She heard bullets striking the bunkhouse behind her, felt something tug at her dress, and cried out when something hot sliced across her cheek.
I’ve been shot,she realized.Shot in the face!
Defiantly, she shot at the mass of riders again.
“Maggie!” Will’s voice bellowed. “Take cover!”
Her legs obeyed his command though her mind still struggled with the fact that she’d been shot.
Was she dying?
Her face was numb and hot, and her breath came in ragged gasps as she sprinted across the ground, bullets snapping all around her.
Then she was behind a tree close to the house, and her mind was yanked away again as she heard the gate bang open. The cattle came rushing out in a crazed stampede.
What was happening?
Then she saw Will atop Clyde, saw him toward the back of the herd, driving them forward, directing them toward Teal’s men in a rolling wall of muscle and horns.
The stampede bowled over horses. Men, taken utterly by surprise, flew into the air, pinwheeling like tossed dolls and disappearing under the hooves of the charging longhorns.
She longed to fire again but couldn’t, not with Will out there in the mix.
Where was he?
Then she caught a glimpse of him in the thick of things, using his shotgun, unseating one raider, then another…
To her left, a raider streaked toward the house with a torch, meaning to set it afire, meaning to burn her home.
She came running out from the tree and fired the Dragoon… and missed.
The man, twenty feet away, jerked his eyes in her direction. He smiled, tossed the flaming stick onto the porch, and pulled a long revolver from his belt.
Maggie fired again, aiming for the breastbone like Will taught her, and that’s where the bullet took the raider. He dropped from the saddle and hit hard, and his horse ran off, badly frightened.
Maggie pointed the Dragoon at the crumpled figure of the man, drew back the hammer, and pulled the trigger again, but this time, there was no bang.
The gun was empty!
She thrust a hand into her dress pocket, hunting ammo, needing to reload, but no… wrong pocket… inside that pocket was the derringer she had been keeping on her ever since Sully’s last visit.
She needed ammunition!
Reaching into her other pocket, she found the box and pulled it out with shaking hands and realized she needed to empty the cylinder before loading new cartridges.
Now, how did she do that again? Did she have to pull the tamping lever?
“Don’t bother, girl,” a man’s voice said behind her, startling her badly. “Drop the gun.”
She dropped the gun and turned, wishing she’d just retrieved the derringer instead of trying to reload the Dragoon.
But now it was too late, because the man was pointing his gun at her, and if she made a try for the pocket pistol, he’d put a bullet through her heart.
Not that the derringer would do much good at this range anyway. He was twenty yards away. She wouldn’t have much of a chance of hitting him at this range with the short-barreled, little weapon.
She moaned, realizing the house had caught fire behind her. The flames spread rapidly, illuminating the darkness around her and warming her with the heat of her burning dream.
Then the man rode slowly into the firelight. He was a small, mean-looking man with a hawklike nose, a graying beard, and dark eyes that shone like chips of polished midnight.
