Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(90)

The sound of male voices forced her to shrink back against the side of the building until the rough wood bruised her back through her shirtwaist. She wished she’d donned a pair of Brody’s old trousers to do chores in this morning. Her skirts were an impediment she didn’t need, but there was no changing that now. She waited until the voices faded, taking deep breaths to control the wild beating of her heart. It did little good.

She peeked around the corner again. Everything appeared clear. With a speed she hadn’t known she possessed, she ran toward the house, one arm cradling the rifle, the other holding up her skirts. She slid to a stop at the corner of the house and hid to the side where she could see up over the edge of the raised porch to the door beyond.

She wished now she had taken Shamus up on one of his many offers to entertain her. She had no idea of the layout of the house, or where Caleb and Shamus might be. She needed to get inside and find them. Sitting here, waiting for someone to emerge filled her with a sense of helplessness.

Rachel turned around, maintaining her crouched position and sidled along the side of the massive house. When she reached each window, she stretched upward and peered through the glass to the room beyond, trying to build a floor plan in her mind. It wasn’t until she reached the back of the house that her search was rewarded. Voices filtered out through a partially open window.

“You best be putting your gun down, Drake. Don’t think his being my kin will prevent me from killing the boy.”

Rachel’s blood froze in her veins. Shamus had Brody!

“I don’t doubt it.” Caleb’s calm voice reached out and wrapped around her. She held it tight against her heart to ward off the fear. She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand by and allow Shamus to hold Brody hostage like some kind of human shield!

“Put your gun down, Drake, and I’ll let the boy go.”

But Rachel knew Shamus better than that. He’d used the name Drake when referring to Caleb. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an idiot. Shamus would never give up an advantage, especially not one that kept him from getting a bullet through his black heart from a man notorious for being a fast draw and accurate shot.

She didn’t dare peer through the window, afraid if she did, Shamus might see her, or that Brody would, and in his fear give her away. Right now, she still had the element of surprise. If she could get inside, perhaps she could use that. She had to at least try. Especially now with Caleb on the verge of being disarmed. She didn’t doubt he would set his gun down if it meant keeping Brody safe. The fact that it would put him in harm’s way would not deter him in the least. That was the kind of man he was. He’d shown her his true self every day they’d been together, from the first moment they’d met to the last few seconds before she’d sent him away. She silently cursed herself for letting her hurt and anger override the truth about Caleb.

He’d kept pertinent details of what had happened in Laramie from her, true. But he’d never lied about who he really was. If anything, by giving her his real name, he’d told her more truth than he had most people. He’d opened up to her and shown her his heart, and he’d taken hers and treated it with kindness, doing his best to protect her from pain.

He’d lied no more to her than she’d done to Brody.

Yet she’d sent him away.

Maybe she deserved this outcome now. But one thing was certain, Caleb and Brody did not, and she refused to make them casualties of her own rash behavior.

Rachel crept along the side of the house, back to the front porch. A quick sweep of the area showed no one around. Were they all inside? Would she have to outrun a gauntlet of men to reach the back room?

She shored up her courage. It didn’t matter. She’d do what she had to.

The door opened easily and she slipped through, looking around. A hallway to her left led in the direction she needed to go. She tiptoed quietly, wincing with each creak of the floorboards.

“Hey there, girlie.”

Rachel started and swung around, raising the rifle in one swift motion, her finger on the trigger. Everything happened too quickly for her to think. She took in the man’s scarred face, his close proximity and reacted. The recoil from the shot knocked her hard into the wall.

“Son of a—” The man fell and scrabbled against the floor, his feet slipping on the hardwood as he tried to find purchase. One hand grabbed his arm as he regained his footing and ran in the opposite direction.

For a brief second, Rachel stood there stunned, her shoulder throbbing where the kickback had slammed the rifle’s stock into her. Then she realized the impact of what she’d done. She’d lost her element of surprise, the only thing she had in her favor.