Alex clung to his neck, screaming, crying, praying they would miraculously survive this horror, praying that she would not be responsible for the death of another good man.
And then finally, finally, after a nightmarish eternity, it was over. The massive animals raced past them, the stampede rampaging toward the open range, fanning out in all directions. Still clinging to John, Alex watched with dazed wet eyes as the drovers galloped past in pursuit. Freddy and Les reined in, their faces white with fear, looked at her, then spurred their mounts and chased after the drovers and steers.
As the blood returned to Alex’s face and her arms and leg began to tingle, Grady, Luther, Ward, and even Jack Caldwell ran across the trampled ground. Luther picked up her toppled chair and Alex collapsed into it, shaking so badly that her teeth chattered and she couldn’t speak.
Grady stared at John. “That was the goddamnest thing I ever seen in my life!” Turning, hands on hips, he stared at the dead beeves that had saved their lives. “You can shoot a tough old longhorn six or seven times and not even slow him down. But you got three of them! Well sheeeeit. ‘Sense me, Alex. That was some shooting, son! You had to place those shots just right, and you sure enough did!”
John came to her and knelt beside her chair. Lifting her icy hands from her lap, he glanced at the abrasions she’d received on her palms when she spilled out of the chair, then he rubbed her fingers, trying to restore the circulation. White-faced and trembling, Alex gazed into his steady grey eyes. She couldn’t articulate what she felt; mere words couldn’t possibly convey the emotion swelling her heart. Fear, gratitude, awe. And an odd fringe of regret. There had been a moment when she welcomed the fact of her death and found relief in knowing her punishment would end.
And she felt love. Looking deeply into John’s eyes, she saw what she had never seen in Payton’s gaze. Hot tears burned her throat, and she covered her face with shaking hands. The sudden intensity of emotion confused and exhausted her.
Luther gripped the handles of her chair and pushed her toward camp. Grady remained behind, shaking his head over the dead steers. Jack strode back to camp. Ward walked on one side of her and John on the other, his comforting hand gentle on her shoulder.
“It’s a miracle the two of you weren’t killed,” Ward remarked, turning to inspect the cattle running across the range in all directions.
A glance at John’s frown told Alex that she hadn’t imagined Ward’s disappointment. And she wasn’t imagining the concern in John’s eyes. She covered his fingers with her own and smiled.
“I’m fine,” she assured him softly, knowing she didn’t look fine. Her skirt was soiled and torn. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders. “My hands and knees are scraped, but that’s the worst of it. After some coffee and a few minutes to collect myself, I’ll put some beans on the fire. They’ll hold until the boys come in.”
“Alex, for God’s sake.” They were the first words Luther had spoken. “You don’t come that close to dying, then minutes later prepare a meal as if nothing happened.”
She agreed with Luther, but she knew Dal wouldn’t. And she had grown enormously since the day she’d set her skirts afire. She would find the strength to do what she had to do. “If you want to help,” she suggested to Luther and John, “I’d appreciate it if you’d collect some prairie coal for the fire.” She’d lost her bag and stick. She couldn’t imagine herself ever again searching for cow pies if a single longhorn were in sight. But she would.
She had always been a woman who set standards of excellence. The change that had occurred during this drive was that now her standards concerned character. The realization made her smile. Her new standards were infinitely harder to meet.
While she drank a cup of black coffee and tried to calm herself, she remembered John’s strong arms crushing her close to his body. Pink infused her cheeks when she realized that would be her strongest memory. Not a near brush with death, not her terror, but John’s arms around her and the thrill of his warmth and strength and touch. She didn’t realize something had happened until she heard John draw a sharp breath, saw him set down his coffee and stand up beside her.
When Alex followed his gaze, her breath hitched and stopped, coffee spilled across her skirts. Dal was riding into camp, leading Freddy’s horse. Freddy lay crumpled over the horse’s neck, blood pasting her shirt to her shoulder and arm.
“The damned fool took a bullet in the shoulder, but she rode out anyway to round up steers,” Dal snapped, his face clamped in a scowl. He reined in front of Alex. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”
“Good God, no,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on Freddy. There was so much blood.