His Holiday Bride. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
Her head went up and her ears swiveled as she scented the wind. The horse was telling her someone was out there. Autumn hefted her rifle, safety off. She sighted north, searching the rolling fields through her scope. “Justin? We’ve got company.”
“I hope it’s not the rustlers. We are seriously out-gunned.” Justin tightened a wire, raised his rifle and peered through his scope. It took him a beat to survey his side of the ridge. “It’s Dad and some stranger.”
“What stranger?” Alarm settled into the pit of her stomach. She followed the rise of the ridge with her rifle until she saw Dad astride Rogue clear as a bell through the scope. She recognized the man following him. Ford Sherman, riding one of their horses and looking confident and as sure as any western sheriff. Trouble was definitely on the way.
Chapter Four
Ford saw next to nothing in the dark except for a few feet ahead of him. What he could see disappeared in a fast drop. A looming cloud cover obscured all of the stars. He could make out a hint of the hillside cascading downward into an abyss. At the bottom of that abyss, Autumn Granger gazed up at him open-jawed. Looked like the last thing she would ever figure was to see him riding and not falling off a horse.
Half-hidden in the night and graced by shadows, she was breathtaking. He took in the sight of her bareback astride an unbridled palomino, both woman and horse luminous in the night. Autumn wore no hat, and her long unbound hair tangled in the breeze. She looked powerful and free and impossibly sweet, holding that rifle at half-mast. He wondered if she saw him as a city boy now, and pretty much hoped he’d gone up a notch in her estimation.
Gunfire spit through the air and made his mount dance. Ford kept his seat, squeezed slightly with his knees and spoke gently to calm the fine quarter horse he was riding. No stranger to gunfire, he lifted the rifle and carefully sighted and searched the dark line of the hill rising slowly to the north. He couldn’t see much with the cloud cover moving in, but he had range, so he squeezed the trigger, pretty sure where the shot had originated. The Winchester kicked hard against his shoulder, but the distant spit of rock fragmenting and a faint, pained curse told him he’d hit true.
“Good shot, Sheriff,” Granger told him. “You’ll do.”
“Glad to hear it.” The echo of gunfire faded, and there was no mistaking the scatter of footsteps. Shadows slipped from behind boulders and trees heading for the fence line. “Looks like I flushed them out.”
“Let’s try to round ’em up. We’ve got some hard riding ahead, so hang on.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Granger led the way down the ridge, plunging into the dark like some fearless rodeo stuntman.
You can do this, cowboy. He took a breath and tightened his grasp on the horse’s mane, and off they went. It had been a long time since he’d been on horseback, but some things a man didn’t forget. The symmetry of an animal’s gait, the ripple of muscle and the swing of a horse’s walk were unlike anything else. Without stirrups, he gripped his knees forward and leaned back to fight gravity on the steep slope. He didn’t take his gaze from the fleeing shadows far ahead. Autumn rode into sight, chilling his blood. Did the woman know she was riding straight into danger?
Something cool brushed his cheek. Snow? He didn’t have time to do more than wonder. His horse leaped the last few feet to the valley floor and broke into a smooth, flawless gallop. He was trailing the others. Without a word between them, the family circled the area like the ranchers they were, looking to round up stray cattle. Autumn was in the lead. She stayed left, flanking the area, thinking to cut them off at the section property line. He remembered the rugged dirt lane cutting through the fields, where he’d first met Autumn. Now it was the rustlers’ means of escape.
Ignoring the faint beats of the county helicopter and the patter of more snowflakes against his face, he raised his rifle to scope the land. It was tricky because of the horse’s constant motion. Something gleamed darkly ahead. He recognized the barrel of a semiautomatic. Adrenaline spiked, clearing his senses. Because of the lay of the land, Autumn couldn’t spot the danger, but he could. The rustler he’d downed was prone on the ground, providing cover for his buddies, who were running as fast as they could for the tree-lined river. Ford took careful aim. Lord, don’t let me miss.
“Autumn!” Granger’s call of warning split the night.
Ford squeezed, and his shot fired in unison with Granger’s. An eternity passed in a millisecond while he waited with fierce red rage beating through him. Finally the gun flew out of the rustler’s hands and he toppled backward, winged. The helicopter beat more loudly, visible through the newly falling snow, lights flashing. The horse beneath him didn’t shy from the distraction but reached out, eating ground, gaining altitude on the hillside. He felt rather than heard his cell ring. He hated to lower the rifle, but he fished the phone out of his pocket.
“We’ve spotted cattle haulers parked about two miles away. They’re heading out.” The south-boundary sheriff bit out the information like an order. “Visibility is falling. We’ll do our best to track ’em down. Can you handle the ground pursuit?”
“Ten-four.” He pocketed his phone. The horse skidded to a stop, sod flying from beneath steeled hooves. The suspect he’d hit had vanished. Granger knelt on the ground.
“I’ve got one set of tracks.” He sounded more than angry. Frank Granger was a big man, and he looked like the abominable snowman, flecked with white, bristling with outrage. When his daughter rode close, the fury was tempered with affection.
A close family, that was plain to see, and Ford understood. He’d grown up in one, too.
“We’ve got three men on foot.” Ford dismounted, casting around for signs of another set of boots in the snow. “They’ve split up. I’ll take this one.”
“The sheriff and I will follow this pair.” Autumn pulled a small flashlight from her coat pocket and shone it on a second set of tracks. “Dad, will you be all right alone?”
“Be careful” was Granger’s only answer. Already he was riding his horse fast around a copse of cottonwoods, lost in the night and storm.
“Nice of you to ride along with me.” Ford mounted up and signaled his horse with his heels.
“Least I could do. You don’t know the lay of the land.” As if that were her only reason, she didn’t look at him while she drew her mare to an abrupt stop at the crest of the hill. “The snow is coming down fast. We’re going to lose them.”
“The trail’s gone.” The snow fell faster, feathery wisps coating the high mountain plains with an iridescent glow. He could see the gleaming bare branches of the cottonwoods, the long stretch of a pasture, a huge milling herd of cattle, which were dark splotches against the pearled rangeland. A platinum gleam of a river wound through it all. No sign of anyone else in this vast open landscape.
“They’re heading for the river.” Without chopper or trucks, there was no other quick escape. “This is your land. If you were him, what trail would you take?”
“This way.” She plunged her horse down the black side of the slope, disappearing from his sight. The wind whipped her hair, making her appear fearless in the night. She left him with a sense of wonder as he followed her lead through the dark. Although he couldn’t see her, he could sense her—the plod of a horse’s hooves ahead, the faint hint of her silhouette, the curve of her shadowed arm as she cradled a rifle. She was magnificent, and his heart noticed.
Hard to deny the way his pulse sped up and slowed down at the same time. Ford swiped snowflakes off his face with his coat sleeve. When he should have been scanning for any sign of the rustlers, his gaze returned to her. Autumn rode out of the shadow of the hillside, as mighty as a Western myth, as beautiful as the snow falling.
“I see something!” Her voice vibrated with excitement. “Maybe we’ll catch the varmint—”
“I see him.” How he noticed anything