Chapter 29
The drag marks led through the alley and out the back, where they disappeared into a churned mess of hoofprints and wagon marks in the snow.
Thomas’s chest constricted until he could barely breathe. Were any of these from the men who’d taken her? Or just the usual town traffic?
Impossible to tell.
He scanned the tracks, then shifted his focus to the edges of the street.
His best chance might be to follow this road and watch for prints that left the main route.
He turned northward. This back alley would join up with the main road at the edge of town, then continue on the winding trail to Butte—almost a day’s ride away.
But they wouldn’t go nearly that far. Probably, they would circle around town to the west and find the road that led to the Balfour ranch.
As he strode forward, he scanned both sides of the street, especially the far right, as the buildings fell away near the edge of town.
There. A set of tracks—men’s boot prints—branching off toward the northeast. Recent, judging by the sharp edges that hadn’t yet been softened by wind or fresh snow. Two pairs of tracks actually, now that he looked closer.
He followed the trail into the trees, striding as quickly as he dared while keeping his steps quiet. The snow here lay deeper, undisturbed by wagon wheels or regular traffic. The prints stood out clearly—two men heading northeast, their path winding between pines and around rocky outcroppings.
Away from town. Away from help.
He couldn’t lose Kate. Not now. Not ever.
The trail curved around a rocky outcropping, and he slowed. Voices drifted through the cold air—low, masculine, too far away to make out words but close enough to set every nerve on edge.
He crept forward, using boulders and scrubby pines for cover. Thankfully, the snow muffled his footsteps.
The trees thinned ahead to reveal a small clearing. His heart nearly stopped.
A group of horses was tethered in a row, and on one sat a rider.
Kate.
From this distance, he couldn’t see more than the rigid set of her back and that rich hair he loved to thread his fingers through when he kissed her. Was she injured? He couldn’t see anything clearly.
She was alive though. Thank You, God.
He had to force his focus away from her to check for her captors. A cluster of men stood in a loose circle near the horses, passing something between them—a flask, probably.
Five.
Jake stood among them, his broad shoulders unmistakable even from this distance. And there—the other man from the mercantile. Three others he didn’t recognize completed the group.
Five armed men against one. And Kate bound in the middle of it all.
Could he pick them off one by one? He had a rifle, but they would scatter before he got them all. Probably grab Kate and take off with her.
He’d have no chance to keep up with them on foot.
Could he cause a distraction and draw them away from Kate long enough for her to escape?
She was tied to that saddle, and the horse hitched to a tree. She couldn’t just ride away. Even if he did manage to spook the horse enough for the animal to break free from its tether, if her hands were tied, a panicked horse would only put her in more danger.
Movement at the near edge of the clearing caught his attention. Two more men stomped through the trees to join the others.
His insides clenched. How had he not seen them approaching? They must have come from the left, the direction of the road to Butte. At least they hadn’t walked near enough to see him.
Seven now.
All of them armed. Rifles. Revolvers. Probably knives too.
Seven against one.
His fingers tightened on his rifle. He was a good shot—better than good, really. Years of hunting in these mountains had honed his aim until he could drop a deer at a hundred strides.
But seven men? With Kate in the middle of them?
One shot, and they’d use her as a shield. Or worse.
A gray-bearded man moved toward his horse and swung into the saddle. “Mount up. We ride,” he called to the others.
Within moments, all the men sat astride—Jake settled behind Kate. The sight of that man’s arms around her sent heat flaring through Thomas. The lecherous murdering cad.
Thomas forced the rage down. Anger wouldn’t help Kate. He needed to think clearly and not rashly.
They kicked their horses into motion, heading north through the trees.
He turned and sprinted back the way he’d come, branches catching at his coat as he crashed through the undergrowth. No time for stealth now. Speed was everything.
He couldn’t stay with them on foot. Not through this terrain, not at the pace they’d be riding. By the time he made it back to the livery, they’d have a solid head start. He might lose them.
He’d have to trust they were riding to the ranch. Once he had a horse, he could take the main road, but stay off to the side. Out of sight.
Rufus should have the horse ready by now.
His boots sprayed snow with each step as he burst from the tree line and sprinted down the back alley. Through a path between two buildings. The shortest route to the livery.
Finally that building sat ahead of him, across the main road, its wide doors still open.
He charged the final distance. “Rufus! That horse—it’s ready?”
The older man looked up from checking the cinch, his eyes rounding. “He is. What in the—”
“I have to go.” Thomas grabbed the reins looped over the gelding’s neck. “My wife’s been taken. Seven men, heading toward our ranch.”
Rufus’s weathered face went pale. “You’re gonna need help. The sheriff’s gone, but we can round up some men. Give me fifteen minutes—”
Thomas swung into the saddle, and the gelding shifted beneath him, sensing his urgency. “I don’t have fifteen.” He slipped his feet in the stirrups and wheeled the horse toward the door. “If you want to help, bring whoever will come. Ride to the ranch after me.”
He didn’t wait for Rufus’s reply. He had to get to Kate.
This time, he wouldn’t stop. This time, he wouldn’t let fear or doubt or the ghost of past failures slow him down.
This time, he would be worthy of the woman who made him want to stay.