He roared, aimed a quick glance at his left arm, where a red stain was blooming over the edge of his sleeve, but he never stopped coming. “You shot me!”
Emma stumbled backward, fumbling with the repeater’s lever, desperate to get another cartridge in the chamber. Then her heel caught on a tree root. She threw out an arm to grab the tree, leaving the rifle unprotected. With one swing of his arm, Angus knocked the weapon from her hand.
Emma yelped. She turned to flee, but Angus was too fast. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her up against his side. She pounded her fists against his arm, fighting to pry herself free, but his grip was as unyielding as iron.
“Let me go!” She kicked and squirmed, fighting desperately for her freedom. He laughed at her puny efforts.
Then she recalled his injury. Throwing her weight sideways, she flung her right arm across her body and slammed a fist into his bloodied left shoulder. A grunt of pain cut off his laughter. But he didn’t drop her as she’d hoped. Instead his right arm tightened about her waist and his left rose in retaliation.
His fist slammed into the side of her head. Her body fell limp as her brain struggled to keep its faltering grasp on consciousness. Pain throbbed inside her skull. Her vision blurred. She heard a woman’s cry of outrage, but she couldn’t seem to get her head to turn to see what was going on.
“Stop, Angus!” Flora cried, a little more strength to her voice. “You hurt her, and Shaw will kill you.”
“Shaw don’t scare me. He can’t even find me. Ha!” Angus shifted his hold on Emma, spinning her around to face him.
The sudden movement shot a host of tiny needles through her head. She moaned and squeezed her eyes closed. Then, just as the edges of pain started to dull, he tossed her up over his shoulder, belly down, head and arms thumping against his back as he clasped her legs. Her breath left her in a whoosh. Her head felt like it was splitting in two. Digging deep into her reserves, she found the strength to reach up and press the heels of her hands against her pounding temples. The motion lessened. The pain lessened. She pushed harder, trying to somehow contain the ache so she could think.
Angus stepped around his wife, who had managed to partially sit up, propping herself up with one arm. As he moved past, Emma raised up just enough to see Flora. The woman’s face was battered and bloody, her body curled in on itself to protect her abused middle. Suddenly the pain in Emma’s head didn’t seem nearly as significant. Not when one of her ladies had endured so much worse.
The two women locked gazes. Flora’s full of apology. Emma’s with compassion. Then Angus’s voice shattered the moment.
“If Shaw manages to find you before the animals do, Flora, give him a message for me.” Angus paused then spun around to face his wife, swinging Emma away from her. “Tell him that if he wants to see his little banker friend alive again, he better clear out all them females from my town by tomorrow morning. Otherwise I’ll clear them out myself with bullets, and the first one I fire will go into this one’s heart.” He smacked Emma’s behind with the flat of his hand, then turned and strode with a fast pace deeper into the woods.
“I’m done playing, banker lady,” he grumbled as he pushed through the brush. “Done panderin’ to my wife’s sensibilities and my boy’s youth. I tried to clear y’all out the nice way, but you were too stupid to take the hint. So if Shaw don’t do it for me, I’ll start pickin’ off your pack one by one. They’ll never even see me comin’.”
“That’s mur . . . der.” The bouncing stride cut the moaned word in half. Not that her proclamation mattered. Angus just shrugged, jostling Emma even more.
“Nah. It’s consequences. You were warned. Now you’ll pay the price for your lack of cooperation.”
A rustling to Emma’s right shot hope through her heart. Had Malachi found her? Please, Lord, let it be him. It took her a moment to realize the sound was coming from the north, from deeper in the woods, farther from town.
Angus heard it, too. He froze, yanked a revolver from his left-side holster, then whistled a deep-toned birdcall. A second call, nearly identical, answered. Angus put his gun away.
Emma’s hope faded.
A tall, thin man pushed through the trees to Emma’s right. No, not a man, she realized as she caught a glimpse of his face. A boy.
“Pa! Everythin’ all right? I heard a shot.”
“Everything’s fine, boy. It’ll be even finer by tomorrow. Found me some insurance.” He swatted Emma’s rear again.
She gritted her teeth as disgust surged through her, but when the youngster walked over to examine her, his eyes unsure, almost apologetic, she knew she had one last chance.
“Ned,” she whispered, recalling the name Flora had used. “Your mother’s hurt back there. You have to help—”