Once Upon a Mail Order Bride - Linda Broday Page 0,47
have to worry about me.” Bodie stared toward the house.
“I know. Tell Addie to keep the doors locked. Hiram might try to get to me through her.”
“I s’pect so, only she said something about spending time with King. She won’t stand to be locked in the house. She loves that horse.”
“Yep. If you can’t talk her out of it, stay right with her and keep that rifle handy.” Ridge released a low curse and strode to his sorrel, his spurs clinking with each step. He climbed into the saddle. “Don’t let anything happen to her. Let’s go, Cob. We got us a rabid wolf to find.”
He checked ravines, gullies, and creeks within a five-mile radius around Hope’s Crossing and found nothing. Maybe he was wrong, and Hiram had ridden on. Maybe his wound had gotten bad, and he’d gone to find a doctor.
Ridge was about to give up the search when he recalled an old adobe house ten miles away. A shepherd had lived there once, but the place had long since crumbled and fallen in. Maybe Hiram had taken refuge there.
The warm afternoon sun beat down, and Ridge kept wiping sweat from his face. A mile from the place, he slowed to a walk to keep the noise to a minimum. His senses sharpened to a fine edge. Every swish of the breeze in the tall grass whispered a warning. The beating wings of a fly that buzzed around his head sounded like a beehive. He jumped at the call of a nighthawk that nested on the ground somewhere ahead. Cob snorted and blinked as the pesky fly found a new target.
Ridge scanned the waving grass, tall enough to easily hide a man on his belly.
The hair rose on his neck. Someone was watching.
As he threw his leg over to dismount, a shot rang out. Ridge ducked and slapped Cob on the rear to send the gelding away from the gunfire, then fell onto his belly, jerking out his Colt on the way down. He lay motionless, his heart thudding against his ribs. His mouth dried until he could no more make spit than fly. Inch by agonizing inch, he slowly reached down and unbuckled his noisy spurs, then got rid of the hat that would give him away.
For a moment, he studied the situation, taking in the rocks and brush, then inched forward. A covey of startled quail rose from the tangled brush. Dammit! That gave away his location!
A second shot followed, the slug hitting the ground in front of him, spitting dirt in his face. This time, Ridge had seen the shooter—or at least the general vicinity of his hiding place. The bullet had come from a high ridge on the left, giving the man a distinct advantage. Still, the cowardly bastard was relying on a handgun, not the accuracy of a rifle.
Ridge didn’t return fire. He wouldn’t waste ammunition until he had a clear target. He gauged the distance to a stand of cedar trees, then stood and made a run for them. Bullets sprayed around him, but none hit. Once surrounded by the thick, leafy shield of the cedar, he breathed easier. He peered through the branches, saw movement, and squeezed the trigger.
A slew of cusswords broke the silence, telling Ridge he’d at least grazed the assailant. Good.
Ridge sprinted to a group of sandstone boulders, and from there to a stand of mesquite. Taking his time, eyes on every flutter of movement, he tightened the net until he finally reached the bottom of the rocky ridge. But as he began the climb to the man’s perch, loose rocks showered down on him. A moment later, a rider emerged from thick growth and galloped away, lying flat against his mount’s long neck.
Ridge took aim and fired a volley of shots, but the man kept riding. Ridge scrambled down to the floor of the ravine again, but by the time he found Cob, the rider had vanished. Ridge returned the Colt to his holster and swung into the saddle, continuing on to the adobe ruins.
The place stood silent in the waning afternoon light. An owl perched on what little was left of the roof. Ridge took note of the disturbed spiderwebs and went inside. The cold ashes of a campfire, bones of a small animal, and remains of a tobacco pouch and cigarettes told him someone had stayed there. Probably for more than one night. He couldn’t be certain it had been Hiram, but it made sense