Cassidy Harte and the Comeback Kid (20 page)

Run.

She stumbled on the trail, then righted herself with a small, emphatic shake of her head that sent drops of rain flying from her wet hair. No. She wouldn't leave him here at Wade's mercy, even if she had more than the slightest chance in hell of escaping.

Turning her gaze back to the trail for some kind of a weapon, she felt rather than heard his resigned sigh.

An instant later the world erupted into a flurry of motion. She felt something shove her off the trail—Zack, she assumed, trying to get her out of harm's way. She rolled through the slippery grass and looked up just in time to see Zack smash his elbow into Wade's face. The other man sagged to his knees from the impact, blood spurting wildly from his nose, but he didn't drop the gun.

While Wade still reeled from the unexpected attack, Zack dived in low, hoping to catch him off guard. For long terrible moments the men grappled for the weapon. They were evenly matched, both hardened by years of ranch work. Wade was an inch or two taller and maybe thirty pounds heavier, but Zack didn't have an ounce of spare flesh on him.

Besides, he was fighting for his life. For
their
lives.

She crouched in the wet grass for long moments while the two men fought for possession of the revolver. Without even really focusing on it, she managed to pry a rock the size of a frying pan out of the mud and waited for a chance to use it as a weapon if she had to. It was slick and heavy in her hands and she only prayed she could hang on to it.

She wanted to help—do anything—but she was afraid whatever she did might distract Zack enough to give Wade the advantage.

Zack seemed to be gaining the upper hand. They were locked so closely together she couldn't tell exactly what was happening, but she could tell Wade was hampered by the blood still gushing from his nose. With one powerful lunge, Zack tumbled him to the ground, his hand on the wrist holding the gun. They rolled again until both of them were covered in mud and she could no longer see the gun.

Wade was tiring, she realized. Zack almost had him overpowered.

And then the gun went off.

Her breath tangling in her lungs, Cassie could only stare at the two men still snarled together as the echo of the gunshot boomed across the mountainside.

Which one had been hit?

She felt a scream build up inside her an instant later,
when Zack slumped over on his back, a crimson stain blossoming across his chest. The breath she had been holding escaped with a hollow gurgle and she swayed, her vision dimming around the edges.

Wade stood over him, wiping the blood that still seeped from his broken nose with the back of his hand. “Stupid bastard,” he growled, his breathing ragged.

The words and the angry disdain behind them spurred her to action. Praying for strength, she hefted the stone high above her head and rushed toward him, bringing the heavy weight crashing down against his head with her last ounce of energy.

It struck with the same hollow, thumping sound of a car driving over a pumpkin.

He crumpled to the ground, out cold, and she snatched the gun out of his motionless hand, then rushed to Zack.

The wound was bleeding profusely, seeping out in all directions, and she did her best to stanch the flow with his sweater.

Dear God. Please let him be all right.

“Why did you have to be such a damn hero?” she growled.

His breathing was irregular, and beneath his tan, his face wore an unnatural pallor. He grabbed her hand and his grip was weak. “Cass, I'm sorry.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For making you cry. I hate making you cry.” He coughed and more blood bubbled out of his wound, then his eyes fluttered shut again and stayed that way.

“You are not going to die,” she vowed, only vaguely aware of the tears seeping down her cheeks to mix with the rain. “I'm not letting you leave me again.”

She had to get him dry and go for help but she knew she didn't have much time. Wade could wake up any moment. He wouldn't have the gun since the cold weight of it was tucked into the waistband of her jeans, but he could still finish Zack off if he regained consciousness before she returned with help.

Although she knew it would take precious moments, she knew she had to secure him somehow. How? she wondered, near frantic. The horses! Zack's horse and the buckskin both had coiled ropes hanging from their saddles.

With fear for Zack coursing through her veins, she ran down the deer trail, slipping and sliding through the mud in her haste. When she reached the horses, she grabbed as much rope as she could find, then untied the reins of Zack's big blood bay and vaulted into the saddle.

He was much more surefooted than she had been as they rode up the narrow trail toward the cabin.

She wanted to rush to Zack first but she could see that Wade was already beginning to stir. He hadn't regained full consciousness and she contemplated hitting him again with the rock. But it was one thing to bean a man who had just shot the man you loved. It was quite another to strike an inert figure who was still only half-conscious.

Before he could come back all the way, she quickly shoved him over with a knee in his back and trussed his hands together behind him, deeply grateful for all the time Matt had spent with her teaching her how to hitch a good knot.

She left him with his face in the mud while she tied his legs together then used the other rope to bind him to the nearest tree, a sturdy pine.

Only after he was secured could she turn her attention to Zack. She skidded toward him, sick to see how much the angry red stain on his sweater had spread in the five minutes she'd been gone. “Zack. Come on. Wake up. We've got to get you to the cabin so you can stay dry while I go for help. Please! Wake up.”

Her breath came out in heaving sobs when he didn't even flutter his eyelids and she whispered a plea for help. What could she do? Even on a good day, she didn't have the strength to drag two hundred pounds of hard-muscled man that far—especially not one bleeding heavily from a gunshot wound to the chest.

And this had
not
been a good day.

She had to get help fast, but she couldn't leave him here like this in the rain. Her mind whirled through her options for a few seconds, then she somehow managed to haul him a few feet until he lay under the spreading branches of a nearby spruce tree.

He didn't move at all while she situated him but she blocked her mind from the very real possibility that his gunshot wound might prove fatal.

She wasn't going to let him die.

Quickly rifling through the bay's saddlebags, she found the emergency survival kit Jean always insisted the Lost Creek guests rode with. Inside among the other supplies was a thin plastic rain jacket and an emergency space blanket.

She worked as fast as she could, wrapping his own slicker—the one he had lent her—around him along with the rain jacket, then she constructed a primitive rain shelter over his upper body by draping the silvery material of the blanket over the branches just above his head.

That would keep the worst of the rain away from him, at least.

It was only after she finished that she realized her vision was obstructed not from the elements but from the steady tears that still coursed down her cheeks.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur as she bowed low over the horse's head and raced through the darkness toward the Lost Creek. Fortunately, Zack's horse was as eager to be home as she and he knew the trail far better.

By the time she reached the ranch, the adrenaline rush that had carried her through the last hour, since that horrible discovery in Wade's kitchen, began to ebb. Every muscle in her body strained and ached and she could barely manage to breathe past the cold ball of helpless dread lodged in her throat.

At the ranch she was baffled to see several police vehicles parked out front, Jesse's Bronco among them. How had he known? she wondered as she burst up the stairs and into the lodge with her last ounce of energy.

Her brother was standing just inside the door, surrounded by what looked like the entire Salt River police force. His face went slack with shock when he saw her.

“Please. I need help.” It was the only thing she could manage to say through her racing lungs.

Jesse rushed to her, taking in her bedraggled state and the blood and muck she knew was smeared all over her soaked sweatshirt. “Cassie. What the hell happened? Are you hurt?” His eyes sharpened with anger. “Where is he? Where is that son of a bitch? If he hurt you, I swear I'm going to rip him apart with my bare hands.”

She blinked, finally realizing how odd it was to find
him at the ranch. He had no way of knowing what Wade had done.

“What are you doing here?” she managed to ask, her voice weak and raspy.

“I've come for Slater. No way in hell was I going to let the bastard skip town. I finally managed to convince the county attorney to file charges against him for killing Melanie.”

She gazed at her brother's hard, angry features. Of course, she thought hysterically, what else would he be doing? He was here to arrest Zack, who even now lay bleeding to death because he had stepped in front of a bullet.

For her.

The trauma and terror and terrible fear that had been nipping at her heels finally caught up with her.

She began to laugh, a bitter, grating, horrible sound. “You can't arrest him, Jesse. Not if he's already dead.”

H
e awoke to grinding, white-hot pain just below his left collarbone and the disorienting sensation of knowing he was in a completely unfamiliar place.

It had to be some kind of hospital. The walls were white, clinical, and he could hear the whoosh and beep of medical equipment. He looked down and saw a bandage wrapped around his chest.

What happened? Where the hell was he?

He closed his eyes, trying to remember what might have brought him here. For a moment he had only brief fragments of memory. Images, really.

Cassie.

A rainy mountainside.

Lowry…

He hitched in a breath as memories tumbled back like hard stones being thrown at him. Lowry. Cassie. A bitter struggle.

Where was she? Had she been hurt?

He had to find her! He struggled to rise, but a steady hand suddenly held him down. “Whoa there, cowboy. You don't want to move too much, I promise, or you're going to find yourself in a world of hurt.”

A man with a steely gray buzz cut and a white coat stood over him writing on a clipboard. He knew this man. He squinted, trying to place him, then it came to him. Old Doc Wallace at the Salt River Clinic.

He swallowed, aware suddenly that his throat felt as if he'd gulped down a plateful of desert sand.

“Cassie,” he managed to rasp out.

The doctor gestured with his thumb toward the door, where Zack thought he heard raised voices.

Hers, he realized. Sweet relief coursed through him. She couldn't have been hurt too badly if she was outside his door yelling at someone. He thought he heard the words
owe
and
apology
and
pigheaded.

“Who else?” he asked.

Doc Wallace rolled his eyes. “Whole damn town, seems like. Her whole family got here right after they brought you in. I believe Chief Harte is the one being, uh, reprimanded out there. Jean Martineau and most of her Lost Creek staff showed up a few minutes ago. I think the police officers who rode up that mountain after you and Lowry are still hanging around. You're quite the hero. Lowry, in case you're wondering, has a concussion but he's being treated at the sick bay over at the jail.”

Zack closed his eyes again, remembering those terrible moments on the trail when he was sure the son of a bitch was going to kill them both. When he had known he wouldn't be able to save her.

“Cassie's okay? You're sure?”

“More scared than anything. She had a mild case of hypothermia but she's fine.”

The doc finished scribbling in the chart, then closed it with a wry smile. “Since you haven't bothered to ask about yourself, I'll tell you anyway. You are one lucky cowboy. I don't know how but that bullet missed just about everything important. You lost a lot of blood but you're stable enough now that I can send you on to Idaho Falls for surgery.”

Surgery. Great. He grimaced. He hated hospitals, always had. But they sure beat the alternative—bleeding to death in the muddy mountainside above the Lost Creek.

As if he'd read his thoughts, the doc gestured toward the door to the trauma room. The shouting had died down, Zack noted. “That's one hell of a woman you got there,” Wallace said. “You never would have made it if she'd had one ounce less grit.”

Zack wanted to correct him but he didn't. Yeah, Cassie was one hell of a woman. He would never argue there.

But she wasn't his.

He remembered her kneeling next to him, tears coursing down her cheeks, and his chest felt tight and achy from more than just a lousy bullet hole.

“She's itching to come in,” the doc said. “You up to a visitor?”

He nodded and kept his gaze trained on the door for the next few moments, trying not to focus on the pain, until she opened it cautiously, peeking around the door.

He was startled to see a whole crowd milling around outside behind her. What were they all doing there? An instant later she slipped inside the door, then closed it behind her, shutting out the noisy waiting area.

Her eyes looked red and puffy, and smears of shadow underscored them. She looked tired, he thought with concern. If he hadn't felt so weak himself, he would have ripped out this damn IV line and climbed right out of the bed so she could lie down for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, he had a sneaking suspicion he would end up on the floor if he tried it.

For all her fatigue, she moved quickly to his side. “How do you feel?”

“Like I've tangled with a couple of bull moose.” His voice sounded rough, raspy, and he cleared it before continuing. “The doc says I should be fine once they patch me up.”

“Oh, Zack. I'm so glad.” To his dismay, two tears slipped out from her spiky dark lashes and were quickly followed by several more.

He grabbed her hand and wrapped his fingers tightly around it. “Hey. Don't cry. Everything's okay.”

“I was so afraid you wouldn't make it.”

He squeezed her fingers. “The doc says I wouldn't have if you hadn't been there.”

“You wouldn't have been shot in the first place if not for me! I'm so sorry I dragged you into it.”

He breathed deeply of her wildflower scent. “Don't say that. I don't want to think about what might have happened if he had found you alone.”

“I would have figured something out,” she mumbled.

“Yeah. More beef and barley soup.”

Although he knew it wasn't wise, he couldn't restrain himself an instant longer. With his good arm he reached out and snagged his fingers in her hair, then brought her face to his. Her mouth tasted sweet and
pure and he wanted to stay there forever just drinking her in. “Thanks for saving my life,” he murmured.

She sniffled, and more tears slid down her cheeks. “Right back at you.”

She edged away, grabbing a tissue off the small table next to his bed. “Jean tells me you were planning on leaving tomorrow.”

The hurt in her eyes stabbed at him like a sharp scalpel. “I had to go, Cassie. I'm sorry. It was too hard staying here with the way things were between us.”

“The only reason for that was because of your stubbornness! You're the one who pushed me away.”

Only because he was trying to protect her, just as he had pushed her off the trail to safety so he could take on Lowry. He didn't know how to answer, so decided to keep his mouth shut.

After a moment she spoke again. “So Doc says you'll probably have to spend a few days at the medical center in Idaho Falls. Will you be heading to Denver when you get out?”

Did she want him to go? Was this her way of telling him to get lost?

“I don't know. I guess that's something I'll have to figure out.”

“Well, let me know when you make up your mind.”

The scalpel twisted a little harder. “I will.”

“Good.” She paused. “I just want to know what forwarding address to give my family.”

He stared at her, his vision a little gray around the edges. The damn medications must be making his head fuzzy. “What did you just say?”

She gazed back with an innocent expression. “You don't really think I'm going to let you just ride off into the sunset again, do you?”

He cleared his throat. “Cassie…”

“No. I'm sorry, Zack, but this time I'm sticking to you like flypaper. Wherever you go, I'm going right along with you. Denver. Durango. Timbuktu. It doesn't matter.”

Dazed by her conviction, he could only stare at her for several long moments. “You would be willing to leave your family?” he asked when he could find his voice again. “Star Valley? Everything you love here? All for some no-account drifter?”

She shook her head emphatically. “No. But I would leave in a heartbeat for you.”

Gripping his hand tightly, she brought it to her chest, where he felt her heartbeat strong and true beneath her shirt. “I love you, Zack Slater. I have never stopped loving you. When I saw you lying so still on that mountainside, I realized nothing else matters but that. Whatever happened in the past can stay there for all I care. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us and we can build whatever kind of future we want.”

“What do you see in that future?” He found he was suddenly desperate to know exactly where she was heading with this.

“Simple. We're going to get married and have babies together and live happily ever after.”

Oh, hell. He felt the sting of tears behind his own eyes as wave after wave of love for her washed over him, purifying him, healing him. He could see that future vividly, and he wanted to reach for it so fiercely he trembled with it.

“Is that a proposal?” he managed to ask through the joy exploding inside him.

She smiled that slow, sweet Cassie smile that had
haunted him for so long, for all the years and miles between them.

“No, Slater,” she murmured softly against his mouth. “It's a promise.”