in the back. If she hurried, she could catch Nicole who was probably still getting saddled up. Instead, Carolyn looked for her version of a shrink. Elvis.
Reaching over the top rail of the corral, she stroked the white blaze on her horse’s forehead. His upper lip curled in the trademark sneer of his namesake. He batted his long lashes, shamelessly flirting though he was over sixteen years old and had expanded his girth since she last saw him.
“No more sweets for you, Elvis.”
He whinnied in protest.
She tugged a forelock of his black mane. “If you get any fatter, you won’t fit into your white jumpsuit.”
As she watched Nicole head out, Carolyn shivered. She should have grabbed a jacket before she came out, but the weather was pleasant enough—probably in the mid-fifties—and her blood still boiled with anger. She had a bad feeling about Nicole riding alone. It didn’t seem safe. Not if there was an arsonist on the loose. A few minutes later, a man wearing a jacket with the Longbridge Security patch rode from the barn to follow her.
She turned her attention to Elvis. The horse listened while she talked about her worries about the ranch, about Dylan and Nicole. They’d always seemed like the perfect couple. If they couldn’t make it, what hope did Carolyn have of finding a mate? She was thirty-three with no special man to warm her bed. Her last date had been a disaster and…
A noise distracted her. A snap that ricocheted across the valley. A rifle shot?
Carolyn peered across the field. The bodyguard and Nicole were nowhere in sight.
The grizzled ranch foreman, Lucas Mann, came around the corner of the barn, moving faster than his usual bowlegged saunter. “Carolyn, did you hear that?”
“Hush.” She listened hard. A volley of shots echoed from far away, like pebbles being dropped in a metal bucket. Sound traveled great distances in the thin mountain air and she couldn’t tell where the gunfire was coming from. “Lucas, give me your gun.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Lucas handed over his sidearm. Though he looked like an old-time cowboy, the weapon he carried in his belt holster was a brand-new Glock nine millimeter.
Carolyn tucked the gun into the waistband of her skirt. “We need to find Nicole and make sure she’s okay. She was headed southwest toward the creek. I want you to saddle up. Bring one of those security guards.”
“What the hell are you fixing to do?”
“Take care of business.” If someone had fired on Nicole, she needed backup. And she needed it now.
In her high-heeled boots, Carolyn climbed the corral fence, tore the slit on her wool skirt and slung her leg over Elvis’s bare back. As soon as Lucas unlatched the corral gate, she rode through. Digging her heels into Elvis’s flanks, she took off across the field.
Riding without a saddle wasn’t easy, especially not with the horse’s bristly coat snagging her panty hose and an automatic pistol digging into her side. She wouldn’t have attempted this ride with any other mount, but Elvis’s gait was as familiar as her own jogging style. Her body adjusted instinctively to the rhythm of his gait. In her teens, she and Elvis had won dozens of trophies and blue ribbons for calf roping and barrel racing in local rodeos.
She clung to his mane and directed him with pressure from her knees and verbal commands. The chilly December wind sharpened her tension as she rode toward the area where the valley merged into rocky hillsides covered with forests of ponderosa pine.
She hadn’t heard any other shots. If there had been a gunfight, it was over. The damage was done.
What if Nicole and the bodyguard were shot and bleeding? Can’t think about that now. She needed to stay focused. That’s what I do best—hard-driving, straightforward action.
Through the dusky gloom, she spotted a horseman coming out of the trees at a slow walk. The bodyguard. He slumped over his horse’s neck. As his horse came to a stop, he slipped from the saddle to the ground.
She dismounted and ran toward the injured man. His shirt and denim jacket were covered in blood, his face twisted in pain. She sank to her knees beside him and pushed his jacket aside. If she could figure out where he’d been shot, she could apply pressure and slow the bleeding.
“Nicole.” His voice was faint. “Couldn’t save her.”
Talking was too much of an effort. He needed to calm down and slow the pumping of his heart. But Carolyn had to ask,