The second shot had been meant for her. It was the only explanation. Otherwise, why hadn’t the shooter taken off, disappearing amid the chaos?
Duncan had been in Jackson, Wyoming, for only five days, but from the moment he’d arrived, he’d sensed there was something going on with Brett.
The guy had been skittish, constantly looking over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to come up and grab him from behind. When Duncan had pressed him for information, Brett had shrugged off his concerns, focusing instead on how fortunate he was to have Chelsey as his fiancée. That he couldn’t wait to marry her.
Now Brett was dead. Shot at his own wedding. Duncan’s heart ached for what Chelsey had lost today. Not just a friend but her soon-to-be husband. He didn’t blame her for falling apart.
Chelsey stirred in his embrace and he reluctantly loosened his grip. “Better?”
She nodded and pushed a strand of her wavy golden-blond hair from her cheek. “I’m sorry to break down like that.”
“Hey, you’re entitled after everything you’ve been through. I’m so sorry about Brett. I know the reality probably hasn’t hit you yet, but I’m here for you, when it does.”
She stared down at the ground for a long moment. “Thanks.”
He glanced around. “I really need to find us water and shelter.”
“My shoes are about to fall apart.” She gestured to her mud-stained slipper-like shoes. “I’m not sure they’ll hold up to more hiking.”
The thought of her being barefoot concerned him. He lightly touched her bedraggled wedding gown. She’d looked so amazingly beautiful as she’d come toward Brett, but the poor dress had taken a beating during their mad dash through the woods. “I have a pocketknife. I think we should rip strips off your gown and wrap them around your feet.”
“That might work.” She didn’t look upset at the thought of destroying her gown. Not that it was salvageable at this point anyway.
“Here.” He dug the penknife out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Work on that while I’m gone.”
She took the knife and picked up her voluminous skirt. Without hesitation, she sliced through the fabric and began sawing back and forth, creating the strips he’d suggested.
He eased to his feet and hurried off toward the sound of trickling water. The Tetons had snowcapped peaks even in June and he knew much of the water was melted snow. Pure enough, he hoped, that they wouldn’t get sick.
Once he’d secured a water source, he could focus on a shelter and building a fire. Thankfully, his time in the army and being deployed overseas to serve in Afghanistan had provided the survival skills he needed to keep them safe.
The water wasn’t far, a couple of yards and he stretched out on the ground, lowering his mouth to the stream to take a drink. They hadn’t climbed up as much as they’d headed west, but it wouldn’t take long for them to feel the change in altitude. Keeping well hydrated was critical.
Now all he needed was a way to carry the water back to Chelsey. Too bad they hadn’t gone on the run with a water bottle. He stripped off the jacket of his tux and examined the pockets. They were a blend of polyester and cotton—not waterproof by any means, but it was possible they’d hold enough water for her to take a few sips.
After filling the pocket with water, he quickly carried it back to where Chelsey waited. The water seeped from the seams but remained halfway full by the time he offered it to her.
She eagerly drank, looking disappointed when it was gone.
“I’ll get more,” he promised. “But it would be easier if you could walk over there. It’s not far.”
“I only have two strips cut so far.” She held up her work.
“Here, let me wrap these around your feet—that should hold for now. We can cut more later.”
The strips helped to hold the flimsy shoes in place. He helped her stand and showed her the way to the brook. Once she’d taken her fill of water, she sat back with a sigh. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.”
He nodded, glancing around the area. “I need to find us shelter for the night.”
“For the night?” Her voice rose in alarm. “We’re staying out here all night?”
“Chelsey, we don’t have another option. It’s already eighteen hundred hours. I mean, six o’clock in the evening. Even with daylight savings time, the sun will be hidden behind the mountains soon. It will be dark here in the forest—we can’t risk hiking at night.”
“Why can’t we go back to the hotel? I’m sure it’s safe, the gunman is probably already under arrest.”
He wasn’t at all convinced. “Remember the second gunshot we heard?” When she nodded, he said gently, “Who do you think they were shooting at, considering Brett was already dead from being shot in the heart?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a long moment her voice came out in a squeaky tone. “Me? You think he was shooting at me?”
He hated upsetting her, but she needed to understand the scope of what they were dealing with. He glanced around again and gestured to the right. “I think that might be a small cave in the side of the mountain. I’m going to take a quick look.”
This time, she didn’t protest, clearly reeling from the idea that someone had just tried to kill her.
The cave was more of a shallow curvature in the rock. It wasn’t much. In fact, he didn’t think both of them would fit sitting together within the indentation. But Chelsey was slim and petite. She could use it and he would sit outside the opening, keeping the fire going.
He returned to get Chelsey, who took another long drink of water before following him to the shelter. She didn’t look impressed but sank down and leaned against the rocky wall anyway.
Scouting the area for firewood didn’t take long,
