flank. The rasp as the lash cut into flesh was followed by the mare’s sharp neigh of pain.
As if time had stretched out, Claire was aware of the wagon tilting to the right, and no matter how hard she tried to brace herself, she was falling. Ham’s weight pressed against her as he wrestled with the horse, fighting the mare’s panic. There was nothing but darkness—no moonlight or stardust to see by, just the hulking blackness of the high rolling hill and the prairie floor below.
We’re going to roll over. Her pulse filled her ears, making the screaming horse and Ham’s horrible shouting seem distant. Then came the clack and groan of the wagon wheels skidding.
Breaking.
They were going to die. There was no way she could stop it. This was the way her parents had died, and she could taste the panic on her tongue. Feel it crawl with icy fingertips across the back of her neck.
What about the baby? The seat beneath her seemed to heave and then suddenly, it was gone. She was falling, her arms flinging out. She tried to grab for anything, anything in the dark, but there was only air and gravity and the terrifying scream of the horse.
There was so much noise—the explosion as the wagon broke, the avalanche of earth beneath them, the horse’s hooves digging into the bank, and Ham’s voice bellowing foul curses. Loudest of all was the cadence of her pulse, eerily slow as time became meaningless. She was thrown backward through the dark and the night. Weightless.
The ground struck her like an ax in the center of her left shoulder blade. Air whooshed out of her lungs and pain slammed through her as the rest of her back crashed against the rocky earth. Her head reeled back and struck granite.
No, not my baby. She curled up to protect her child. She had to stay awake, she had to. But her vision flashed and her consciousness faded piece by piece, like a curtain being drawn against the sky. Wagon fragments and debris rained down on her.
Somewhere far away the mare squealed in pain, an eerily human-sounding scream of agony and then there was Ham rising up over her, miraculously standing, with the whip in his hand. She saw his mouth open and his arm raise, but her vision slid away.
There was nothing but blessed silence.
This was the last time, the very last time he was going to put up with Hamilton’s villainy.
Rage beat through Joshua Gable’s veins with the power of a fueled train barreling down the bottom side of a long steep slope, and he wouldn’t be surprised if, like a locomotive, steam whistled out of him. Likely the top of his head was near to blowing off he was so angry.
I’d like to wrap my hands around Ham’s throat and squeeze. Pain shot through his molars and he tried to relax his jaw. His teeth had been gnashed enough for one day.
But then the image of what he’d just come away from sent renewed fury through his body and his teeth clacked shut so tight, the audible grind echoed like a whiplash in the silent breadth of the cold winter night.
Wait—that wasn’t his teeth making that sound. It only seemed that way. That’s a whip. Striking flesh. A horse’s panicked neigh rang through the vast night, a hair-raising human sound of agony and terror.
Trouble.
His hand fisted around the reins and he was digging in his heels before it was a conscious thought. The pinto cannoned into the dark, hooves striking the frozen earth.
What mad men are out here tonight? Joshua bowed his head into the frigid wind and pressed his mount harder. He was glad he had his .45 strapped to his thigh and loaded. And, in case he needed it, his repeating Winchester strapped in its holster to the saddle.
Faster. Whatever trouble lay ahead, the coyotes began to howl somewhere nearby. The womanlike screams of the horse rose in pitch, shattering the night, tolling across the vast reaches of the prairie like an echo without end, and when the terrified scream ended abruptly, the silence spoke of death.
I’m too late. Remorse ripped like razor-sharp talons through his chest. He hated an animal’s suffering. Which was why his rage was fueled tonight. He’d come to stop Ham.
And if that no-good bastard was abusing another animal… Joshua felt the pressure build beneath the top of his skull. That horse better be all right, or I’ll—
A flash of lightning stabbed from the heavens, and in that brief instant of white, eye-burning illumination, he saw the motionless body of a horse sprawled dark against the crusted white rise. A shattered wagon. A beefy man with his arm uplifted and the sinuous lash snaking back for another strike, but it was not directed at the horse.
Is that a woman?
The skin prickled at the back of Josh’s neck with a horrible foreboding. As the flare faded into impenetrable black, he made out another shadow on the ground, but the darkness came too swiftly for him to recognize it.
And then his mind latched onto the image, and rage burned so hot he became like the night. Like the clap of thunder, he struck, uncoiling the lasso at his saddle horn. And as Ham’s whip snapped in the indecipherable shadows, Joshua felt destiny begin to unravel like his coiled rope. Fate was set when the noose fell and caught.
Got ya. One jerk was all it took to disarm the lowdown varmint who wasn’t even fit to be called a man. He vaguely registered the foul cursing of a drunk—yep, it sure sounded as if Ham was liquored up good.
Joshua hauled in his noose, coiled up the lariat for later use and seized the captured whip in his left hand. This left his right free in case he needed to draw.
“Hamilton, you coward. Are you always gonna pick on women and animals? Or are you ready to take on someone who’s your own damn size?”
“I could take you down with one hand tied behind my back, you son of a bitch. Get the devil off my land.”
“Or what? You’re gonna throw me off? I’m a man, not a helpless sheep.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Ham growled like a rabid dog ready to fight. His teeth were bared as another bolt of lightning knifed overhead in warning.
“It means I’ve found one carcass too many. How long have you been killing my sheep now? One month? Almost two? It’s not gonna drive me off the grazing land. And since the deputy won’t do a damn thing, I’m gonna make my own justice.”
The mare that lay like a hump at the side of the road became more visible as the clouds churning in the sky gave off a blue-black glow from the lightning. There was movement—not only the ripple and toss of mane and tail in the rough wind, but her sides rising and falling—short and uneven, but the mare was breathing.
He remembered the animal’s tortured screams and his guts clenched so tight he could taste the bile on his tongue. She was a greater concern, but Joshua knew if he mentioned the helpless woman as equally still on the ground, then Ham’s temper would go.
And Ham was much closer in proximity to his wife. He’d hurt her first, the vicious bastard. Joshua gripped the leather until the braid’s pattern bit into his palm, scenting the metallic smell of blood in the air and sour fear on the wind. The boiling rage that had first coursed through his veins turned to ice. Not from fear, but determination.
“When
