“Four of them,” Cypress says quietly. “They’ll be running,Aiden.”
There’s a gruff reply, the soft scent of smoke and leather, and then a calloused hand brushes the side of my face before I see brown eyes seeking mine. His brown eyes.Aiden.
“I tried,” I tell him. “I did what you said.”
“What I said?”
“Fight…or flee.” If I could only shut my eyes for a minute, I think I could get the words out better. I could tell him so he won’t be disappointed. “I tried.”
His jaw tightens, his eyes flicking toward the barn. “I know you did, sweetheart.” He starts to walk away before biting out a quick, “Don’t let her see.”
I try to turn my head to follow him, but the resulting throb at the back of my skull makes me sway before I suddenly feel weightless. Caught in the sensation of falling until I find my head resting against Cypress’s shoulder, my gaze landing on that same scar I’d wanted to trace this morning.
My eyes close before the gunshots ring out. And all I see is black.
They actually beg. As if me taking them from this earth isn’t the true mercy. As if I would offer them any when they had offered her none.
Four shots, and they’re silent. Four bullets, plus a few extra, removed from their guns, and I look into the shadows to wait for the answering sound of someone coming to the rescue, albeit too late, but no one does. Everyone in this town knows better than to go looking for trouble that isn’t already theirs.
Truth is, I already wanted to kill them before they ever laid a hand on Cora. A few days of watching them paw at the girls at the saloon and listening to the way they talk about their wives had been enough to make me think about it more than once. Not necessarily unusual for the men that Cypress tends to sit down to cards with, but even so…
Some are easier than others to leave breathing.
I left Jake for last. Mainly because I disliked him most and wanted him to know the end was coming as I followed himoutside the stable to a graveyard of old wagons and barrels. Wasn’t hard from there to make the gruesome scene look like an argument between them that had gotten out of hand, would have believed it myself had I not been the one to arrange the bodies and the few remaining dollars between them that would have added up to the cost of their lives.
I’d seen men die for less.
When I get back inside, I see Cora’s gun and knife on the ground and pick them up, disturbing the clear signs of struggle in the dirt until I find a small piece of paper, too. It’s a stagecoach ticket, and I feel a strange mixture of relief and guilt at the thought that Cora must have already been planning to leave before it became a necessity. I tuck the ticket and knife inside my pocket and the gun inside my belt for safekeeping before I’m moving again. Before I’m trying not to think about what she said.
I tried.
If I’d had more time, I would’ve made them suffer longer. But as it is, I’m acutely aware while I climb up into the hayloft that we’re long past our time to be gone.
I already know there won’t be much up here to speak of. A bag of clothes and a Bible hidden away behind a loose board, a thin bedroll from the floor, a tin with a few dollars inside, but… Can this really be all she had? I search the loft again quickly to make sure I don’t leave anything behind, especially something she may be sentimental over. When I come up empty, I head back down the hatch.
Her mare is anxious in her stall when I approach, ears pinned back and eyes wild. I don’t blame her after what she witnessed, but I also need her to realize I’m not a threat to her and quickly.
“Easy, girl.” I slip an apple from my pocket and give her a few pats once she takes it. “I’ll take you to Cora, all right?”
She eyes me warily as she chews, but we have enough of anunderstanding at least that she doesn’t also try to take a bite out of my arm when I put her saddle and bridle on and lead her out back to where Cypress is waiting.
When I find him, he’s pacing, Cora in his arms. He switches between looking at her and the night sky, talking a mile a minute. My gut sinks.
“Cypress,” I call out, and he stops to look at me. The mare behind me gives a soft whicker of recognition. “Is she…?”
“She’s alive.” He readjusts her limp body in his grip, situating her so that her head is cradled in the crook of his neck, and God, she looks so small. So defenseless when she isn’t staring up at me with all that fire in her eyes. “The way that one was holding onto her…I think they hurt her. Before I got there, I think they really hurt her.”
“They won’t get a chance again.”
“What about you? Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I answer as I draw closer to him and take a chance to look Cora over for myself. “She doesn’t seem to be bleeding.”
He shakes his head, but I can see the anxiety in his eyes that he’s trying to keep at bay. “Cy…” I start.
“I said we should have come here first,” he snaps, angry with me now, though not in any way I don’t expect. Or deserve. “We should have kept her with us.”
“How, exactly?” I shoot back, hoping to make him see reason for once. “How would you have explained it to her?”