Chapter 11 #2
The words hung between them as the wind dusted them with snow from the pines above them.
He leaned in to seal his words with a kiss, when bark exploded off the aspen beside her head, showering her hair with splinters and snow that stung like needles.
A slice of wood grazed her cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
A split second later, the unmistakable crack of a rifle shot echoed off the trees, making it near impossible to tell where the shot was coming from.
He moved on instinct, hooking one arm behind her knees, he lifted her bridal style and raced to the truck.
Crouching, he carried her to the passenger side and put her down on the floorboard.
Goldie followed, snarling with her hackles a white ridge.
She jumped in the truck and lay on the seat behind Kip.
Another shot, this one closer, pinging the front fender with a metallic ting that vibrated bone-deep. “Son of a bitch!”
Trace’s fury ran white-hot. When he got his hand on whoever was shooting at them, he was going to kill them. Goldie went berserk, barking to wake the dead.
“Goldie,” he called out. “Quiet!” Not that it helped.
Goldie kept barking but shielded Kip, as best she could.
When Kip tried to move to the seat beside Goldie, he ordered, “Stay down!”
There was no way he could gentle his tone. Everything in him was pure steel, edged with fear. He shoved her to the floor of the truck, where she curled on the floorboard into herself, knees to her chest.
Trace scraped the key into the ignition, firing the engine with a cough of blue smoke. At first, the tires spun on the frozen snow, catching with a lurch that slammed Kip’s head against the bottom of the seat. “Fuck! Sorry, babygirl.”
That was going to bruise, damn it. “Head down, little fox. Don’t move till I say.”
Frozen gravel spat like buckshot, pinging the undercarriage. The tree slid halfway out, branches dragging and needles scattering. Kip held on for dear life.
She’d bitten her tongue at some point, and her blood trickled down her chin. The heater blasted, drying the blood on her face.
His jaw ached from clenching his teeth, but he couldn’t stop.
Suddenly, Dodger burst out of the pines ahead of them as fierce as a demon. Right behind him, Tanner rode a four-wheeler. He barreled down the trail, face twisted in rage, and his rifle raised. He was headed straight toward Trace’s truck.
Another shot rang out from behind them. It was wild, smashing Trace’s side mirror, the bastard.
Dodger shot past them. Trace swerved into a rut, fishtailing the truck.
His tires dug into the trail for purchase, making just enough room for Tanner to get by.
Tanner blew past them as well, firing in the general direction of whoever was shooting at them.
Trace continued away from the shooting until the ridge disappeared and one of their hunting cabins broke the horizon.
It stood like a squat log beacon half-buried in snow, smoke curling like salvation.
He skidded to a stop and killed the engine.
He parked so the passenger side door faced the cabin.
The truck made a shield for their move into the cabin.
Wrapping his arm around Kip’s waist, he hauled her out after him. The other held the rifle he’d grabbed from behind the truck seat. Goldie jumped down, circling and growling low.
“Inside.” He was drawn tight as a bowstring, and his voice showed it. He guided Kip through the door as gently as he could, kicking it closed behind them. He wanted to cradle her in his arms, but his first priority was ensuring her safety.
The cabin smelled of smoke. Looking around, Trace saw a small fire burning in the fireplace. The potbelly stove crackled with orange flames against the rough walls. Someone had been here. He returned to the door and secured it with the iron latch, which slid into place with a sharp click.
Pulling out his phone, he hit the one number that mattered right then, his breath still coming in sharp bursts.
“Boone,” he barked as soon as the call connected. He needed to calm down. His voice rang with raw fury. “I’m on the north ridge, at the cabin closest to the blue spruce grove. I’ve got shots fired. Three, maybe four. Tanner’s still out there on a four-wheeler looking for the shooter.”
Boone's voice was tense but steady. “We’re already headed that way. Tanner called in. He said the shooter’s in trees, probably on the ridge above the spruce grove by the fence.
My men are on it. They’ll scout every inch of the damn ranch, Trace.
Fuck, I’m sorry. We had no alert that anyone had crossed the fences.
We’ll handle tracking him. You take care of your girl. ”
A small part of him relaxed, knowing Boone had called in his men. Tanner needed backup. How his twin had known they needed help, he couldn’t guess.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he turned to Kip. She still sat exactly where he’d placed her. Knowing she needed him, he still paused to quiet the rage boiling inside him. He’d let that out later, when he was with his brothers.
Kip was trembling like a leaf. She had her arms wrapped around herself, either for protection or comfort. Goldie sat beside her, paw on Kip’s knee, whining in sympathy. He needed to move her closer to the fire.
Fuck! He was going to kill whoever had shot at his little girl, but first, he was going to toy with them. Veterinary school never intended for him to use the skills they’d taught him in the way he planned.
He knelt in front of her and ran his hand through her tangled hair. “Foxy, are you hurt? Lie back and let me check you, babygirl. Here, put your feet up on this chair.”
“No.” Her voice sounded more like a squeak. She was in shock, but she continued. “I, I think w-we lost the Chri-christmas tree. W-we need to go back and, um… and get it so everyone isn’t disappointed.” She tried to sit up. “The tree is—”
“Foxy! I’ll get Tanner to take care of the tree. Right now, we’re going to take care of you.”
She continued to struggle, her movements growing more and more frantic. He pulled her into his lap. Fighting to get free, she pounded his chest with her tiny fists. He let her, knowing she needed to get it out. Finally, she collapsed toward him and sobbed. “Why can’t they just leave me alone?”
“Foxy, you’re in shock. Try to take some deep breaths for me. I’ve got you, little fox.” When her breathing slowed, he said, “That’s my girl. Daddy’s gonna take care of everything.” Her breaths still hitched, but at least she’d stopped crying.
Fuck! This was all his fault. What had he been thinking going that close to the border of the ranch? If she’d been a tiny bit to the right against that aspen, he’d have lost her. Damn it! That was too close a call, and he was to blame.
She burrowed her face further into him. Her tears and the melting snow had dampened his shirt, but she didn’t seem to notice. He held her, stroking her hair, rocking her, unsure if he was doing it more for her or himself.
Sniffing, she looked up at him. “Daddy, did we pass a bear on the way to the cabin?”
Close enough.
“No, babygirl, that was Dodger. We met Tanner, too. He was on a four-wheeler right behind Dodger.”
“Dodger?” she said. “What was he doing there?”
“I don’t know, little fox. But somehow, I think he came to help.”
It didn’t make any sense, but he had no other answer. Because it looked like Dodger had led Tanner right to them. However it had happened, he was thankful.
Kip sniffled in his arms, but Trace couldn’t turn off his brain. Putting Dodger aside, the shooter had to have been Rios’s errand boy. When Boone had said the guy was sniffing around, he hadn’t thought the asshole could get this close. With a fucking rifle.
Too lost in his thoughts to notice what he was doing, he tightened his arms to the point Kips cried out. “Shit. Sorry, little fox. Daddy didn’t mean to hug you too tight.
He needed to get a damn grip, but his brain kept running “nobody shoots at my girl… nobody.” Like some B-flick gangster movie from the 1950s.
Still trembling in his arms, she asked, “What happens now?”
“Now?” His growl had her pulling back, but he couldn’t rein it in.
“What happens now is Boone and the Wild Men tear the ridge apart. Then the ranch. Then the town. Then wherever it takes for them to find the guy who tried to shoot you. What happens now is we lock the lodge down tighter than Fort Knox to keep you safe. And when we find him...” He didn’t finish that thought because she didn’t need to know the plans he had for that guy.
Engines rumbled outside. Trace grabbed his rifle and ran to the door. He opened a round latch in the middle of the door at eye level and looked through the small hole behind it. Tanner, Boone, and Chance stood there, the Wild Men at Boone’s back.
Trace cracked the door, rifle ready, just in case. He wasn’t about to be caught off guard again. Before he could stop her, Kip jumped up and ran to the window, peering out through the frosted window as Boone’s men fanned out, wielding flashlights like swords.
Tanner headed to the cabin, rifle pointed toward the ground.
He slammed into Trace, pulling him in for a one-armed hug. “You all right?”
“Fuck no. Am I supposed to be?”
Tanner answered in a voice as hard as Trace’s. “Fuck no.”
They stepped inside the cabin, Trace heading straight for his woman, who needed a briefing on safety protocols.
Especially the one about not plastering herself against a window with an active shooter on the loose.
“I want you sitting in this chair while I talk with Tanner, little girl. Do not move without permission.”
She nodded, blushing as she threw an embarrassed glance at Tanner. “Is Dodger okay?”
“Dodger’s fine, honey. He’s a survivor if I’ve ever seen one.” Turning to Trace, he added, “Though it beats the hell out of me how he knew something was going down.”
“What do you mean?” Trace demanded.