CHAPTER TWO
Jonah
An elbow rams into my gut and I grunt. Angel shoves me hard, and I stagger back but keep my footing, wrenching the rifle from her grip. I barely dodge the booted foot to my shin, then suck in a breath when she gets her teeth around my finger.
I hold her tight. “Evangeline, cut it the fuck out. It’s me. Jonah.”
Her breath exhales sharply, her body sagging against mine. But she’s sneaky so I don’t loosen my grip.
She smells like peaches. A stupid thing to notice. That and her soft ass cradled against my crotch.
My mouth’s next to her ear, and I growl, “I’m gonna let you go. Don’t bite me. Got it?”
She nods, and I release her.
I haven’t seen her in at least a year. She whips around to face me, and those silver-flecked gray eyes wallop me all over again.
Perfectly shaped lips. Freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose.
I’m right back where I always am with her with attraction buzzing through me like a swarm of killer bees.
Not the time.
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass.” I tamp down the desire to vent all the fear I’ve been holding in since hearing about her harebrained plan from her brother Hayes. Follow that up with assholes shooting at her and I’m hanging on to control with sweaty fingers.
“I was working on a plan to save myself, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“Grab your rifle and follow me,” I bite out. “We’re getting the hell out of here.” I pull down my hat and survey the area to ensure we’re clear. “Stay low,” I say, taking her hand.
Crouched down, I lead her back the way I came, winding through boulders and brush that provides cover.
More gunfire and I haul her behind a boulder.
A curl of tawny hair escapes from her braid and blows against my lips.
A shot echoes off the canyon walls, followed by another, then another.
Handgun, not rifle, and from a distance.
I’d seen Angel’s shot destroy Abel’s rifle, which means he’s switched weapons or Denny’s shooting.
Shots aren’t landing anywhere near us. My guess? Abel’s shooting to keep Angel pinned until Denny can figure out where she is.
“Let’s go.” We hit the tree line where we can run upright.
The ridge bordering the canyon is in front of us and I want to get to the other side.
We won’t have a prayer if we try going up and over.
Too exposed. There’s a way around, but it means backtracking through the forest to find a small tributary creek and following it out of the canyon.
We keep a grueling pace, scrambling over logs and around thickets. Ahead of the storm, the wind has kicked up and the temperature has dropped.
Angel pulls on my arm. “Wait.”
“No time, unless you want to get shot full of holes. C’mon.”
She digs in her heels. “No, I need to get Marty. My horse.” She points. “I left him ground tied in the trees over there. I’m not leaving him.”
I take her hand and pull her behind me, talking to her over my shoulder. “He didn’t wait around. I caught him and he’s with my mount.”
Her resistance disappears and we move at a swift pace. I stop at a small knoll. “Stay out of sight and wait here. I want to see if Abel and Denny are following us.”
“You know them?”
“Yeah. I’ve run into them before. Abel—you shot his rifle out of his hands—he’s the brains. Denny’s a tweaker who poaches to support a meth habit. Abel tolerates him because he’s a useful idiot who knows bear behavior.”
After a quick nod, she pulls binoculars from around her neck and hands them to me. “Take these.”
I place my hat on her head and climb the rise to belly up to the crest, peering through the field glasses.
The meadow and bear trap come into view, and nothing is moving. No Abel. No Denny. Doesn’t mean they’re not there, only that I can’t see them, and that makes me damned uneasy.
I make my way back down the hill, Angel watching me with those big, beautiful eyes.
“I don’t see them, which means they can be anywhere. We need to move fast. Can you keep up?”
Her eyes narrow. “Worry about yourself, Jonah Cooper. I can keep up.” She hands back my hat.
Despite being fucking angry with her, I find myself smothering a grin. Evangeline has always been headstrong and determined. She’s also easy to set off. With her hand in mine, we move again. She’s right, she can keep up.
A maze of boulders littering the path forces us to go single file and I have to let her go. Worry immediately spikes, like touching her is the only thing that assures me she’s safe.
We find the tributary creek and follow it. By the time we reach the horses where I’d left them behind a thicket, fat raindrops are hitting the ground, raising the smell of wet earth.
“Dusty? How’d you get Dusty?” Angel strokes the dun mare’s neck.
“I was coming after you and needed a mount. Dooley saddled Dusty for me.” I nod to her horse.
“He said she’s buds with your gelding and they’ll stick together.
” I watch questions build behind her eyes.
There’s no time for her to ask them, and I tell her, “Wait here. I need to check our backtrail again.”
I find a vantage point with a long sight line.
Still nothing. Abel is risk averse and unlikely to follow us, and Denny will do what he’s told.
But Angel’s got a camera hanging off her hip.
They must know she’s taken pictures of them or their operation.
They’ll do what it takes to get it from her.
They think she’s alone and will be easy to deal with.
We move faster on horseback, following a faint trail along the creek and around the ridge.
I tighten my hat against the gusting wind, and we don rain ponchos, but there’s no staying completely dry in the driving rain.
I glance over my shoulder. Angel’s alert, her gaze sweeping back and forth, apparently not bothered by a spring storm.
There’s a fork in the path and I don’t hesitate, guiding Dusty to the left.
Angel urges Marty beside me. “The other direction is the way back to the ranch.”
“We’re not going to the ranch.”
“The only thing up here is the line shack.” Water beads on her eyelashes.
“Wildheart maintains it, right?” She nods slowly.
I lean closer, raising my voice so she can hear over the roaring wind.
“The path to the ranch meets up with the main trail that Abel and Denny will likely take to get out of here. A run-in with them means more shots fired, and I’m not putting you in danger.
That, and the weather will only get worse. We’ll hole up in the line shack.”
She gives a curt nod. “I know where it is. I’ll lead.” She nudges her gelding and moves ahead.
Wildheart Ranch leases grazing land in the national forest and their cowboys use the line shacks when tending the cattle. With any luck, there’ll be firewood, canned food, and a couple of bunks.
One problem: the poachers probably know about it too.