Bucking Bronc Lodge 04(22)
He clung to her hand as they ran to Winnie. Trees rustled nearby, a limb cracked and the wind whistled. She thought she saw movement by the mesquites, a shadow. Maybe a person? But he looked as if he was moving away from them.
Was it the shooter? Was he on foot? Fleeing?
Not wanting to wait around in case she was wrong, she stuck her foot in the stirrup, swung her leg over the saddle, then reached down for Timmy. With one swift pull, she swung Timmy up behind her. Timmy grunted and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Hang on, sweetie,” she said. “And lean your head down against my back.”
He did as she instructed and she bent forward, hugging Winnie as she nudged her into a gallop. The wind picked up, adding a chill to the cold seeping through her as they crossed the pasture. The gray skies seemed dismal, what little sun had managed to weave its way through the clouds already fading as night set in.
She checked over her shoulder every few feet to make sure no one was on their tail, her heart drumming frantically.
She bypassed the bunkhouse for Timmy’s group, raced past the dining hall, sighing with relief when the stables slipped into view. Timmy shivered against her, and she steered Winnie into the pen, then helped him down and climbed down herself.
Justin, one of the older teens, greeted them. “Have a nice ride?”
“There was some trouble.” She shook her head and handed him the reins. “Did Smoky come back?”
Justin nodded. “I put him in the stall. I wondered—”
“Thanks,” Jordan said, cutting him off. “Do you mind taking care of Winnie? I need to talk to Miles right away.”
“Sure.” Justin’s eyes crinkled with concern. Miles and Brody had both explained the situation to the counselors, prompting them to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious.
She examined Timmy’s head and arms and legs but didn’t see any visible injuries.
She took Timmy’s hand. “Why don’t you help Justin while I call your daddy?”
Justin grabbed one of the grooming brushes and handed it to Timmy. “Let me unsaddle him, then you can start brushing him down and we’ll give him some food and water.”
Jordan stepped aside, removed her phone from her pocket and punched in Miles’s number. She tried to steady her breathing but the realization that someone had tried to kill her—or Timmy—was settling in, her fear mounting.
* * *
MILES GRIPPED THE PHONE as Blackpaw relayed the information he’d gleaned from Renee Balwinger’s file. Renee had met Dugan while he was on trial, then visited him several times in prison. She’d also given him an alibi the night Marie had been murdered.
Now she was dead.
“Was she married? Divorced?” he asked.
“Married. And get this, her first husband was in jail for abusing her.”
Good God. “So she’s a glutton for punishment.”
Blackpaw sighed. “Or Dugan seemed like a prize compared to her old man.”
“Right, I forget, he’s a real charmer.”
“He’s a ladies’ man all right. A sociopath who looks and acts normal. He dresses well, has impeccable manners, is a successful businessman. He’s had investments in several different companies. Women throw themselves at him.”
“Yet the bastard likes to carve them up behind closed doors.” Miles tilted his hat back and studied the grayish-black sky. “Please tell me he left some evidence behind.”
“Sorry. You know better than that.”
Miles dragged his hand down his chin. “I keep hoping he’ll make a mistake. Any word on his whereabouts?”
“No.”
“How about Paul Belsa?”
“Nothing. I checked with the airlines and couldn’t find a ticket for him anywhere.”
Dammit. This just kept getting better and better.
Miles’s phone beeped in that he had another call, and he checked the number. Jordan.
Fear clawed at his insides. What if something was wrong?
Had Timmy opened up or had a setback?
Perspiration rolled down the back of his neck. “Mason, Jordan’s calling. Keep looking for Dugan and Belsa. I’d better take this.”
“I’m on it. I’ll keep you posted.”
Miles connected to the other call. “Jordan?”
“Miles,” Jordan said, her breathing rattling over the line, “Timmy and I rode out to the creek, but someone shot at us.”
“What?” For a moment, Miles couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. “Is he—”
“He’s fine,” Jordan rushed on. “The gunshot spooked his horse and Smoky threw him, but he wasn’t hurt.”
Miles loosened the collar of his shirt. “You’re sure?”