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He slammed into her with a low growl.
The force sent her onto her side, and she stayed there while the dog sniffed and growled. “Hi, puppy.” She kept her voice as light and high as she could. “How are you?” The dog didn’t bite her head off. “You’re a good puppy.”
Hopefully, only the dog could hear her, or this would be exceedingly embarrassing.
Destain raced over, looking like he was going to attack the dog.
Kenna raised her hand, palm out to the man. “No!” Shesaid the word loud and sharp, the way she would with a dog command. Destain nearly tripped over himself to stop.
A gunshot cracked across the night, and Pilsborough went down.
Kenna gasped. The dog hit the deck on its belly, ears up. She didn’t pet the dog, figuring she’d get her hand bitten off.
“Down!” The cry belonged to a male.
The men with Kenna crouched, and gunfire echoed up toward the people behind them, firing at the top of the hill.
Jax went to Pilsborough. “He’s hit!”
The gunfire suppressed the attack coming up behind them. Multiple figures down the hill fired rifles. The other dog was out of sight. In the snow? The one by her was a heavyset German shepherd. He’d need the body warmth in these freezing temperatures—and that long winter coat.
“Come on!” The tallest male waved them over. “Run to the house!” He turned toward the others. “Help with the injured man!”
Kenna got Destain and Jim. The dog bounded over after them. She eyed the ridge but didn’t see anyone coming after them.
The run down to the house was arduous, and she wasn’t carrying an injured man. Thirty or so feet from the house, the snow under her rose in a hard-packed mound she had to climb over, then disappeared. Gravel crunched under her boots.
She waited for Jax, who was helping Pilsborough. It was too dark to see the damage, but the marshal had been shot. Jax’s expression strained.
They got Pilsborough over the packed mound of snow, where it had been plowed to the edges of the drive, and carried him to the side door of the house.
She watched the ridgeline.
Mr. Merrington’s guys spread out around the gravel area.The dogs stalked as well. Everyone on edge. Merrington came over to her. “Not how I thought I’d see you again.”
“Sorry to bring this to your doorstep.” Literally.
“We help our neighbors.” He nodded. “Get inside out of the cold. We will stand guard.”
“Thank you.” Kenna stepped inside, to a mudroom not warmed by the home heating system. Rows of shoes lined the floor. Boots and sneakers of all sizes. Flip-flops, sandals, and slides. Kids shoes. Adult work boots. A bench seat was covered with gloves, hats, and scarves, and above those a row of hooks. Sweaters. Jackets. Coats. Snow gear.
She hadn’t seen more children with them at the church, but evidently there were a whole team of them. Was that who Merrington had outside, holding guns and defending their property?
She winced.Lord, keep them safe.
Kenna tugged off her hat and gloves, then stepped inside.
“There. On the table.” Mrs. Merrington had a dark-red sweater over her dress, and slippers with rubber soles on her feet. She glanced over. “Kenna.”
“Sorry to barge in like this.”
“Let’s tend to your friend, and then we can talk.” Her tone was all efficiency, and zero irritation about the fact they’d barged into her house, bringing blood and danger.
A slender girl ran in, wearing leggings and an oversized shirt, a similar sweater pulled over the T-shirt. She carried a tackle box, handing it over to her mother.
“Thank you, Lenore.” Mrs. Merrington set the tackle box on the dining table beside Pilsborough’s hip. “What’s his name?”
“Mike.” Jax’s expression pinched. “It’s bad, right?”