hilltop for the person belonging to the four-wheeler, Grace had to search hard. For a moment she worried the rider might be hurt. Then she spotted him, lying on his belly on the ground.
Grace’s heartbeats ratcheted up several notches. The guy appeared to have a rifle of some sort with a scope. Since it was summer, the man with the gun had no reason to be aiming a rifle. It wasn’t hunting season.
Grace followed the direction the barrel of the weapon was pointed, to the far side of the valley. She couldn’t see any elk, white-tailed deer or moose. Was he aiming for wolves? Grace raised her binoculars to her eyes and looked closer.
A movement caught her attention. She almost missed it. But then she focused on the spot where she’d seen the movement and gasped.
A man squatted near the ground with a device in his hand. He stared at the device as he slowly stood.
Grace shifted the lenses of her binoculars to the man on the ridge. He tensed, his eye lining up with the scope. Surely he wasn’t aiming at the man on the ground.
Her pulse hammering, Grace lowered her binoculars and shouted to the man below. “Get down!”
At the same time as she shouted, the sound of rifle fire reached her.
The man on the floor of the valley jerked, pressed a hand to his chest and looked down at blood spreading across his shirt. He dropped to his knees and then fell forward.
Grace pressed a hand to her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs. What had just happened? In her heart she knew. She’d just witnessed a murder. Raising her binoculars to the man on the hilltop, she stared at him, trying to get a good look at him so that she could pick him out in a lineup of criminals.
He had brown hair. And that was all she could get before she noticed the gun he’d used to kill the man on the valley floor was pointing in her direction, and he was aiming at her.
Instinctively, Grace dropped to the ground and rolled to the side. Dust kicked up at the point she’d been standing a moment before. The rifle’s report sounded half a second later.
Grace rolled again until she was below the top of the ridge. Afraid to stand and risk being shot, she crawled on all fours down to where she’d left her horse tied to a tree.
An engine revved on the other side of the ridge, the sound echoing off the rocky bluffs.
Her pulse slamming through her body, Grace staggered to her feet, her knees shaking. She ran toward the horse. The animal backed away, sensing her distress, pulling the knot tighter on the tree branch.
Her hands trembling, Grace struggled to untie the knot.
Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to go back to the man on the ground and see if he was still alive, but the shooter would take her out before she could get there. Her best bet was to get back down the mountain and notify the sheriff. If she rode hard, she could be down in thirty minutes.
Finally jerking the reins free of the branch, Grace swung up onto the horse.
The gelding leaped forward as soon as her butt hit the saddle, galloping down the trail they’d climbed moments before.
Grace slowed as she approached a point at which the trail narrowed and dropped off on one side. With the gelding straining at the bit to speed up, Grace held him in check as they eased down the trail. She glanced back at the ridge where she’d been. A four-wheeler stood on top, the rider holding a rifle to his shoulder.
Something hit the bluff beside her. Dust and rocks splintered off, blinding her briefly. Throwing caution to the wind, she gave the horse his head and held on, praying they didn’t fall off the side of the trail. She didn’t have a choice. If she didn’t get around the corner soon, she’d be shot.
Her gelding pushed forward, more sure of his footing than Grace. She ducked low in the saddle and held on, praying they made it soon. The bluff jutted out of the hillside and would provide sufficient cover for a few minutes. Long enough for her to make it to the trees. The shooter could still catch up, but the trail twisting through the thick trunks of the evergreens would give her more cover and concealment than being in the open. If she made it down to the paved road, she could wave someone down.
Riding like her hair was on fire, Grace erupted from the trees at the base of the mountain trail. A truck with a trailer on the back was parked on the dirt road. She slowed to read the sign on the door, indicating Rocky Mountain Pipeline Inc. No sooner had she stopped than a shot rang out, plinking into the side of the truck.
Grace leaned low over her horse and yelled, “Go, go, go!” The horse took off across a field, galloping hard.
Then, as if he tripped, he stumbled and pitched forward.
Grace sailed through the air, every move appearing in slow motion. She made a complete somersault before she landed on her feet. Momentum carried her forward and she landed hard on her belly in the tall grass, her forehead bumping the ground hard. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe and her vision blurred. She knew she couldn’t stay there. The guy on the four-wheeler would catch up to her and finish the job.
An engine roared somewhere nearby.
Grace low-crawled through the grass, blinking hard to clear the darkness slowing her down. When she could go no farther, she collapsed in the grass, no longer able to fight against the fog closing in around her. She closed her eyes.
It wouldn’t take the gunman long to find her and end it.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a man calling to her as if from the far end of a long tunnel.
“Hey, are you all right?” a deep, resonant voice called out.
Grace gave the last bit of her strength to pushing herself over onto her back. She made it halfway and groaned.
The hand on her shoulder eased her the rest of the way, until she lay facing her attacker. “Are you going to kill me?”
“What?” he said. “Why would I want to kill you?”
“You killed the man in the valley. And you tried to kill me,” she said, her voice fading into a whisper.
“I’m not here to kill anyone.”
“If you do. Just make it quick.” She tried to blink her eyes open, but they wouldn’t move. “Just shoot me. But don’t hurt my horse.” And she passed out.
Caveman shook his head as he stared down at the strange woman. “Shoot you? I don’t even know you,” he muttered. He glanced around, searching for others in the area. She had to have a reason to think he was there to kill her.
He ran his gaze over her body, searching for wounds. Other than the bump on her forehead, she appeared to be okay, despite being tossed by her horse.
The animal had recovered his footing and taken off toward the highway.
Caveman would have the sheriff come out and retrieve the horse. For now, the woman needed to be taken to the hospital. He ran back to his truck for his cell phone, knowing
