wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.
But what if it was? His eyes strayed again to the hips of the rider bouncing in the saddle on the horse in front of him. Even in the gray of dusk, he could see the shadowed outlines of their curves. Those shapely hips belonged to a woman. The voice had suggested a woman, too, but it had been too obscured by the scarf for him to tell if it was hers.
Would he even recognize her voice now? Something deep inside told him yes. Just as the eyes had triggered an awareness, so would the voice. He remembered everything about her. And Brent knew he couldn’t leave without finding out for sure if the woman was Charity.
But the girl he knew wouldn’t have done this, reason insisted, and the anger he’d been trying hard to tamp down flared to the surface. His Charity was everything gentle and sweet, not this hellion with a gun. He allowed himself a moment to indulge in the emotion, but then pushed it down again. Anger would only hinder reason.
He waited until the horses slowed to a brisk canter and the taller rider made a move to leave his post in the rear. Brent could tell he planned to maneuver his horse next to the woman’s to talk to her privately. Probably about making camp for the night.
Recognizing an opportunity when he saw it, he instantly devised a plan to get the rider’s gun and force the woman to hand over hers. He waited until the rider was just about parallel to him and lunged. But he overestimated the weight of the rider, realizing too late that it was a tall woman made to look bulky with a padded overcoat, and they both toppled to the ground.
Brent landed awkwardly on one shoulder with the rider directly on his back. The fall had winded him, leaving him gasping for breath and praying no serious damage had been done.
The woman turned abruptly, grasping at the reins of Brent’s horse as it whinnied and violently shook its head to protest against the commotion. Her movements tore the scarf loose and for one moment he had a plain view of her face.
Charity! His dormant heart jolted to life in his chest.
Brent opened his mouth to call out to her only to have a large rag, wet with a nauseatingly sweet smell, shoved against his nose and mouth. He cursed the fact that he had landed on his bound hands and violently struggled to get them out from under him. Just as he felt one begin to release from the bonds, his vision went black.
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