34

Logan urged Shamgar into a full gallop as they hit a patch of flatland. The eight-mile trek to Cooper that had taken a little over an hour on the way in needed to be cut in half. Even then, they might be too late to help Seth. All they could do was pray. And ride like a gale-force wind.

Shamgar responded well to his rider’s demands. The ex-cavalry mount had been trained for long-distance speed. Hamilton’s mount, on the other hand, struggled to keep up.

They hit a rugged section of terrain, forcing the pace to slow as they picked their way over eroded ground and miniature arroyos. Logan turned in his saddle to judge Hamilton’s progress. He had fallen well behind. His horse was heavily lathered, its head drooping.

“Go on,” Hamilton shouted to him. “If I push Jack much more, I’ll risk running him into the ground.”

“You sure?” It felt wrong to leave him behind.

Hamilton’s gaze met his, and even across the distance that separated them, Logan could feel his intensity. “Help my brother.”

The words cut through every barrier remaining between the two men. This Logan understood. This drive to protect one’s family. To rescue those who depended on him. He for his mother, Hamilton for his adoptive siblings.

“I will.” The vow echoed in the air. Firm. Resolute.

Logan set his jaw, faced forward, and touched his heels to Shamgar’s flanks. “Time to run, old boy. Seth needs the cavalry.”

Together they raced over hills and through trees—a regiment of one.

Gradually, the landmarks became more familiar. They were closing in on Ben Franklin. Maybe a little under two miles—

Boom!

The sound of distant cannon fire concussed the air. Shamgar didn’t so much as flinch, but Logan jerked his head up so quickly, he nearly unseated himself.

What on earth?

Slowing Shamgar just enough to take stock of his surroundings, Logan searched the horizon for any clue as to what had transpired. It hadn’t really been cannon fire, he knew, but something had definitely exploded.

There. A trail of smoke barely visible above the trees. North to northwest. Near the Ben Franklin schoolhouse.

His pulse thumping as loudly in his ears as Shamgar’s hooves, Logan leaned over his horse’s back and surged forward, praying for Seth with every stride.

“Wait!” Christie cried as the man who had the answers she sought ran away from her. She darted over to Evangeline and grabbed her arm. “We have to go after them!”

Evangeline didn’t waste time arguing. Seth wasn’t in any condition to chase down Earl on his own. He needed more time to recover before exerting himself again. “Let me grab the rest of the coffee first. Seth might need it.”

Christie nodded. “I’ll stash the lockbox back under the bed. I know where Earl keeps the still, so we won’t be far behind.”

Coffeepot in one hand and mug in the other, Evangeline ran as smoothly as she could, keeping her arm upraised and the pot’s spout aimed away from her body in case any liquid sloshed out. Christie kept pace with her, though Evangeline didn’t really need her guidance. The thick gray smoke billowing to the east pointed the way like an Old Testament pillar of cloud. Yet this cloud was far from holy. Even from a distance, she could smell the caustic odor of burnt corn mash.

Seth would never be able to breathe in there.

She had to get to him and take over the role of protector, whether he liked it or not. Just like when she’d warned him in the schoolhouse about Benson—dear heavens! Benson!

Evangeline threw her mug arm out across Christie’s stomach. The young woman exhaled a muffled oomph and stumbled to a halt.

“What is it?”

“A trap.” Evangeline peered ahead, into air thick with smoke. Smoke that would obscure the man who wished her friend dead. She scanned the area around them and spotted a stand of pecan trees. “There. Come on.”

Not taking the time to explain, Evangeline herded Christie like a recalcitrant ewe toward the grove, getting behind her and pushing her shoulder against the young woman’s back.

Once behind the trees, Evangeline set down the coffee supplies and took her friend by the arms. “Benson wants you dead. We know he’s here. We saw him. There’s a good chance he saw us as well. He’s probably the one who blew the still, hoping to draw us out. Lying in wait just like he did at the homestead.”

Christie’s green eyes flashed with panic. “Seth!”

“I’ll go after him, but you’ve got to stay here. Hidden. It’s the only way.” Christie shook her head, but Evangeline tightened her grip on the young woman’s arms, unwilling to let her think with anything other than cold logic. “Benson’s not after me or Seth. But if you go in there, he’ll get exactly what he’s been wanting—another chance to kill you with no witnesses.”

“But Seth—”

“I’ll send him to you,” Evangeline interrupted. “Be ready with the coffee. If he’s in that smoke, his lungs will be seizing. He needs to know exactly where to find you. I’ll tell him to look for this copse of trees. Once he’s here, get that coffee into him, then get him as far from the smoke as possible. Can you do that?”

Christie stiffened her shoulders and nodded.

“Good. Be watching.”

Without the coffee paraphernalia to slow her down, Evangeline flew down the well-trodden path into the woods. The deeper she went, the more smoke she encountered. What started as a slight haze quickly darkened and obscured every loping step she took.

Then she heard the sound she most dreaded. Hacking, uncontrollable coughs. She spied Seth’s tan shirt through the trees and raced for him. He stood bent in half, a handkerchief tied around his face, a hand clutched to his chest.

“Seth!” She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, trying to move him back the way she had just come. “You have to get out of this smoke.”

“Earl . . . couldn’t . . . follow . . .” His body shuddered as coughs wracked him.

“Don’t worry about Earl. I’ll go after him.”

He shook his head. “No. Too . . . dangerous . . . Benson . . .”

“Benson wants Christie, and she’s alone by a stand of pecans a hundred yards back. Go to her, Seth.” If she’d managed to get Christie to stay put by convincing her it would help Seth, the reverse ought to work as well. “She’s the one in danger, not me.”

He tilted his head and gave her the look that said he knew exactly what she was trying to do. Obviously, he had much more practice divining her machinations than Christie did, but he couldn’t deny that she spoke the truth, even if it was an incomplete version.

“You’re not doing anyone any good here, Seth.” If cajoling didn’t get him moving, maybe harsh truth would. “The smoke’s too thick for you to follow Earl, and your lungs are too weak to stay here, even if your hard head doesn’t want to admit it.” Another set of coughs quaked through him as if to make her point for her. She raised a brow at him. “Go to Christie. Watch over her. Clear your lungs. Trust me. I’ll stay hidden and use the smoke to my advantage. I won’t interfere with anything. I’ll just keep an eye on Earl.” She set a hand on his arm. “We need him, Seth. He can testify against Benson.”

Seth was stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. With a tight nod, he straightened, his hand going to the buckle of his gun belt. “Here,” he rasped as he shoved the heavy accessory at her. She reached for it, but he hesitated in letting it go. “Stay . . . safe.”

“I will,” she vowed, the love and concern in her brother’s face making her eyes itch more than the haze of smoke. She took the belt and strapped it around her waist, the holster hanging low over her hip. On impulse, she clutched Seth in a quick, fierce hug, then gave his shoulder a little shove. “Go.”

Her heart surged in thankfulness when he turned and staggered into a jog that took him away from the smoke.

Evangeline ratcheted up her skirt and yanked at the petticoat beneath. Her hems were always ragged, thanks to her regular jaunts with Hezzy, so it took little time to find a tear she could exploit. Using both hands, she yanked a large section of cotton free from the lower ruffle, then tied the material around her nose and mouth. Inhaling what would be her last gulp of halfway decent air, she squared her shoulders and forged deeper into the thicket.

Within minutes, Earl’s angry voice rasped through the trees.

“You destroyed my still! I’ll see you hang!”

“Moonshining’s illegal, friend.” Another voice. Benson? “I’m doing the community a favor.”

Evangeline slowed to a near halt and skirted away from the path, moving from tree to tree, looking for a safe vantage point from which to watch the confrontation. She squeezed between the trunks of two oaks growing practically on top of each other and squinted into the smoke. Her eyes, raw and stinging, watered. She brushed at them impatiently with the back of her hand. Just then, a breeze blew, clearing a path for her to see. Secreting her body behind the larger of the twin oaks, she peered around the trunk.

Earl stood with his back to her near a pile of rubble that looked to be a mess of barrel shards and copper tubing.

Another man stood across from him. A man in a black suit, with a shiny bald head.

And a shotgun.

“They’ll thank me for ridding their town of an unwanted bootlegger,” the man in the suit argued in a smooth, cultured voice. Calm. Confident. Controlled. Not even the smoke seemed to affect him. “You’re the criminal here. Not me.”

Earl limped forward, ducked his head to cough and spit something vile upon the ground, then advanced again. “I reckon they’ll see things differently when they learn you tried to kill my stepdaughter.”

Silence, thick as the smoke billowing up from the splatter of sour mash, filled the air.

Earl pressed his advantage. “She can talk. Betcha didn’t know that, did ya? Told me what ya done. How you used my wagon to cart her down to the river. My own wagon.”

Evangeline cringed. Stop talking! The fool was giving too much away. He was going to endanger Christie even more with his bravado.

Earl continued ranting, too worked up by the destruction around him to consider the consequences. “You’re a bold one, Benson. Too bold. I will see ya hang.”

“I don’t think so.”

In a blink, the schoolmaster jerked the shotgun he carried up to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Earl grabbed his belly and fell to the ground.

Evangeline jumped at the booming sound of the shot and gasped at the sight of Earl crumpling to the ground. Smoke filled her lungs at the violent inhale, and coughs immediately followed. She lunged behind the oak, pressing her hand tight against her mouth to muffle the sound.

“Who’s there?” Benson snapped.

Tears stung her eyes as she tried with all her might to keep her coughs inside. An impossible task. One escaped. Then another.

Pressing her lips together to try to hold in the coughs, she pulled Seth’s revolver from its holster and clutched it in front of her with both hands.

Footsteps crunching against scorched earth mixed with Earl’s moans and curses.

“That you, Miss Christie?” Benson’s voice. Closer. “You’ve caused me no end of trouble, my dear.”

More steps.

Should she run? Stay hidden? God above, what do I do?