The water drill thumped away, digging in a new place after the first was unsuccessful. Mr. Chapman had been optimistic about this second choice, and so Mitchell remained optimistic too.
With no cattle in sight, his mind wandered back to where it usually did these days—to a place much more rewarding than the old thoughts of Clarkson, Denver, and all of the poor choices of the past.
He smiled at nothing as Lara entered his mind. He’d essentially promised her that Chapman would find water. If that happened, the ranch would be saved. They’d rebuild the herd, pay off the past-due interest on the mortgage, and Mitchell himself would be paid.
And once he had money, he could put it away to build something of his own. A house, maybe. With a small plot of land. Some place where he could firmly put the past behind him and have a wife and a family.
Lara’s image danced into his mind again. He knew she’d come here looking to marry. And he certainly hadn’t imagined the way she looked at him—or how she’d reached for his hand last night.
Was it possible that she might consider—
A scream rent the air, drowning out the thud of the water drill. Mitchell pulled up hard, forcing Trip to a stop. He looked this way and that across the land.
The scream came again. This time he could tell the direction. He aimed Trip at a clump of trees that sat at the edge of the road.
When he arrived, he peered through the trees. The foliage was sparse, given the lack of rain, but there was still enough to make it impossible to see past the first two or three trees. Mitchell slid off Trip silently. He looped the reins around the nearest tree and pulled the revolver from his holster.
All he could figure was that some nefarious sort had overtaken a woman on the road. If that was the case, they’d be on the road, behind the copse of trees, and he could catch the man unaware if he came at him from within the trees rather than from the road.
So when Mitchell rounded a stalwart pine to find a tall man with his hand clamped over the mouth of a woman he’d backed up against a dead trunk, it caught him by surprise.
And when he realized the woman had red hair, falling from its pins, sheer anger replaced the surprise.
Wait. If he jumped in right now before assessing the situation, he could get them both killed. The man was tall—taller than even Mitchell himself—with a battered hat and a tan-colored coat that looked far too warm for the day. Hair the shade of straw showed from beneath the hat and a dirty hand clamped over Lara’s mouth. He wore a pistol on his hip. That shade of hair, and that height, reminded him of something, but he didn’t know what.
“Don’t you give me trouble,” the man said in a voice that sounded as if it had been raked over rocks.
Mitchell forced himself to loosen his grip on the revolver. Clenching the thing wouldn’t do anything but cramp up his hand, rendering him incapable of acting.
With his other hand, the blond man grabbed hold of the back of Lara’s neck and forced her away from the tree, toward the road. She kicked out at him, just barely missing his leg as he laughed.
Mitchell didn’t hesitate another second. He strode forward as silently as possible. When he was just behind the man, he reached out with his left hand and yanked him backward.
The man yelped as he stumbled. His grip on Lara slackened, and he dropped his right hand from her mouth to reach for his revolver.
But Mitchell held up his own weapon and aimed it squarely at the man. “Take your hands off her.”
The man’s hand stopped in mid-air. He glanced between Lara and Mitchell. Then, in a sudden motion, he pushed Lara forward and ran off into the trees toward the road.
Mitchell leaped forward, catching Lara against him. He holstered the pistol and grabbed hold of her arms. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head, her face brave but her body shaking. Without thinking, Mitchell pulled her to him, desperate to make her feel safe. “It’s all right. I’ve got you. He’s gone.”
She nodded against his shoulder before sagging into him. His hand ran a circle over her back, and slowly, she stopped shaking.
Lara leaned back in his embrace, just far enough to look up at him. Not a tear stained her face, but fear still lurked in her eyes. He didn’t dare let go of her.
“You’re safe,” he said.
She nodded. “Thank you.” Her sweet, brave voice held an edge he’d never heard before—and one he hoped never to hear again.
A rage worked up inside him, directed at the man who’d scared her so badly. What right did he have to come here, onto her family’s land, and terrify her?
Lara turned just slightly in his arms, her eyes going to the road the trees concealed.
“He’s long gone by now,” Mitchell said. “Did he say anything to you?”
She shook her head.
