He needed a break. He needed to go outside and get some fresh air. Maybe he’d feel better after that, ready to take on a new day as the responsible sheriff of his little town.
Shrugging into the heavy bison coat felt good. It took some of the sting out of the cold in the room. After combing his fingers through his unruly dark curls, he put his Stetson back on his head and glanced into the small mirror near the door. His beard was a mess. He desperately needed grooming. He should pay the barber in town a short visit.
Stepping out into the quiet morning, there was barely a slight pinkish hue all around.
It had snowed more during the night. On his way around the building to where the horses were kept in a small stall underneath an overhang, he had to trudge through almost a foot of snow. Chester, his tall brown quarter horse, was eager to get out of the small enclosure to move his strong legs. Stomping his hooves, the horse danced as Luke quietly led him outside before he skillfully swung himself into the saddle. He didn’t even need to click his tongue—Chester was already moving, falling into an easy trot.
He rode along Main Street before steering Chester toward the church building at the end of it. It was so quiet, he didn’t even hear a bird. The only sound was the soft clopping of Chester’s hooves on the snowy ground. It was beautiful, and he could feel the tightness inside his head dissolve. Crisp fresh air was the best remedy for a raging hangover.
Then the peaceful silence was suddenly interrupted by gunshots.
Chester’s ears went up, he raised his head, and almost reared up as it startled both of them. The next thing was a piercing scream, then muffled yelling, a squealing animal, then another shot, which echoed across the entire valley.
Luke reacted without thinking. He turned Chester toward the noise, kicked his heels into the muscled flanks of his horse, and they darted off in the general direction the chaos had erupted from. As soon as they cleared the center of the town,riding past the outbuildings of St. Mary’s Mission, Luke heard the helpless squeals of a horse. It lay on its side, desperately kicking its front legs. There were footsteps in the snow leading away from the animal toward a nearby shed.
Then he spotted them—a young woman carrying a very young child and a young boy crying, kneeling by her side. Luke’s first instinct made him want to immediately rush to them, but he couldn’t ignore the group of riders racing toward them in the distance.
There were five men, one shooting into the sky with a menacing howl. Luke couldn’t hear what they were shouting, but that didn’t matter. He turned Chester in their direction and forced him to ride head-on toward them. Pulling out his rifle from its scabbard attached to his saddle, he fired a warning shot off to their side, which they completely ignored. Forced to act, Luke aimed at one of the men and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the one on the left in his arm. He screamed and yanked his horse to the side.
Then Luke heard another shot being fired from his left side. He whirled around and saw Caleb coming in from the other side of the valley, galloping at full speed toward them. He was gaining ground quickly, firing warning shots at the men as he went, which immediately stopped the entire group in their tracks. Being chased by two men seemed to be enough to halt their pursuit, and all of them turned their horses back in the opposite direction, rushing to get away.
Luke had always known that Caleb was up before dawn, but it was great to see his deputy at the ready when he needed him to be there.
As the riders rode off, Luke tried to get a good look at them, closely paying attention to their appearance, clothes, and horses, but this proved to be difficult, since they were still some distance away. Now heading in the opposite direction, they disappeared in a cloud of whirling snow.
Turning Chester around, he rushed his horse back to the woman and children.
Chester hadn’t fully come to a halt when Luke jumped out of his saddle.
The little boy was yelling, seemingly trying to wake the young woman from her stupor. She looked a little drowsy, holding the side of her head with one hand. By the looks of it, she must have hit it on something. The little girl on top of her cried loudly.
When the woman saw Luke approach her, she immediately grabbed the little boy and the small girl with both arms, pulling them tightly against her. Fear was written all over her face when obvious pain struck again. She winced and pressed her fingers against her left temple. All the while, she kept a wary eye on Luke, never letting him out of her sight.
“Don’t be afraid!” Luke said with a calming voice as he stepped closer to them. “My name is Luke Cross. I am the sheriff in town.” He lifted his thick coat to one side to reveal the sheriff’s star on his vest. “You’re safe now. Are you all right?”
“I don’t know.” The woman blinked a couple of times, seemingly struggling to get her bearings.
At the same time, she struggled to pull herself up. Luke rushed to her side to help.
“Here. Take my hand!”
He reached out to offer his hand, and when she took it, she looked up at him with a shy but grateful smile.
He remembered that he had seen her in town before on several occasions. He’d just never noticed how beautiful she was.
She had big greenish-blue eyes, framed with long black lashes. Her pretty oval face was framed by glossy jet-black hair and a sharp jawline ending in a dainty chin.
When she raised it up toward him, he pulled the woman—as well as the crying little girl she had strapped to the front of her body—up, but she didn’t seem to be very steady on her feet.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, concerned.
“I don’t think so,” she said, not very convincingly. She pulled a face and touched the side of her head again.
Luke examined her without touching her to look for obvious injuries. When she reached up again to touch her head, he saw that there was a droplet of blood on her fingertips. He stepped around her and saw a small wound at the back of her head. “You must have hit your head pretty badly.”
Luke looked down at the young boy, who stared up at him, obviously in shock, with the same bright eyes as hers. Was he her son? “What about you? Are you hurt, young man?”
At the formal address, the little boy shrunk into himself and shook his head solemnly. “No, sir.”
