Page 76 of If the Boot Fits

Kendrick dragged the boy backward to the small cabin that must be his private quarters. Asher spotted a swishing horse’s tail peeking from behind the edge of the building. Seemed the man had an exit strategy.

“Follow me, and the boy’s dead!” Kendrick brought the gun up to point at Clint’s head as he backed toward the cabin. “You hear me, Jeter? I spot anyone on my trail, and I’ll kill him.”

Asher prayed it was a bluff. Surely the man wouldn’t kill his own son. Then again, what father would use his child as a human shield or point a loaded gun at his head? No telling what he would do if he felt cornered.

“You won’t get away with this, Kendrick,” Jeter yelled from his position hunkering behind the corral’s water trough.

Duke made no reply, just disappeared behind the cabin. A knife twisted in Asher’s heart. That could be Jack or Fergus. Overpowered by a ruthless man. Helpless to escape. He scrambled to his feet, gun still drawn. He took two steps toward the cabin, desperate to charge after them. But rushing to the rescue might get Clint killed.

Asher diverted to the house instead.

“Check on the folks inside,” Sheriff Jeter called. “I’ll gather the men and set out after him.”

“What about—?”

“We’ll stay back far enough to keep out of sight, but I aim to track him. He had to have stashed money and supplies somewhere. Can’t make a run without ’em. When he stops, we can close the gap. If one of the men has an idea about where he might be headed, we might even manage to circle around and take him by surprise.”

“Be careful out there, Sheriff. Cornered animals are the most dangerous.”

The sounds of horse hooves drew the gazes of both men toward the back of Kendrick’s cabin. A horse and rider sped away—a rider with a now limp youngster draped over his lap.

The sheriff muttered under his breath. “Animal’s right. God help that boy.”

Asher repeated the prayer as he turned away from the sight and hurried into the house. An invisible tourniquet tightened around his chest as he stepped into the kitchen. Dread sat heavy in his gut as he braced himself for what he might find.

“Samantha?”

He didn’t see her at first. A plump grandmotherly woman fluttered around by the cabinets closest to the door, grabbing tea towels. The tail of her long silver braid nearly flicked him in the face as she spun around with a gasp at his entrance. In a blink, she had a wicked-looking carving knife in her hand.

“Who are you?”

“Asher Ellis, ma’am. I’m here to help. Is—” He choked a bit. “Is Samantha injured?”

The woman deflated and dropped the knife on the counter with a clatter. “No, thank the Lord, but Mr. Dearing’s in a bad way.”

She stepped aside, and Asher strode past, his gaze scanning the room as he moved. There. Behind the table.

He lurched forward, pushing a chair out of his way as he went. Eli Dearing lay on the floor, blood seeping from a wound beneath his left shoulder. Samantha knelt at his side, leaning over him as she tried to staunch the flow with her petticoat. Her hands were stained with blood, and when she turned her face at Asher’s approach, his heart throbbed at the tears streaming down her face.

“I have to save him.” Her voice sounded so lost, so small. “Help me save him.”

“I will.” God willing.

Tea towels suddenly materialized above him. “Here. Use these.”

Asher nodded to the woman he assumed to be Mrs. Stewart, the cook Samantha had told him stories about. He took the clean white towels and folded them into dressings.

“Is it safe to go outside?” Mrs. Stewart asked. “I need to send Martin to fetch the doctor.”

“Yes. You’ll need to catch him quickly, though,” Asher said, darting a glance the cook’s way before refocusing on his folding. “Sheriff Jeter is rounding up the men to form a posse to go after Kendrick.”

“I still can’t believe it. Mr. Dearing has always treated Duke like a member of the family. Why on earth would he turn on us like this? And Clint? If he hurts that boy—” A small sob cut her words off.

“Get Martin,” Asher reminded her. Now wasn’t the time for fretting, especially not in front of Samantha. She had enough heartache on her plate.

After Mrs. Stewart left, Asher gently touched Samantha’s arm. She sniffed, then twisted her face toward him.

“I’m going to open his shirt so we can get a proper dressing on his wound, all right?” He waited for her nod. “Once that’s done, you can peel back your petticoat, and I’ll add the towels.”