Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Driving over mountain passes and back down isn’t the same as riding. You might think you’re just sitting on Duke while he does all the work, but you’re exerting yourself too.”
“Is that why cowboys have such rock-hard abs?” I tease, thinking back to his body this morning, the feel of his hard muscles as I ran my fingers over them.
He grins at me and it lights up his eyes, making me feel even more breathless. “Nah,” he says. “Just the way I’m built. I’m a natural.”
Then he moves to check on the horses, leaving me strangely bereft. I take small sips as instructed, watching the group spread out across our small resting place. Red and Cole confer in low voices by the stream. Eli adjusts the pack mule’s load. And Hank…
Hank stands at the edge of the plateau, staring back the way we came, his posture rigid.
Curiosity pulls me toward him, even though he himself still gives me the heebie-jeebies. “See something?”
He flinches at my voice. “Jesus, woman, don’t sneak up on a man like that.”
“Sorry.” I follow his gaze down the trail, which winds like a ribbon through the rocky terrain below us. Nothing moves except the shadows of clouds drifting across the mountainside. “What are you looking at?”
“Thought I saw something following us.” His voice is low, taut with an anxiety I haven’t heard from him before. “Been seeing things all morning.”
I feel a prickle of unease down my spine. “What kind of things?”
His eyes dart to mine, then away. “Movement. Just at the corner of my eye. Gone when I look straight at it.”
“Could be anything, right? Deer. Shadows…marmots.” I attempt a joke.
“Yeah.” But he’s not amused and he doesn’t sound convinced. “You feel it too, don’t you? Like we’re being watched.”
I want to deny it, but the truth is, I’ve been fighting the same sensation since we left camp. That prickling awareness of unseen eyes tracking our progress up the mountain.
“It’s probably nothing,” I say, as much to convince myself as him. “Or a mountain lion, as Jensen says.”
Hank’s laugh is sharp, humorless. “As if that’s nothing.”
Before I can respond, Jensen calls out that it’s time to move. The rest is over.
Back on Duke, I find myself scanning the trail behind us, searching for whatever had Hank so unsettled. The landscape seems empty here, just rock and scrub and patches of lingering snow between the skinny trunks of pine. But something catches my eye near a cluster of boulders, a flicker of movement, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
Except I didn’t imagine how Duke tenses beneath me, a tremor running through his powerful body.
“Easy,” I murmur, patting his neck. But my own heart has picked up speed, hammering against my ribs.
The trail grows steeper still as we climb higher, though it’s wide enough we don’t have to ride single file. The wind howls around the rocks, carrying the scent of snow. The horses struggle against the grade, their breathing labored, sides slick with sweat despite the growing cold.
We’re traversing a particularly exposed section, the trail hugging the mountainside with a steep drop to our right, when Duke suddenly balks, refusing to move forward.
“You okay?” Jensen calls back from where he waits at the bend ahead.
“He won’t budge,” I say, trying to keep the panic from my voice as Duke dances nervously in place, dangerously close to the edge.
Jensen dismounts in one fluid motion, securing Jeopardy’s reins to the horn before making his way back to me. “What spooked him?”
“I don’t know. He just stopped.”
Jensen takes Duke’s bridle, speaking to him in low, soothing tones. The horse’s eyes roll, showing white, but he gradually calms under Jensen’s experienced hand.
“Something’s got him scared,” Jensen murmurs, almost to himself. His eyes scan the rocks above us, the narrow trail ahead.
That’s when I see it. A shadow moving among the boulders fifty yards ahead. Not a cloud shadow. Not a bird. Something large.
Something that moves with purpose.
Reminding me too much of a feral horse.
“Jensen,” I whisper, nodding toward it.
He follows my gaze, his body going completely still. For a second, I think he’s going to dismiss it, tell me it’s nothing. Instead, he slowly reaches for the knife at his belt.
“Everyone stay where you are,” he calls, voice steady. “Eli, bring my rifle.”
The shadow shifts again as I try to see it clearer through the sun’s glare, sliding between rocks with unnatural fluidity. A bear? A mountain lion? But it doesn’t move like either. Nor does it move like the horse. There’s something wrong about its motion, something that makes my skin crawl.
Then it’s gone, vanished behind a jutting spur of granite.
Eli appears with Jensen’s rifle, his own face grim. They exchange a look loaded with meaning I can’t decipher.
“What was that?” I ask, my voice sounding thin.