was running in boots, with her hands tied behind her back. Even on the road, it was tough going. She was already out of breath.
She’d half expected to be shot at. When that didn’t happen, she had to assume that Aaron was coming after her. Her only chance of getting away would be to find shelter. If she could get inside the ranch house . . . but no, with her hands tied, she wouldn’t be able to open the front door. She’d be trapped on the porch. Her only option would be the open entrance to the stable. Maybe she could push the doors shut with her body or find a place to hide.
As she stumbled over a rock, almost falling, Lexie remembered. Shane had gone to work in the stable that morning. If he was still inside, she’d be putting him in danger, too. What could he do—unarmed and in a wheelchair—against a strong and desperate man like Aaron?
Aaron could kill them both.
From somewhere behind her, she heard the sound of the old truck—the grinding cough of the starter, then a roar as the engine caught. Lungs burning, Lexie pushed herself harder. She might be able to outrun Aaron, but she couldn’t outrun a truck. He could crush her like roadkill and pass it off as an accident.
She was coming up on the stable—the only refuge she had. With the truck lumbering closer, she cut off the road and sprinted down the narrow, brushy slope, into the yard. Even in her panic, she remembered Shane. Please don’t let him be inside, she prayed silently. Please let him be safe.
The truck followed her, lurching off the road and into the scrub. Lexie heard the engine roar, heard the whine of spinning wheels as the balding tires sank into the soft, red sand—stuck for the moment. Maybe she’d caught a break—but it wouldn’t be for long, she told herself as she dashed through the open stable doors.
The stable was cool and dark inside. It had been built with a dozen roomy stalls in a single line, but half the stalls were empty these days. Lexie’s sun-dazzled eyes peered into the shadows, all the way to the far end. There was no sign of Shane. She could only hope he’d finished his work and left.
From outside, she heard the door of the truck open and close. Aaron would be coming after her on foot. Even if she could do it with her hands tied, there was no time to close and bolt the heavy double doors. She needed to find a hiding place, fast.
The nearest stall held extra tools and tack—no cover there. The next stall was piled high with loose, clean bedding straw. The stall gate stood open. With her hands bound there was no way to close it from inside. Never mind; time was running out. Lexie burrowed feetfirst into the base of the pile, spilling straw down around her, leaving a tiny opening that would allow her to see. It wasn’t the wisest plan—if Aaron found her, she’d be cornered—but right now it was all she had.
In the stillness, she could hear him walking into the stable, his footsteps rustling the spilled straw on the floor. But there was something odd about his gait, almost as if he were limping. As he stopped within view of the open stall, she could see what it was. A bloody rag was wrapped and tied around his upper leg. The gun must’ve gone off, hitting him in the leg when she’d kicked the door of the truck. He appeared to be in pain and losing blood, but that hadn’t stopped him. It had only made him angrier. He was a wounded animal, desperate, dangerous, and intent on the kill.
Lexie held her breath as he came closer.
* * *
Shane had finished cleaning the stalls, but with little to do in the house, he’d decided to stay and spend time with the horses. Seated in his wheelchair, he was brushing down a powerful, black gelding when he’d heard someone come into the stable.
Was it Lexie? He’d almost called out to let her know he was here, but something—a prickling of his senses—held him back. Quietly, he lowered the brush and waited. A moment later, he heard a voice.
“Lexie? Come on out, little girl.” The speaker was Aaron Frye. “I know you’re in here, and you already know what’s going to happen. You might as well give up.”
Veiled by shadows, Shane ventured a wary