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

woods overnight,” Slade said, handing out the protein bars.

“Overnight?” Chelsey looked horrified, the protein bar in her hand temporarily forgotten. “Won’t we reach Moose by nightfall?”

Slade looked to Duncan for help.

“May I borrow your compass?” Duncan asked him.

“Sure.” The marshal handed it over.

He held up the compass, verifying their course. He pictured the map in his head, the one he and Brett had reviewed as they were discussing hiking trails. From what he could tell, they were headed in the correct direction, but how far had they come?

He had no idea.

“We’ll do our best, Chelsey,” he whispered. “But you need to know there is a possibility we won’t make it to Moose before dark.”

She lowered her chin, staring down at the ground for several seconds before nodding. “Okay.”

He longed to pull her into his arms, to tell her everything would be all right and he’d always keep her safe. But it wasn’t his nature to make promises he couldn’t keep.

Especially to Chelsey, who deserved so much better.

The leaves pinned in her hair itched, the branches stuck into her T-shirt scraped against her skin. She hadn’t thought things could get worse, but at the moment it was all Chelsey could do not to break down and cry.

Stupid problems, really, compared to being safe. But she felt as if bugs and spiders were crawling around on her skin beneath her clothes and she absolutely hated creepy crawlies.

It was all so overwhelming. They went from being in danger to being safe, then more danger, until she began to wonder if she’d ever, in this lifetime, feel safe again.

She took a bite of the protein bar, reveling in the taste. The cold beef stew they’d eaten was hours ago, and her stomach had been rumbling for the past ninety minutes. Likely loud enough for Slade to hear, which is why he’d taken a break.

She hated feeling as if she was slowing them down. Her feet were beginning to burn with blisters, and she couldn’t wait to get someplace to shower, change and tend to her aches and pains.

Which reminded her of Duncan’s injury. She turned toward him. “How’s your arm?”

“Fine.” He didn’t even look down at it.

Slade frowned. “I have a first aid kit.”

Duncan shrugged. “No point in fixing it up now, while we’re still hiking through the woods. I’ll clean it up again when we reach Moose.”

When we reach Moose. Not if. Chelsey held on to that thought as they once again trekked down the mountain.

Their progress was slow. Slade abruptly stopped, lifting his hand, cautioning them to be silent. She held her breath, but then he turned to look at her and Duncan.

“We’re close,” he said. His green eyes were bright with excitement. “I think Moose is only about a mile from here.”

“How do you know?” Chelsey whispered. She could see only trees. Endless trees.

“Listen,” Slade urged.

She listened, but still didn’t hear anything. But then she heard it, the faint echo of music. Country and western music.

“I’m glad Moose isn’t far, but we still need to be careful in case the sniper is tracking us,” Duncan cautioned.

“Yep.” Slade grinned. “At least we won’t have to spend the night on the mountain.”

“Roger that,” Duncan muttered.

Chelsey wholeheartedly agreed. To know the end of this unnerving hike was so close filled her with eager anticipation. This time, when Slade gave the signal to continue moving down the trail, she found it easy to ignore the blisters on her feet, to forget about the leaves and twigs sticking all over her body, itching like mad.

Even a town as small as Moose must have a motel room with a bed, right? And real food? They wouldn’t need to eat cold soup out of cans or more protein bars.

What she wouldn’t give for a thick, juicy steak.

She concentrated on the soft echo of music, using it as a beacon calling them to safety. The music grew slightly louder, and she found herself silently singing along with the old country and western song.

Slade must have felt they were out of danger, because he picked up the pace. It wasn’t easy for her to follow, the overly large hiking boots clumsy and awkward.

“Easy, Slade,” Duncan called. “We can’t run down the mountain.”

The marshal shot a guilty look over his shoulder. “Sorry. I just want to get Chelsey to safety.”

“We both do,” Duncan said.

“All of us need to be safe,” she corrected. “I’m sure by now Duncan is a target, too. Especially after the way he took care of the assailant.”

“What assailant?” Slade asked with a scowl. “You didn’t mention that earlier.”

“I’ll explain later,” Duncan advised.

The woods around them thinned as they grew closer to the base of the mountain. Chelsey felt almost light-headed with relief.

They were going to make it.

Without warning, the crack of a gunshot rang out, followed by a second one. Chelsey froze, but Duncan yanked her down to the ground beside him.

Slade had whirled around and dropped to his knees while drawing his weapon, his gaze raking the area.

“I knew there was a sniper back there,” Duncan whispered harshly.

“Anyone hurt?” Slade asked.

Chelsey looked down at herself, taking in the baggy jeans cinched around her waist and the long T-shirt. No blood, thankfully. “I’m okay,” she managed.

“Me, too.” Duncan’s expression was grim. “Lead the way to shelter, Slade.”

“But aren’t we heading down toward Moose? It’s not that far,” Chelsey protested.

“Not yet,” Duncan said. “Not while this guy has a scope trained on us.”

She stared at him in horror. “You mean we have to wait him out?”

Duncan grimaced. “I’m afraid so. We should be able to move once it’s dark.”

Dark? She swallowed a cry and turned to look in the direction the music was coming from. From here, she could just make out a scattering of buildings, still too far to see details, but enough to know they’d be safe.

A wave of despair hit hard. Moose, Wyoming, was so close, yet so far away.

SEVEN

Duncan had suspected the shooter, if there was one, would wait until they had