to catch her breath and regroup before she planned her next move.
Stranded. The word filled her with frustration and self-censure. She’d panicked when the sniper fired at her and allowed herself to get lost by indulging her shock and fright. She’d done exactly what her father had taught her not to, what went counter to her training as a bullfighter. Wrapping her arms around herself, struggling for a shred of warmth, she castigated herself for her gut-level, amateurish reaction. If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her misery over Brady, would she have had more rational wits about her? She gave herself a little shake. The question was moot. She was stuck here, and she had to deal with it.
Behind her closed eyes, the disturbing images of the sniper’s glowering face returned and filled her with an odd sense of déjà vu. Dark eyes narrowed. Wide, flat nostrils flared. He’d had a birthmark or mole high on his cheek, just under his right eye. The man was the stuff of nightmares. He had the look of a man with no compunction about killing.
A shiver raced through her that had nothing to do with the growing chill ushered in by the storm. She blew out a shaky breath, knowing how close she’d come to being the man’s latest victim. The idea was terrifying. Surreal.
A sniper. At April and Nate’s wedding. Given a moment to reflect more calmly, she realized the significance. And the mystery.
It didn’t make sense. Why would someone shoot into a wedding party? Was this a random act of violence by a lunatic or had the man been a hired gun with a specific target? And if the gunman had been hired, who was the sniper trying to kill? And why couldn’t she shake the idea she’d seen him before?
Her gut roiled. As the new sheriff of Trencher County, Brady would be in charge of the investigation. She bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes tighter, fighting the swell of anxiety that stirred deep inside her. She conjured her last sight of Brady, his arms raised, trying to flag her down as she charged out of the barn on the gray mare and galloped away from the ranch. The concern in his eyes, the questions in his furrowed brow hadn’t stopped her then, but now they reverberated through her soul. After the shots rang out, had he been coming to look for her? Would he come out on the Texas plains, searching?
An ember of hope, a tiny warmth deep in her chilled body, flickered to life. She knew Brady could find her. Hadn’t she been bemoaning his keen tracking skills, his uncanny ability to find her wherever she went in town? But with a gunman at the ranch and possible casualties—Lord, let her friends be all right!—where would Brady’s sense of duty lie?
A crack of thunder jolted her from her thoughts and back to her current crisis. She angled a glance to the rushing runoff below her. The arroyo was already half full of swift water. Dread punched her in the gut. Determined not to become a statistic because of stupidity and her rash reaction, she gritted her teeth and forced herself back to her feet. Legs shaking from cold and fatigue, she willed herself enough strength to start her climb again.
* * *
After tying the reins of the mare to a scrub tree on high ground, Brady tugged the brim of his cowboy hat down against the brisk northern wind. If only the mare could talk. Where’s Kara? he wanted to demand of the horse. Why did you leave her?
If Kara wasn’t with the horse anymore, did that mean she was hurt? Or sick? Was she even now bleeding out, unable to breathe or lying unconscious in the harsh storm?
He huffed his frustration as he pulled out his phone again to text the horse’s location to his deputies. He turned a disgusted look to the sky where black clouds still roiled, spitting frigid rain. As long as the storm produced battering gusts of wind and lightning, assistance from a helicopter search team was not an option.
Climbing back astride the ATV, he revved the engine and considered his path. He needed to check the arroyo where the horse had appeared, but he needed to do it from high ground. As if to remind him of the urgency of finding Kara quickly, lightning struck close enough to cause an almost simultaneous clap of thunder. Yes, the conditions were dangerous. Lightning was a worry, but he couldn’t give up his search. The wandering mare was evidence that Kara was stranded out here in the storm. And she could easily be in more peril than he dared imagine.
* * *
Kara tried multiple times to pull herself off the small ledge and onto the safe ground at the top of the arroyo. But her feet slipped on the wet rock, and she couldn’t find secure handholds along the inverted angle of rock above her. The same overhang that provided a modicum of shelter from the downpour also made ascending the last seven or so feet nearly impossible.
Shivering from cold and fatigue, Kara sank back onto the small outcropping and fought the dejection that tugged at her. She wasn’t a quitter, and even though her circumstances seemed bleak, she couldn’t give up. She had to find an alternative solution. Ever since she’d stood by and watched her father drown, she’d sworn she’d never be passive in a situation again. Maybe as a young teen she’d not seen a way to help him, but as an adult, she’d never submit to any problem or circumstance without a fight.
Except with Brady.
She scowled darkly. Where had that thought come from? Leaving might have been painful, but it had been necessary to save herself from certain problems later on.
That’s a cop-out. You took the easy way out with Brady. You didn’t fight for him or for a workable compromise.
Kara growled her frustration and slapped a scraped palm on the cold, wet clay stone. Was this how she was going to spend the long hours until the waters receded or she was rescued? Mentally beating herself up over decisions she’d made out of self-preservation?
Brady bore his share of the blame for their breakup. Though she’d never told him the full story about her father’s death, he hadn’t acted interested in her reasons for her fears. Had he listened to her concerns about his appointment as sheriff, had he respected her opinions and valued her input, she wouldn’t have felt backed into a corner. She wouldn’t have—
Kara coughed as she inhaled the rainwater that sluiced down her face and dripped from her hair. The wind blew the steady downpour against her chilled skin and caused turbulent waves in the river that cascaded below her. She didn’t want to die like her father, sucked beneath the choppy waves of a fast-flowing current. Help me, Daddy!
The ache that had cleaved her heart for the past fifteen years swelled again and raked her soul. Seeing the rushing muddy water below her now brought all her worst fears from that night back to the fore of her mind.
“Stop it!” she scolded herself. She wouldn’t dwell on Brady or her father or the maniac sniper. She needed to stay positive, remain focused on the best way to stay alive and get back to town before she died of exposure.
Since the rain gave no indication of letting up anytime soon, and the water level of the flash flood in the arroyo kept rising, she knew she needed to find another way to the top of the cliff. Could she tear strips of her dress to make a rope and—
“Kara!” a male voice shouted in the distance.
Her heart stilled, and she held her breath until she heard the voice again.
“I’m here!” she yelled, “Help!” She pushed onto her feet, ignoring the sting of raw, chafed skin. The sound of an ATV grew louder, and tears of relief stung her eyes. But could she be seen here under the overhang?
Hastily she ripped a large piece of her red dress from the bottom hem and broke off a branch from a low-hanging cottonwood. After
