Montana Sky

with her rifle in her hand, prepared for some faceless gunman to leap out at any moment and take aim. Overhead an eagle circled and called out in triumph. She counted the seconds away by her heartbeats, and bit down hard on her lip when she heard the echo of Ben’s rifle.
    “He made it to the stand of rocks.”
    She could see the cabin now, the sturdy wooden structure nestled on rocky ground. Inside, she thought, was safety. First aid for Adam, a radio to signal for help. Shelter.
    “Something’s wrong.” She heard herself say it before it became completely clear. A picture out of focus, a puzzle with pieces missing. “Someone’s shoveled a path,” she said slowly. “And there are tracks.” She took a deep breath. “I can still smell smoke.” Nothing puffed from the chimney, but she could catch the faint whiff of smoke in the air. “Can you?”
    “What?” Adam shook his head, fought to stay conscious. “No, I . . .” The world kept threatening to gray on him. He couldn’t feel his arm now, not even the pain.
    “It’s nothing.” Moving on instinct, Willa shoved her rifle back in its sheath, took Adam’s reins with her free hand. Inthe open or not, they would have to move quickly before he lost any more blood. “Nearly there, Adam. Hold on. Hold on to the horn.”
    “What?”
    “Hold on to the horn. Look at me.” She snapped it out so that his eyes cleared for a moment. “Hold on.”
    She kicked Moon into a gallop, shouting to urge Adam’s mount to keep pace. If Adam fell before they reached safety, she was prepared to leap down, drag him if necessary, and let the horses go.
    They burst into a flash of sunlight, blinding. Snow flew up from racing hooves like water spewing. She rode straight in the saddle, using her body to defend her brother’s. And every muscle was braced for that quick insult of steel into flesh.
    Rather than taking the cleared path, she drove the horses toward the south side of the cabin. Even when the shadow of the building fell over them, she didn’t relax. The sniper could be anywhere now. She dragged her weapon free, jumped the saddle, then fought the nearly waist-high snow to reach Adam as he swayed.
    “Don’t you pass out on me now.” Her breath burned in her lungs as she struggled to support him. His blood was warm on her hands. “Damned if I’m carrying you.”
    “Sorry. Hell. Just give me a second.” He needed all his concentration to beat back the dizziness. His vision was blurred around the edges, but he could still see. And he could still think. Well enough to know they wouldn’t be safe until they were inside the cabin walls. And even then . . .
    “Get inside. Fire off a shot to let Ben know. I’ll get the gear.”
    “The hell with the gear.” Willa steadied him against her side and dragged him toward the door.
    Too warm, she thought the minute she was inside the door. Pulling Adam toward a cot, she glanced at the fireplace. Nothing but ash and chunks of charred wood. But she could smell the memory of a recent fire.
    “Lie down. Hold on a minute.” Hurrying back to thedoor, she fired three times to signal Ben, then closed them in. “He’ll be right along,” she said, and prayed it was true. “We have to get your coat off.”
    Stop the bleeding, get a fire started, clean the wound, radio the ranch, worry for Ben.
    “I haven’t been much help,” Adam said, as she removed his coat.
    “Next time I’m shot you can be the tough one.” She choked off a gasp at the blood that soaked the sleeve of his shirt from shoulder to wrist. “Pain? How bad?”
    “Numb.” With a tired and objective eye, he studied the damage. “I think it passed through. I don’t think it’s so bad. Would’ve bled more if it hadn’t been so cold.”
    Would’ve bled less, Willa thought, ripping the sleeve aside, if they hadn’t been forced to ride like maniacs. She tore through the thermal shirt as well, felt her stomach heave mightily at the sight of torn and scored flesh.
    “I’m going to tie it up first, stop the bleeding.” She pulled out a bandanna as she spoke. “I’m going to get some heat in here, then we’ll clean it out and see what’s what.”
    “Check the windows.” He laid a hand on hers. “Reload your rifle.”
    “Don’t worry.” She tied the makeshift bandage snugly. “Lie back down before you faint. You’re beginning to look like a paleface.”
    She tossed a blanket over him, then rushed to the woodbox. Nearly empty, she