Bucking Bronc Lodge 04(25)

Jordan twisted her head around and pointed to a large rock shrouded by shrubs. “We stopped there and looked at the creek, then the first shot rang out and our horses jumped. We moved over by the trees and another shot pinged by, then Smoky threw Timmy.”

Miles angled his head to study the direction the shots might have originated from, then gestured toward Haddock. “Search around that boulder. I’ll take the woods.”

Haddock climbed down and began to comb the area while Miles probed through the brush near the woods. He found one casing. “I got one. It looks like it’s from a .38.”

He twisted his head and flashed the light across the neighboring trees and spotted an indentation in an oak, so he walked over and dug the bullet from the tree. Haddock located one more, and Jordan found another below a mesquite near the spot where Smoky had thrown Timmy.

Miles saw the imprint of his son’s shoes and an image of Timmy lying helpless and bleeding on the ground hit him, and his anger surged hot and fast.

“I’ll send these to my partner to have them analyzed,” he told Jordan and Haddock. “If we find this gun, at least we’ll have some evidence.”

The urge to get back to Timmy made him jog to his horse. Haddock and Jordan turned the bullets they’d found over to him and he wrapped them in a handkerchief. Dammit, he wished he’d brought evidence bags. But at least they’d found proof that there was a shooter.

Only Dugan had never used a gun before.

Although his partner might. And Dugan could have hired someone to shoot at Jordan, then kidnap Timmy.

Another question nagged at him. How about this man Paul Belsa?

Did he own a gun?

If he’d killed Marie, he would have the same motive as Dugan. Miles couldn’t stop pursuing either man yet.

* * *

TIMMY WAS SO COLD. The fire was hot, but he couldn’t stop shaking. The noises...the voices. The gunshots.

His mama’s scream...

Kenny and Malcolm scooted up next to him. They were talking about something. The horses. A ghost.

Or was it a monster?

Timmy saw the real ghosts. The monsters. They were all around him. Hiding in the trees. In the bushes. Behind the big rocks he used to like to climb.

The orange from the fire shot up toward the sky. Then he saw the red again. Red everywhere...

His mama’s face...her eyes staring at him. Empty. The whites bulging. Her mouth...her lips hung open. Purple and blue...

Then the scream came again. Louder... It wouldn’t stop.

Then it was all quiet.

And it was black again. So black he heard the monster coming for him.

It was in the trees now. He saw it before. Today when he and Miss Jordan were riding.

The monster...

It was going to get him and make him dead like his mommy.





Chapter Seven




Timmy’s scream jerked Miles from a deep sleep.

A sleep that had been fitful, so he was disoriented when he heard the sound, and for a moment thought it was in his head. He blinked through the darkness, rubbed his bleary eyes, then cocked his head to listen.

A low sob ripped through the air.

His heart jackknifed, and he sprang off the bed, grabbed his gun from the nightstand drawer and raced toward his son’s room. Senses honed for trouble, he scanned the hallway between the two bedrooms, then the den, for an intruder, but the shadows from the moonlight streaming through the window proved to be tree branches.

A second later, he pushed open Timmy’s door and quickly swept his gaze across the interior. The night-light he’d left on illuminated the room just enough for him to see no intruder. Only Timmy was fighting some invisible monster in the bed.

He left his gun on the dresser by the door, then rushed to his son and eased down beside him. Timmy was thrashing at the covers, kicking and sobbing, a guttural sound that tore at Miles’s heart.

He reached for Timmy to wake him, but suddenly his little boy vaulted off the bed and dived into the corner.

“Timmy, it’s me, Dad.” Emotions thickened his voice. “You’re having a nightmare but I’m here now.”

Timmy didn’t seem to recognize him. His eyes were glazed, wide with fright, his mind obviously still lost in the throes of the dream.

Or the memory that had imprisoned him for weeks.

Slowly Miles rose and moved toward him, but Timmy shrank back, then picked up a sneaker and threw it, the horror in his sob gut-wrenching.

Miles inched toward him again, holding his hand out, praying his son would wake. “Son, you’re safe now, Dad’s here.”

But Timmy wailed like an animal, and Miles paused in his tracks. A sense of helplessness engulfed him. He had no idea what to do.

Except to call Jordan.

Timmy might respond to her.

He glanced at the clock and realized it was two in the morning and she would be asleep, but Timmy rocked himself back and forth so hard he banged the walls. Miles grabbed his gun then rushed from the room and retrieved his cell phone.