Because there was something in his DNA that wouldn’t let him. That and arrogance, he thought. Then again, a part of him believed he could get away. He knew this mountain. He knew how to get off it to the closest ranch. He knew how to get help from someone who wouldn’t call the cops. He could get away and save himself, and knowing that was what kept him going.
What he didn’t know was how badly Jinx had been hit. He’d felt her drop to the ground when he’d released her. There’d been blood everywhere. He hadn’t known if it was his or hers. Now he knew that at least part of it was his. But he was sure she’d been hit. Who had fired the shot, though? Not the wrangler. Maybe one of his buddies. Or maybe even Max. Max hated him, just as Jinx’s father had.
He pushed those thoughts away as he ran, one surfacing that made him stumble and almost fall. What if Jinx was dead?
The thought hit him so hard that he had trouble staying on his feet. He loved her. His heart broke at the thought that she might be gone. He knew he’d said he was going to kill her—and he might have—but it wasn’t what he’d wanted. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. He wasn’t sure he ever would have been able to.
He’d just had to let her know he wouldn’t be simply sent away like some orphan child she was tired of having around. He thought of his mother who’d deserted him when he was nine. He remembered standing at the window, snot running from his nose as he cried and pleaded for her not to leave.
His father had found him and practically tore off his arm as he’d jerked him away from the window. “I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life if you don’t quit crying. She’s gone. Accept it. I have. I never want to hear her name spoken in this house again. Now man up. You and me? We’re on our own so make the best of it.”
The memory still hurt. He had to stop for moment to catch his breath. Each breath was now a labor. What if the bullet had clipped one of his lungs? What if it was filling with blood right now?
T.D. knew he had to keep moving—even if it killed him. He took off again, holding his hand wrapped in his bandanna over his wound, aware that the bandanna was soaked with his blood.
Growing more light-headed, he felt as if he’d been running his whole life. He was a runner like his mother, he thought. She had gotten away. He feared he wouldn’t be so lucky.
Chapter Sixteen
Angus stopped to look ahead in the pines. Had he lost T.D.? He glanced down and saw a drop of blood on the dried pine needles. He looked for another and saw it a few yards away. The blood drops were getting farther apart and smaller, which meant the man wasn’t bleeding as badly as he’d been earlier. He would soon be harder to trail. He had to find him before that. He had to find him before he got away. T.D. knew this mountain. He would know how to escape—if he was able.
Angus stared into the shadows of the dense pines, looking for movement, listening for even the sound of a twig snapping. He heard nothing, saw nothing move. He knew T.D. wasn’t armed. He knew that the man had dropped the gun he’d been holding to Jinx’s head. Unless he had another weapon on him, he was at a distinct disadvantage that way.
However, T.D. had one very good advantage. He was somewhere ahead, and he had enough of a head start that he could be lying in wait somewhere up there. Angus would be expecting an ambush, but would he get a chance to fire his pistol before T.D. sprung his own trap?
It was still a mystery as to who had shot T.D. and Jinx. The rifle report had echoed across the mountain. He’d thought it had come from behind him, but he couldn’t be sure. The gunshot had startled them all—even T.D. Angus remembered the sound of a rider taking off not long after the second shot.
Now as he searched the ground for more blood, he worried about Jinx and his brother. He knew that Ella was with Brick, and Max with Jinx. Help had arrived and they both were getting treated for their injuries. Still, a part of him wanted to turn back even though he knew there was nothing he could do to help them.
This wasn’t his job, going after T. D. Sharp. He told himself to let him go as he heard one of the helicopters lift off again. Let the sheriff handle this. Anyway, T.D. might already be bleeding to death up here on this mountain like the wild animal he was.
But Angus didn’t turn back. He kept going, stubbornly, not willing to chance that the man might get away with what he’d done. Had T.D. heard the helicopters arrive and now begun to take off again? Would he head for them, choosing medical attention over freedom?
ELLA HELD BRICK’S hand in the helicopter on the way to the hospital. He was in and out of consciousness, but the EMTs had stopped the bleeding and were monitoring his vital signs. They weren’t as strong as they would like, they’d said.
She kept thinking about how he hadn’t wanted to come to Wyoming. How he’d wanted to go see that woman he liked up by the border. Had he sensed that coming here... She shoved the thought away, telling herself that none of them had known he would be shot. Even with
