Chapter Thirty #2
“Steady,” he warned under his breath. “Don't make any sudden moves.”
Hank's face had gone pale beneath his tan. “He's got a gun to her head!” he snapped at Beau.
“I can see that,” Beau retorted. He whispered something to Luke, but Josie couldn’t hear.
Randall held Josie even closer. She widened her eyes, desperately trying to draw Beau’s attention—and thanked God as he looked at her. She locked eyes with him, unable even to shake her head, but mouthed the words Don’t. Please. Blood trickled from her split lip.
Her mind was made up. She would die for Samuel.
His jaw clenched and he nodded. He understood.
Don’t do anything he wants.
“What did you do to her?” he demanded angrily. “It’s an animal, not a man, who beats a woman like that!”
“I said, bring me my son!” Randall growled through gritted teeth, his voice pure venom.
None of them moved. Josie could feel the mounting fury in Randall’s body. She might have laughed if he wasn’t pressing a gun to her head. Was this his grand plan? Simply waltz onto the ranch and demand that the boys hand Samuel over?
“Don’t even think about it, boy,” Randall hissed, jerking his chin at Luke, who was beginning to lift his pitchfork.
Luke’s eyes burned with unmistakable rage, his hands twitching around the handle of the pitchfork. Perhaps he’d thought he could throw it—but that was nothing against a gun.
Hank was gripping the shovel so tight that the whites of his knuckles were showing. And Beau—steady, dependable Beau—was assessing, looking from each man, as if he was trying to come up with a plan.
He began to murmur to the others in a low voice, but she couldn’t hear a single bit of it.
Randall let out another snarl. “I’m goin’ inside the house, and if any of you move, I’ll kill her.”
“You ain’t goin’ in my house!” Luke barked, taking a step forward.
Randall pressed the metal into Josie’s temple even harder, she groaned under the pain. She was terrified, but she couldn’t give in.
One pull of the trigger and I’m dead. She clenched her jaw. So be it.
But only if she could keep Randall away from Samuel.
Could he kill all the men? They were unarmed. She wasn’t sure how to keep him safe if the Montgomery boys were taken down.
Cash is inside. Already injured. These men are unarmed.
She wanted to elbow Randall beneath the belt. Take him on—right here, right now. But that cold steel against her temple scared her a lot more than she wanted to think about.
He can’t take them all.
“Don't do anything stupid,” Randall shouted, his voice vibrating through her skull where the gun continued to press in painfully. “I know the boy’s in there! Either you bring him out, or I go in and get him!”
They looked at one another, their hands twitching on their farming tools.
Josie knew all too well what they were thinking. They wanted to kill him.
“Don’t do it!” she cried out sharply, desperation clawing at her. She couldn’t let them even think about giving Samuel up. “Don’t give him Samuel! I’d rather die!”
Randall clutched his arm tighter around her throat. “Shut it!”
“No matter what happens, protect him!” Josie yelled defiantly, refusing to let fear find its way up and out of her mouth. But she was terrified.
Beau took a step forward, his jaw tight, but he hesitated. Luke and Hank looked just as torn. “Let her go,” Beau warned. “And there won’t be any problems. You shoot her here and you’ll die right where you stand.”
“I want my son!” Randall screamed desperately. “Now!”
“That ain’t gonna happen!” Beau yelled, fists gripped at his side, shoulders square, daring. “But you can still walk out of here alive. Let her go!”
Josie’s every sensation was sharp, almost unbearable, in that moment.
The cold metal circle against her temple, Randall’s arm crushing her windpipe, the taste of copper in her mouth, the trembling in her legs threatening to give way as adrenaline pounded through every vein in her body.
Each breath was hard, painful. Her ribs were certainly bruised.
The brothers and Hank still hadn’t moved, but she could tell they were planning something.
And then the front door of the house creaked loudly and slammed shut.
Cash.
Josie’s eyes went instinctively to the front porch, a deeper fear rising up.
Please… no. You’re hurt... She tried to turn her head, but Randall’s grip tightened, fingers tightening painfully in her hair.
From the brothers’ pained expressions in front of her, she already knew there was no use hoping Cash would stay safe.
She caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye.
He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, holding something in his hand—a shotgun?
—but his face pale and drawn with pain. Clammy.
Probably still feverish. The bandage on his leg showed fresh blood seeping through.
He should have been in bed. Not standing there facing down a man with a gun.
Randall’s arm tightened around Josie’s throat, and she heard his breath coming faster. It seemed as though he hadn’t counted on facing all three brothers and the man who loved them like sons.
Then Cash spoke. It was pained, gravelly—but direct. Raw. Tinged with more emotion than she’d ever heard, emotion that made her heart leap, despite the fear devouring her.
“Get your hands off my wife!”