Smoketree - By Jennifer Roberson Page 0,62

and caught one of my wrists, dragging me out of the net. I barked both shins on the ramp and sprawled forward, legs still tangled.

“Brandon, wait! My foot’s caught!”

He grunted disbelief and pulled harder, jamming my right foot between the edge of the ramp and a loose board. It was wedged securely, and yet he kept pulling.

I cried out. His grip loosened. I sat up at once, and managed to free my ankle. Jagged edges of broken board had torn the flesh on shin and ankle; already it had begun to swell.

“Up.” Brandon pulled me to my feet, gripping my right wrist with his left hand. “Come on.”

The catwalk he led me over ended in merging ski runs: one from above, another twisting into a narrow, snaking run below us. Brandon paused only a moment. “We’ll go up, but through the trees.”

The accompanying jerk on my arm made me stumble, missing a step, and the injured ankle gave beneath my weight. I went down painfully, grunting as I hit the ground, but I realized I had pulled free of his grasp.

“Damn it, Kelly—” He reached down for me.

A shot cracked in the trees. Brandon flattened at once. His gun came around to point at me as I hunched against the ground. He opened his mouth to speak, but another voice shouted over him.

“Throw the gun away!” it called. “Right now!”

Brandon swore.

“Kelly, get away from him!”

I jerked upright on my knees. “Harper?”

Something huge crashed through the trees, heading directly toward us. Brandon jumped to his feet, caught me against his chest, then blurted in surprise. I sucked in a frightened breath as the shape limped onto the ski run and snorted at us.

Brandon let go of me. I spun around, jumping out of range, and saw how stiffly he stood. And how snugly the rifle muzzle rested against his neck.

“Kelly,” Harper said conversationally, “take the gun away from him.”

Brandon said nothing as I moved forward and put my hand on the gun. I did not stand in front of him. I came in from the side, putting my hand on it, and felt the cold, hard touch of its metal. As he surrendered it I realized I wanted nothing more than to hurl it into the trees.

I saw the odd look in his eyes. Slowly I wrapped both hands around the gun and raised it. “I could,” I said. “For Tucker.”

“Kelly,” Harper said quietly.

“He killed him.”

“He did?”

“He set him up for it.”

I could not see him clearly in the darkness, though the moonlight limned his shape and the hat on his head. He stepped a short distance away from Brandon. He transferred the rifle from his right hand to his left. “Turn around, playboy,” he said quietly.

Brandon turned. Harper slugged him on the jaw, knocking him to the ground. Brandon did not move.

I lowered the handgun. “Had you planned that all along?” His shoulders had a funny set to them. “I’ve been wanting to do it a long time. I only wish he’d get up so I could do it again. But maybe it’s just as well he doesn’t…”

I frowned at him. “What’s the matter?”

“I think I broke my hand…”

I moved to him. “Pretty stupid, cowboy. Why did you have to hit him so hard?”

“You didn’t hear your voice when you told me who killed Tucker Pierce.”

I sighed and pushed a forearm through the tangle of my hair. “You can put the rifle away. You don’t need it now.”

“Be still,” he warned, and I felt an odd warmth on the back of my neck.

Preacher. He snuffled at me. My heart fell back out of my throat to lodge in my chest again and I swung around to hug the big horse. “Oh baby! If you hadn’t distracted Brandon when you did—” I broke off, hugging the heavy neck with all my strength.

Harper muttered something under his breath. It sounded disgusted.

I glanced over my shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You’ve got a perfectly good human being standing here—one, I might add, who just saved your life—and you’re hugging the horse.” He sighed and set the rifle on the ground. “Come here.”

I went.

His kiss was entirely possessive. It demanded a response and I gave it willingly. I could put name to none of the emotions welling up in me—some of them painful and others welcomed—but I knew I was safe and warm and very much wanted. My response was something very different from what I had shared with Tucker.

And that, I thought, was