Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

P atience edged her gelding closer, scanning every part of the small campsite for signs of life. The place looked empty. When she was certain she was alone, she nudged her mount into the tiny clearing so she could get a better look. Maybe whoever'd been here had left something behind that would identify them.

A horse snorted behind her, and Patience whirled around.

A shadowy figure on horseback emerged from the trees, and her heart leapt into her throat. In one swift motion, she flicked her wrist and slid her derringer into her palm, the metal cold against her skin. She aimed it at the approaching silhouette.

"That's close enough." Her voice sounded far more confident than she felt.

The man lifted his chin, and moonlight shone on his face. Recognition hit her like a physical blow.

It was him —Douglas, the ruffian who'd accosted her by the stream that day. The one who'd threatened her…and whose eyes now held cold malice.

He regarded her with a sneer. "Well. If it ain't the little lady who don't know when ta keep her mouth shut. Thought you'da learned your lesson last time."

Patience kept her gun trained on him, even as her pulse pounded in her ears. "Was it you? Did you set fire to Jonah's cabin?"

Douglas let out a harsh laugh. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Ain't none of your concern."

"It is my concern when you threaten people I care about." Her finger tightened on the trigger. She would have to shoot him. She'd have to kill this man before he had a chance to gain the upper hand. Maybe she could get an answer first. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

His horse shifted its weight. Was he moving closer? A dangerous glint sparked in his eye. "You're a dumb one, ain't ya? Shoulda killed you last time I had the chance. Would've saved me this trouble now."

Fear coiled in her belly, but she held her ground, her aim never wavering. "Tell me why. Are there others? What do you want with the Coulters?"

In a flash, his horse lurched forward while he ducked low.

She pulled the trigger, but her shot missed high.

He wrenched her wrist. Pain lanced through her arm, and the derringer fell from her grip. She slammed her heels into her gelding's side to keep distance between her and this man, but he'd already grabbed her reins.

She pulled her leg up to leap from the saddle, but he grabbed her arm, his grip a vise around her. His fingers dug into her flesh as he yanked her from the saddle.

She hit the ground hard, her hip and ribs bearing the brunt of the impact and knocking the wind from her lungs. She fought to suck in air, even as a single thought speared through her mind.

Run!

She rolled to her hands and knees, pushing herself up with one hand and using the other to fumble for the knife she kept in her boot.

But Douglas crashed down on her, slamming her belly to the ground. His weight pinned her, making it impossible to breathe. Then his hands closed around her throat, cutting off her air. She clawed at his fingers, panic exploding as black spots danced in her vision.

"I'm gonna finish what I started." His voice sounded so distant. "And this time, I'll make sure there ain't nothin' left of you to find."

Darkness crept in at the edges of her sight. She was too weak to fight him. Too weak to defend herself.

This couldn't be how it ended. Not here, at the hands of this madman. She'd fought too hard, come too far. Jonah…Anna…they needed her.

Even as despair threatened to pull her under, a single thought crystalized in her oxygen-starved mind.

God, help me!

Only a miracle could save her now.

T he gunshot split the night air, sending Jonah's pulse surging.

"That wasn't far away." Sampson whispered. The two of them had been out searching for more than a quarter hour, but maybe they'd finally found their target. Or some of their other brothers had. They'd all ridden out in pairs.

He spun his horse in the direction of the shot and pushed the animal into the fastest trot he could manage while weaving through all these trees. His heart thundered, even as he tried to think clearly. What if the others had found trouble. Would there only have been one shot? Maybe it had been a signal that they'd discovered a clue.

As they neared the source of the sound, he reined down to a walk so they moved quieter. Just in case.

Noises drifted from ahead. Were those grunts? And a man muttering? It sounded like a fight.

Jonah reined in his horse and grabbed his rifle. He lowered to the ground, then looped his reins over a branch, whispering, "We'll be quieter on foot."

Sampson joined him, and they crept toward the noises quickly. Someone might be in trouble. Had one of the strangers gotten the drop on a pair of his brothers?

Had that shot been the sound of Jericho being murdered? Or Gil? Or Jude?

If so, then the brother who remained would surely fight to the death. But what if it was the youngest, Miles? He'd have little chance against a grown man, likely a seasoned thug who wouldn't hesitate to fight dirty.

They reached the edge of a small clearing, and Jonah slowed to peer through the branches.

As he focused on the scene, his breath caught.

A man knelt over a prone figure…and even in the darkness he could make out the familiar rich green skirt.

Patsy .

She lay facedown, and the man had his hands wrapped around her slender neck.

Rage surged through Jonah, propelling him forward.

He lunged at the attacker, a roar tearing from his throat as he ripped the man away from her.

They crashed to the ground.

The man recovered, propelling them into a roll. The attacker put himself on top, then reared back and aimed a punch.

Jonah dodged it, slamming a fist into his enemy's cheek, but a return blow struck his nose, and the crack radiated through his head.

His eyes watered, but he struggled through blurred vision. Pushing himself up to face his adversary who was preparing another attack.

Before he could react, Sampson intervened with a strong pull, yanking the attacker off Jonah.

Jonah gathered his strength to help his brother, despite the throbbing in his nose. Together they could pin him down.

Patsy .

Was she alive? Or was he too late?

Let Patsy live, Lord. Please.

Maybe he moved too slowly.

Maybe the broken nose had dulled his instincts. Before he could focus enough to see the man on the ground, Sampson shouted.

Metal flashed in the dim light, and Sampson fell back, twisting onto his side, away from the man.

Jonah honed his focus on this vile man who seemed to have more lives than a cat.

The cad brandished a knife, fisting it high, its bloody blade aimed at Jonah. "Don't move or you'll be the next to die."

Next?

Who was dead? Sampson? Patsy?

"I'm a perfect aim with this blade," the enemy said, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

Jonah pushed his fears aside. He had to be smart about this next move—it might be his last. It had to be the one that stopped this murderer forever.

This guy was familiar. The last time Jonah saw him, they'd fought in the dark. Except that time, the scoundrel had skulked away into the forest.

Douglas.

Jonah should have killed him then.

Surely Sampson hadn't been working with him?

Didn't matter. Right now, he had to get them all out of this.

Sampson lay curled on his side, cradling his arm, blood soaking his hand. Which mean he was alive.

Did that mean Patsy was dead?

He couldn't see her, nor could he hear her breathing.

God, please…

If only he'd spent more time with the Almighty. Then this wouldn't be simply the desperate plea of a man who had nowhere else to turn. God would be accustomed to hearing from him. Maybe He'd be more willing to hear and help.

Please, Lord. Don't hold my sins against her. Save her so she has a chance to turn to You. I'll do a better job of telling her about You.

Patsy had seemed to know so little about God. Jonah might be the one God had brought into her path to bring her to faith, and he'd only had the nerve to speak of Him one time.

I'm sorry, God. Please. Give me another chance with her.

The man shifted, drawing Jonah's focus back to the present.

Jonah needed a weapon. His rifle probably lay somewhere near the spot where he'd knocked the man off Patsy. Could he reach it? He didn't dare turn and look. He couldn't risk provoking the man, not with Sampson bleeding out and Patsy…

Don't think about that. She was in God's hands now. Please, Lord.

The killer's malicious eyes darted between Jonah and Sampson. "Looks like your brother ain't doin' so well." His mouth curled into a cruel grin. "That means you're next. I shoulda killed you before." The man shifted to his feet though stayed in a crouched position. "I'll get it done now."

Sampson groaned, drawing the man's attention.

Jonah reached behind him, doing his best not to move so much the enemy noticed. If he could just touch metal…

The unmistakable click of a gun cocking shattered the tense silence.

"Don't move." Patsy's voice rang out, hard as steel.

Jonah's heart leapt. He risked a glance in her direction. She stood in the shadows, his rifle aimed steadily at their attacker. Even in the darkness, Jonah could see the determined set of her jaw.

She was alive. And fierce. And so beautiful it made him want to weep.

He shifted his gaze back to the man, whose surprise morphed into cruel amusement. "You don't have the guts."

"Try me." Patsy's tone didn't waver.

The man's gaze darted between Patsy and Jonah. His fingers flexed on the knife.

Jonah tensed, ready to intervene if necessary. He wouldn't let this killer get near her.

In a blink, the man spun and lunged toward her.

A blast split the air. The killer jerked. His expression changed to shock, his eyes going wide as he was thrust sideways by the impact of the bullet. He lurched through the air, and as he struck the ground, his head flopped, then dropped forward, his nose touching the ground.

His body stilled.

Jonah blinked, sucking in a breath as he stared at the lifeless body.

The man was dead. At least, it certainly looked that way.

Patsy . He pushed to his feet and turned to her.

She lowered the rifle, her chest heaving. Their eyes met, and the steel lacing her eyes melted into relief. "Jonah."