be able to do.

He’d’ve been flat out sick if he had the time.



Wyatt reached the top of a steep climb. The winter wind battered at him as he studied more steep climbing ahead, some down, some up. The wildest land he’d ever known. And he’d known plenty.

He realized he’d never been in this area before. The rocks they just climbed had seemed unclimbable by a horse.

Falcon and Cheyenne were both afoot, studying the rocks, hoping for any sign of a trail.

Looking up from where she’d hunkered down, Cheyenne said, “My horse just stopped. I hoped it’d keep going, maybe follow the scent of another horse that’d passed this way. Instead, it balked, and I knew not to push it. I might get it going in the wrong direction.”

Falcon rose, shaking his head. “It’s solid rock in every direction, the snow swept clear.”

“We’re going to have to release a pigeon.” John lifted the bird, which had settled contentedly on his lap for the whole climb.

“Are we ready?” John asked. “We all watch, pick up its direction, and go after it as fast as we can until we can’t see it anymore.”

Wyatt looked around at the rugged land. Straight ahead it went down some, then climbed again. To the left and right, they’d be skimming along some invisible trail, hoping their horses could walk on tiptoes.

Wyatt gave his chin a jerk of agreement. “Let it go.”

John released the pigeon, and it just stood there, content with the ride. “Hmmm . . . We might have a defective pigeon.”

John picked it up and tossed it in the air. It fluttered a bit, then took off like an arrow, straight ahead.

“It might not be far as the crow flies,” Wyatt said, watching the bird. Cheyenne and Falcon were after it, John next, their horses picking their way. They weren’t going to do any galloping, that was for sure.

“We couldn’t be less like crows.” Molly gave her horse a gentle kick, just enough to tell it to get going.

The pigeon crested the highest peak ahead and vanished. Wyatt made very careful note of where the critter was headed.

One of the crated pigeons in his lap cooed. Another fluttered. Wyatt looked down at them. Five more birds. Figuring some had been trained to go wherever the one they’d already released had headed and some would fly east toward Casper, they’d be real lucky, no . . . real blessed, if they found Hawkins before they ran plumb out of birds.



Was Kevin dead?

It’d happened so fast. Win had seen the sheriff fly backward. She’d heard a second shot as Kevin tackled her. Then her pa had dragged her out from under Kevin.

Win saw blood. She was frantic to help her precious husband, but her father dragged her away.

Was he dead?

No. No, she refused to give up hope. He’d survive, and he’d come for her. He’d bring the rest of his very tough family with him.

She just had to stay alive. Surely her own father wasn’t planning to kill her. But he’d given her to Kingston. Maybe that was his way of saying he didn’t want to kill her himself, but he’d stand by while his brother did.

Her pa held Rachel, who’d gone gray and slumped back against him. She looked unconscious. She hadn’t been out of bed long enough for this harsh, pounding ride.

Win had no idea how to help herself. Try to snatch Kingston’s gun? Throw herself to the ground?

That might work, but not now, not while Kingston was so alert and on edge. But she’d be prepared and take any opportunity that opened. Maybe she could find out where they were going.

A prison break . . . two men shot . . . there would be help coming. A posse if Kevin wasn’t able to come. The thought sent a sob from deep in her chest, and she fought it. No time to cry. Now was the time to be alert and be ready.