Read Online Jillian Hart by Lissa's Cowboy - Free Book Online
Authors: Lissa's Cowboy
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rope.
"Easy, fella," he crooned, and grabbed again.
Again, the horse evaded him. He snagged the rope and pulled in the reticent horse. Wincing against the pain, he hopped onto the animal's back and joined Will on the downside of the embankment, galloping hard for shelter and the line of trees.
Of the two men he'd shot, only one lingered on the ground. John saw at a distance that the man was too injured to move, much less reach for his gun and try to shoot them in the back. His bay took the lead.
By the time they reached the clearing, the rustlers were waiting. A bullet sank into the tree trunk near his head, and John wheeled the bay back into the cover of the woods.
"I miscalculated that," he confessed. Damn, but his pounding head made it hard to think. "I need more ammunition."
"Got it." Will reached into his shirt pocket and laid a handful of bullets on John's palm.
"They're coming after us. Take cover."
Shots tore through the grove of alder and maple. John slid from his mount and ducked behind a solid tree trunk. Will, safe behind a moss-covered boulder, fired in return. John thumbed bullets into the empty chamber, spun it, and waited. The gunfire grew nearer.
"See to the other men," he shouted to Will. "They are going to ride straight into this."
With a nod, Will disappeared on foot, the brush and thick limbs obscuring him within seconds. John listened and waited before he wove through trees and bushes, and listened again.
A snap of a twig came from ahead of him, and to his right. He thumbed back the hammer, holding the revolver steady with both hands, and closed one eye. The world spun with his dizziness, but he concentrated hard.
Then he saw the slant of a cowboy hat and the flash of a rifle. His finger squeezed the trigger, then froze. He wanted to see the man before he brought him down. He didn't know if the men from the wedding party had caught up with them. He didn't want to shoot one of the good men.
A slant of shadowed twilight, dispersed by wind-tossed leaves, shivered over the man—not friend, but foe, rough, ugly, unkempt, unwashed, and dangerous. John fought to keep the gun steady, then fired.
Missed.
"Damn."
The dizziness was only getting worse, but it was no excuse. He thumbed back the hammer, and the gun jammed. He slammed it hard against his palm. Then, when the chamber didn't turn, he banged it against the side of a tree trunk.
His heartbeat tripled. Worry licked at his spine. His mind remained clear and calm, though, as he tried to spin the stubborn chamber. It turned, but already he saw the shadows in the underbrush. He dropped to the ground as fire flashed. A bullet bit into his flesh along the outer edge of his bicep, enough to make the arm hurt too much to use.
Angry now, John rose up and aimed with one hand. The rustler was already running, and John did, too. He crashed through fern and flower, tripped over rocks and rotting logs. Holding the gun steady, he squeezed off a single shot and grazed the rustler's hat. He aimed again, his last bullet, as the toe of his left boot caught in a rotten log and he tumbled forward.
The gun flew from his hand, hitting the ground and firing wild. John held out both hands, but he was already falling.
"Jeremiah!" Lissa called out as she swung down from Charlie's broad back. Twilight began to deepen, but even in the dimness she could see the devastation on the man's face.
"Lissa, you shouldn't be here. Not with those rustlers on the loose." Jeremiah strode toward her, his hand extended, as if to turn her and lead her from the meadow.
"I heard gunfire." Cold fear banded her chest. "Where is John?"
Jeremiah stared off at the horizon where night began. "I'm sorry, Lissa. Callahan and Miller are carrying him out."
"He's dead?" Her body failed her. She rocked against Charlie's flank, and the big horse held her up as shock turned her limbs and mind numb. Dead. "But he—"
"No." Jeremiah's hands caught hers, but she couldn't feel them. "He's been
"Easy, fella," he crooned, and grabbed again.
Again, the horse evaded him. He snagged the rope and pulled in the reticent horse. Wincing against the pain, he hopped onto the animal's back and joined Will on the downside of the embankment, galloping hard for shelter and the line of trees.
Of the two men he'd shot, only one lingered on the ground. John saw at a distance that the man was too injured to move, much less reach for his gun and try to shoot them in the back. His bay took the lead.
By the time they reached the clearing, the rustlers were waiting. A bullet sank into the tree trunk near his head, and John wheeled the bay back into the cover of the woods.
"I miscalculated that," he confessed. Damn, but his pounding head made it hard to think. "I need more ammunition."
"Got it." Will reached into his shirt pocket and laid a handful of bullets on John's palm.
"They're coming after us. Take cover."
Shots tore through the grove of alder and maple. John slid from his mount and ducked behind a solid tree trunk. Will, safe behind a moss-covered boulder, fired in return. John thumbed bullets into the empty chamber, spun it, and waited. The gunfire grew nearer.
"See to the other men," he shouted to Will. "They are going to ride straight into this."
With a nod, Will disappeared on foot, the brush and thick limbs obscuring him within seconds. John listened and waited before he wove through trees and bushes, and listened again.
A snap of a twig came from ahead of him, and to his right. He thumbed back the hammer, holding the revolver steady with both hands, and closed one eye. The world spun with his dizziness, but he concentrated hard.
Then he saw the slant of a cowboy hat and the flash of a rifle. His finger squeezed the trigger, then froze. He wanted to see the man before he brought him down. He didn't know if the men from the wedding party had caught up with them. He didn't want to shoot one of the good men.
A slant of shadowed twilight, dispersed by wind-tossed leaves, shivered over the man—not friend, but foe, rough, ugly, unkempt, unwashed, and dangerous. John fought to keep the gun steady, then fired.
Missed.
"Damn."
The dizziness was only getting worse, but it was no excuse. He thumbed back the hammer, and the gun jammed. He slammed it hard against his palm. Then, when the chamber didn't turn, he banged it against the side of a tree trunk.
His heartbeat tripled. Worry licked at his spine. His mind remained clear and calm, though, as he tried to spin the stubborn chamber. It turned, but already he saw the shadows in the underbrush. He dropped to the ground as fire flashed. A bullet bit into his flesh along the outer edge of his bicep, enough to make the arm hurt too much to use.
Angry now, John rose up and aimed with one hand. The rustler was already running, and John did, too. He crashed through fern and flower, tripped over rocks and rotting logs. Holding the gun steady, he squeezed off a single shot and grazed the rustler's hat. He aimed again, his last bullet, as the toe of his left boot caught in a rotten log and he tumbled forward.
The gun flew from his hand, hitting the ground and firing wild. John held out both hands, but he was already falling.
"Jeremiah!" Lissa called out as she swung down from Charlie's broad back. Twilight began to deepen, but even in the dimness she could see the devastation on the man's face.
"Lissa, you shouldn't be here. Not with those rustlers on the loose." Jeremiah strode toward her, his hand extended, as if to turn her and lead her from the meadow.
"I heard gunfire." Cold fear banded her chest. "Where is John?"
Jeremiah stared off at the horizon where night began. "I'm sorry, Lissa. Callahan and Miller are carrying him out."
"He's dead?" Her body failed her. She rocked against Charlie's flank, and the big horse held her up as shock turned her limbs and mind numb. Dead. "But he—"
"No." Jeremiah's hands caught hers, but she couldn't feel them. "He's been
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