Wyoming Mountain Escape by Laura Scott (types of ebook readers .TXT) 📗

spending the night, there was no way to do that now. Not when he knew full well danger was lurking out there, waiting for them.

Seeing nothing out of place, he eased outside. Chelsey was behind him, and he reached out to take her hand in his.

They could move easier now, and he wanted to get as far from the cabin as possible. If the shooter had a scope and managed to see the cabin, he’d know to head over and look for them there.

Duncan wanted to be long gone before anyone arrived.

“Where are we going?” Chelsey asked, as he melted into the forest.

“Mostly due east.” He kept his voice low. “I think there’s a small town at the base of the mountain in that direction. If we can find the trail it should take us directly there. Brett mentioned hiking it once.”

She nodded. “The town of Moose is at the base of Moose Mountain. But it’s very small, not a lot of people.”

He shrugged and kept moving. “I don’t need a lot of people, just a way to reach the authorities.”

“Sounds good.” Chelsey fell silent, although he was glad she was able to keep up with him as they made their way through the woods. He wanted time to stop and eat, but needed to be sure they were safe first.

They hiked for nearly an hour before Duncan gave her the sign to stop. He’d filled the canteen at a nearby spring, offering it to Chelsey first.

She took a swig, then tried to hand it back. He gestured for her to drink more. “We have to keep hydrated, remember? And there are many streams around here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she took another, longer drink. He took the canteen and helped himself, then glanced around.

“I think we should take a quick break and eat the beef stew.”

Hope flared in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” His military training had taught him to survive on less, but it had been several years since he’d gone without rations for twenty-four hours. He could push on, but that wasn’t fair to Chelsey.

She needed to keep her strength up. And food was critical to that goal.

He knelt on the ground and opened the makeshift pack. The cans of soup would be good, too, but salty without the ability to water them down a bit.

“Are we eating it cold?” Chelsey asked, sitting on the ground next to him.

“Yes.” Using the knife he’d taken from the assailant, he opened the cans of beef stew and offered one to Chelsey. They didn’t have utensils, so he handed her his penknife, choosing to use the large sharp knife for himself.

Even cold, the beef stew tasted good, satisfying the rumbling in his stomach. Glancing at Chelsey, he took note of how she’d eaten hers with gusto, too.

“Never thought a can of cold beef stew could be so delicious,” she said with a wry smile.

He let out a low chuckle. “Agreed.”

“Now what?”

“I’m sorry, but we have to keep moving.” He placed the empty cans and the canteen back in the makeshift pack. “It’s best if we make the most of the daylight.”

“It seems like we’ve been walking for hours, but I understand. We should wash the wound on your arm first, though, while we have fresh water.” She pushed to her feet with a determined look on her face.

He reluctantly nodded. “Okay.”

Her gaze was earnest as she washed the nearly three-inch laceration on his arm. “I wish we had bandages,” she muttered.

“Soon,” he promised.

“Okay.” She stepped back and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Let’s do this.”

He estimated the time was just after nine in the morning, so she was right about how it felt as if they’d been walking for hours.

They had been. But they were making good time now which gave him hope. As much as he didn’t want to use the normal trails, he felt they needed to get back to civilization as soon as possible.

The bad guys were still out there, and he wasn’t sure how many of them there were. The guy who’d attacked him, and the sniper for sure.

How many others? He had no idea.

As he picked up the pace he wondered whether or not the local authorities were out searching for him and Chelsey yet. After all, they’d taken off from the scene of a crime. His first instinct had been to keep Chelsey out of harm’s way, but now they needed help from the local police, or park rangers.

Any law enforcement agency would do.

He pulled his cell phone out and held it up again. The screen was completely blank. He pressed the power button to be sure, but still nothing.

Dead as a doorknob.

He tucked it away and continued searching for the trail he desperately hoped wasn’t too far off. Although what he knew about the Grand Tetons would fill a postcard.

A rustling noise made him stop dead, holding up a hand to warn Chelsey not to say anything. A tall man wearing a cowboy hat, of all things, emerged from the brush to his right, as if he’d come up alongside them.

Duncan reached for the gun, but the man held up his weapon and pointed at the star pinned to his shirt. “Don’t. I’m Slade Brooks from the US Marshals Service.”

With one hand, Duncan tried to tuck Chelsey behind him as he eyed the stranger. The silver star on his chest looked real, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was one of the good guys.

“How did you find us?” Duncan asked, trying to come up with an escape plan. This guy stumbling across them was too much of a coincidence.

“I’ve been looking for you both since you took off after Brett Thompson was shot and killed.” The marshal didn’t move. “I picked up your trail early this morning, following bits of fabric from Ms. Robards’s wedding dress.”

Duncan narrowed his gaze. “If that’s true, why wait until now to come out of hiding?”

“I wasn’t exactly right behind you,” Brooks said. “Tracking is one of