He ran back toward where he’d left Thunder tied to a tree. They would use Clara to gain access to the livery. It wouldn’t have mattered how many men Jeremiah had gotten to help guard the place. If Red Hoskins and Thaddeus Jones rode up with Clara in tow, threatening her life, they’d step aside.
Branches smacked his arms and face as he strode through the trees, but Roman hardly noticed. All he could see in his head was a frightened Clara, a victorious sneer on Hoskins’s face, and Jeremiah and Benton, helpless to do anything to protect Clara or the horses. Why had he fallen for it? He’d seen the most obvious option—the one they’d wanted him to see—and left Clara vulnerable.
As he emerged from the trees, he knew one thing for certain: he’d give up every horse and every penny he had to see Clara protected. Hoskins and Jones hadn’t been given to violence until Roman had confronted them about their cattle rustling operation. He involuntarily ran a finger over the scar above his lip, and the memories resurfaced as if they’d happened yesterday. He’d told them he knew what they were doing and offered to let them leave. If they went, he’d keep their misdeeds to himself. They’d been his friends, or so he’d thought, and the idea of going to the sheriff, or to the owners of the ranches from which they’d stolen, left a bad taste in his mouth. He’d thought for certain they’d be thankful, and that they’d be gone by morning.
But instead, Hoskins had drawn a knife and lunged at him. Roman had fought him off, but not before the man had sliced his face. They didn’t leave. Not that night or the next day.
And so Roman had gone to the sheriff.
They were promptly arrested, and although they’d never stood trial, their names were as good as mud when it came to any rancher in this part of Colorado. He hadn’t seen them in almost two years. He had no idea what they were capable of now.
And they had Clara.
Roman eased the horse forward, and as he did, it was as if cobwebs had been swept from his mind.
He loved her.
The realization was so obvious he didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before. But he’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? Even if he did love her, even if she meant everything to him, it would be wrong to trap her here with him when he couldn’t give her anything approaching a comfortable life.
Except she hadn’t agreed with that at all. Had she been right? Or was she simply blind to the facts?
Roman didn’t know, but he pressed Thunder on, back into town, past the Darbys’ boardinghouse, past the saloon, past the hotel up on the hill. If he had more time, he’d get Marshal Wright. But time was the one thing he didn’t have right now.
He pulled up by the smithy’s and tied the horse there. His heart hammering, he reached for the revolver he’d brought with him. With it firmly in hand, he crept around the rear of the blacksmith’s toward the stable.
From the outside, all appeared to be quiet. Not a sound came from inside as Roman silently stepped along the wall. The smaller door was closed, but one of the larger doors was wide open. Roman raised the revolver as he approached.
He paused just beside the door. Hooves shuffled against the straw-covered floor inside. And then a man’s voice—Red Hoskins, he was certain—shouted to hold a horse steady.
Roman drew in a deep breath, redoubled his grip on the revolver, and peered around the edge of the doorway. A single lamp illuminated the scene before him. Horses—nearly half of those currently stabled at the livery—stood nearby, all tethered together. He could see neither Hoskins nor Jones, but there—he squinted into the shadows—there was Clara. She stood awkwardly in front of one of the first stalls, and appeared to be working frantically at something that held her wrist to the stall door.
Jeremiah and Benton were nowhere in sight, and Roman took that as a good sign. If Hoskins and Jones had shot them, surely it would have happened here, near the entrance to the stable. Not to mention that half the town would have heard the gunshots.
He pulled back around the corner, deciding on a plan of action. He was one man against two—he had to assume so, anyhow. He was armed, but so were they. All he had on his side was the element of surprise. If he could enter by the front, silently, he could sneak up on them.
It was his only option.
Mind made up, he slid sideways. He’d taken exactly one step when a shout sounded from inside. A split second later, hooves pounded against the floor of the stable, and no less than ten horses ran from the door out into the night.
