Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Wylie
Sensing danger, Ramsay starts acting a fool as soon as Orlyn Moffat appears like a specter out of the fog.
I’m not going to draw on my neighbor, even though the man has his right hand on his belt holster, trying to look threatening, like some kind of rookie.
Still, I keep one eye on the butt of my rifle in my saddle scabbard as he approaches.
“You have something I want, cowpoke.”
I raise the brim of my hat. “Then we should go inside and talk about it man-to-man. My horse doesn’t seem too keen on us settling things out here.”
That’s an understatement. It’s everything I can do to keep Ramsay from throwing me.
“We got nothing to talk about. Just give me back what’s rightly mine.”
“She’s not property.”
What’s the point of playing dumb? He won’t get to her unless he goes through me, Jake, and Ennis.
I have to speak my peace, even if Ramsay is being a pain in the ass with his rearing back and snorting. “It’s not right. That girl doesn’t want to get married. You need to respect that.”
I’m aware that I’m using logic, as if logic applies to the Celestial Kindred of Whatever the Fuck.
But a part of me just needs to help him see sense. He needs to see the absolute vile criminality of what he’s doing.
“I don’t think you understand what we’re capable of, son. I’m not here to negotiate.”
I hear the click of the safety on his sidearm, a stupid little 9 mm handgun. The problem is, he’s got it in his hand, and my rifle’s still on my saddle.
The crack of the shot spooks the horse. Ramsay jerks and spins away.
I’m not hit by the bullet, but I’m no longer in control of my horse.
I hit the mud, flat on my back, stunned.
I wait for the old man to jab me with his foot, to make sure I’m dead. Or walk over and put two bullets in me to finish the job.
I wait, damn sure I’m about to meet my maker.
But that meeting never comes.
When my lungs are at full capacity again, I sit up.
Ramsay is long gone, having bolted for the stable, most likely. Orlyn Moffat has disappeared like smoke.