Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(71)

Hawkins rushed forward.

Blood flowed down Kingston’s back. Rachel hit the floor but not from collapsing. She did it deliberately, then kicked hard and high from flat on her back and managed to land a boot straight into Hawkins’s backside.

Hawkins hollered with pain.

Kingston turned at the noise his brother made and saw Falcon. He jumped away, ever the coward, to grab Win. Falcon leapt on him, carrying him over backward. They dragged Win off her feet again.

Hawkins turned and ran for his horse. He was on it and galloping around the back of the cabin.

Falcon swung one wild punch after another to stop Kingston, who was clawing at Win to get her in front of him, to protect him from Falcon’s assault. They rolled, and Falcon was on the bottom. Win went tumbling backward. A fist plowed into Falcon’s face.

He barely noticed John rush outside, then another set of galloping hooves went after Hawkins.

John, alone now against Hawkins.

They came here thinking five against one. All of them against Hawkins. Now it was one-on-one, John against the worst of the lot. The man who’d been killing since childhood.

Then a whirlwind hit Falcon. He thought for a second it was Win, turned into someone nearly as tough as Cheyenne. Then he saw it was Cheyenne. His wife had bought into the fight.

A slashing thud ended the fight. Kingston toppled off Falcon. The big galoot landed on poor Win again. Cheyenne shouted something out the door, but Falcon’s ears were ringing from so many hard punches to the face that he wasn’t sure what she yelled.

Falcon opened his rapidly swelling eye to see his little firebrand wife come to save the day. She twirled her gun with casual skill and tucked it in her holster, her eyes cold on the man lying facedown whose head she’d just bashed.

The sheriff joined the fight after it was over and shackled Kingston’s arms behind his back.

Satisfied her outlaw was dealt with, Cheyenne turned to Falcon. “Are you all right?”

He grinned, and she smiled back.

Then her smile shrank. “And how are Rachel and poor Win?” Her eyes scanned around to see who was left standing.

Win jerked her knife out of Kingston’s shoulder, wiped it on his shirt, then tucked it back in her boot.

“If Kevin dies”—she more growled than spoke—“I’m going to hang you myself.”

Falcon decided maybe not so poor Win after all.



Wyatt had let Cheyenne get too far ahead. He heard shouting inside the cabin.

Hawkins charged out, empty-handed. He’d left Rachel behind. John, at a sprint, came out next and slammed shoulders with Cheyenne as she rushed past him to go in. John leapt on the horse standing there—the only one left—and went tearing after Hawkins.

He yelled over his shoulder at Wyatt. “My horse is tied up with Falcon’s and the sheriff’s right there!” He jabbed his finger at the woods. Wyatt hoped that pointing finger was enough.

Cheyenne yelled, “We’re all right. We got Kingston.”

“We’ve got to help John.” Wyatt had Molly’s hand, and they raced toward the woods as John rode out of sight hard on Hawkins’s heels.

The horses were right handy. They mounted up and were close enough to John to hear hoofbeats. Wyatt should have left Molly behind, but when he’d dropped her hand, she’d just kept on coming. There was no time to argue with her now.

They were gaining. Molly leaned as far over her horse’s shoulders as Wyatt.

A gunshot split the air ahead, then another.

Molly kicked her horse to get more speed out of it. It was the horse John had ridden in on and a fine animal. Wyatt had Falcon’s mount, a long-legged sorrel, as game as any on the ranch.

They rounded a bend in the narrow trail to find John off his horse and running for the woods, his shoulder bleeding.

“Get off the trail,” John yelled as he dodged behind a boulder on the side of the trail away from Hawkins. Bits of rock exploded as he ducked low.

Wyatt grabbed Molly’s reins, but she was pulling up already. The aim of the gun shifted so bullets came at them. They threw themselves off their horses, and Wyatt, Molly in hand, charged into the brush. He didn’t want to be on the same side of the trail as John. He wanted Hawkins’s attention split.

Hawkins quit shooting. The horses were in the way, and John, Molly, and Wyatt were out of sight. All four of the horses milled in the trail, rearing and screaming in panic. One of them kicked out wildly. At last, they gathered themselves and ran back the way they’d come.

Hoping the horses covered any sound, Wyatt moved. Low, as quiet as he could, he closed the distance between him and Hawkins. He wished Falcon was here. Now there was a man who knew how to be quiet in the woods.

With the horses gone, Wyatt braced himself for a new round of gunfire. There was none.

Moving faster now, he reached the spot where he knew Hawkins had been. Nothing.

Crouching low, he looked all around, expecting a bullet to come flying, in true dry-gulching style.

Not a sound. Not even the whisper of a footstep or the quiet breath of a man running for his life.

Gritting his teeth, Wyatt called out, “He’s gone. I don’t see a sign of a trail.”

The woods were heaped in leaves. There was snow, but it wasn’t deep enough to make a smooth coat on the forest floor. The wind tossed the leaves and sent the snow scudding here and there.