covertly at Cole, admiring his tall form and easy grace in the saddle. Though his hat covered most of his mahogany-colored hair, she recalled how it turned to flame beneath the relentless prairie sun. His skin was tanned, but she suspected that, like most White men, it was pale in places the sun didn’t touch.
“The cabin is just beyond those trees,” Cole said, breaking into her reverie. “Unless you tell me where the money is hidden, I reckon I’ll start digging again.”
Dawn bit her lower lip in consternation. How could she let him take the money when she needed it so desperately?
How can you keep it when it doesn’t belong to you?
her conscience challenged.
They came out of the trees into the clearing. The cabin sat basking in the midday sun, serene and peaceful. Suddenly Cole pulled up sharply; Dawn reined in beside him.
“What is it?” Did Cole sense something she didn’t? she wondered.
“I don’t know. Instinct tells me something is wrong. Take cover in the woods. I’m riding in. Don’t leave until I tell you it’s safe.”
Cole rode toward the cabin. Everything seemed just as they had left it, but the jangling of Cole’s nerves told him otherwise. Living with Indians had taught him many things. One was to follow his intuition; it rarely failed him. He dismounted several yards from the cabin, tethered Warrior to a post and paused near the shed to study the situation. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. Sawnothing amiss. Cautiously he crept toward the cabin and kicked open the door.
The cabin was empty. Cole felt a rush of relief, but it was short-lived. His gut still hurt and the hair prickled at the back of his neck. Maybe he was getting old, he thought, spinning around and directing his gaze to the yard and beyond. He stood in the doorway, alert, his narrow-eyed gaze skimming the surrounding area. He saw an arm and head poke out from behind the shed a second too late. He drew his gun and crouched slightly to the left. It saved his life. Had he been standing, the bullet would have entered his heart. Instead, it struck his left shoulder and exited his back, lodging in the doorjamb behind him.
Cole staggered, regained his balance and remained on his feet through sheer will. Seconds later the gunman recklessly exposed himself, expecting to see Cole laid low by his bullet. Cole was ready. Raising his gun, he aimed and fired. Cole’s aim wavered slightly, but his bullet hit solid flesh and bone. The man gave a yelp of pain and ducked back behind the shed. Cole heard the gunman galloping away just as he began a slow spiral to the ground.
Dawn had heard the first shot and watched in growing horror as Cole’s body jerked and he struggled to remain upright. She had no idea how he found the strength to aim and shoot, but it appeared that he had wounded his attacker. Suddenly Dawn saw a man on horseback burst from behind the shed and beat a path toward her. She had the presence of mind to remain hidden as the man pounded hell for leather past her. He wasbent low over the saddle, a bright blossom of blood staining his shirt, but she recognized him instantly as he thundered by. It was Sam Pickens, a member of Billy’s gang.
She didn’t give Sam a second glance as she broke her cover and rode toward the cabin. She slid from the horse before he came to a full stop and dropped to her knees beside Cole.
“Cole! How badly are you hurt?” She opened his shirt to find his wound. Her panic subsided somewhat when she saw that the bullet had entered his shoulder and exited without shattering bone. Blood was everywhere, but that in itself was good, for blood would cleanse the wound.
Cole groaned and opened his eyes. He tried to move, but an explosion of pain plunged him to the edge of darkness. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on Dawn. She had ripped the tail of his shirt, made a pad from the material and was pressing it to the wound. She appeared to know what she was doing, so Cole concentrated on
“The cabin is just beyond those trees,” Cole said, breaking into her reverie. “Unless you tell me where the money is hidden, I reckon I’ll start digging again.”
Dawn bit her lower lip in consternation. How could she let him take the money when she needed it so desperately?
How can you keep it when it doesn’t belong to you?
her conscience challenged.
They came out of the trees into the clearing. The cabin sat basking in the midday sun, serene and peaceful. Suddenly Cole pulled up sharply; Dawn reined in beside him.
“What is it?” Did Cole sense something she didn’t? she wondered.
“I don’t know. Instinct tells me something is wrong. Take cover in the woods. I’m riding in. Don’t leave until I tell you it’s safe.”
Cole rode toward the cabin. Everything seemed just as they had left it, but the jangling of Cole’s nerves told him otherwise. Living with Indians had taught him many things. One was to follow his intuition; it rarely failed him. He dismounted several yards from the cabin, tethered Warrior to a post and paused near the shed to study the situation. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. Sawnothing amiss. Cautiously he crept toward the cabin and kicked open the door.
The cabin was empty. Cole felt a rush of relief, but it was short-lived. His gut still hurt and the hair prickled at the back of his neck. Maybe he was getting old, he thought, spinning around and directing his gaze to the yard and beyond. He stood in the doorway, alert, his narrow-eyed gaze skimming the surrounding area. He saw an arm and head poke out from behind the shed a second too late. He drew his gun and crouched slightly to the left. It saved his life. Had he been standing, the bullet would have entered his heart. Instead, it struck his left shoulder and exited his back, lodging in the doorjamb behind him.
Cole staggered, regained his balance and remained on his feet through sheer will. Seconds later the gunman recklessly exposed himself, expecting to see Cole laid low by his bullet. Cole was ready. Raising his gun, he aimed and fired. Cole’s aim wavered slightly, but his bullet hit solid flesh and bone. The man gave a yelp of pain and ducked back behind the shed. Cole heard the gunman galloping away just as he began a slow spiral to the ground.
Dawn had heard the first shot and watched in growing horror as Cole’s body jerked and he struggled to remain upright. She had no idea how he found the strength to aim and shoot, but it appeared that he had wounded his attacker. Suddenly Dawn saw a man on horseback burst from behind the shed and beat a path toward her. She had the presence of mind to remain hidden as the man pounded hell for leather past her. He wasbent low over the saddle, a bright blossom of blood staining his shirt, but she recognized him instantly as he thundered by. It was Sam Pickens, a member of Billy’s gang.
She didn’t give Sam a second glance as she broke her cover and rode toward the cabin. She slid from the horse before he came to a full stop and dropped to her knees beside Cole.
“Cole! How badly are you hurt?” She opened his shirt to find his wound. Her panic subsided somewhat when she saw that the bullet had entered his shoulder and exited without shattering bone. Blood was everywhere, but that in itself was good, for blood would cleanse the wound.
Cole groaned and opened his eyes. He tried to move, but an explosion of pain plunged him to the edge of darkness. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on Dawn. She had ripped the tail of his shirt, made a pad from the material and was pressing it to the wound. She appeared to know what she was doing, so Cole concentrated on
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