Page 45 of Anthony Hawk

“Every word.”

Too much truth, too fast. But maybe she needed to hear it. Maybe he did too.

Loose stone gave way beneath them. He steadied her with one arm. His revolver was raised with the other. When he saw a bandit in the distance, he fired his shot before the man could advance.

Finally, the canyon widened into a plateau dotted with scrub and a fallen log. Anthony lowered her gently, crouching beside her as she pressed her hand to her side.

“I can’t believe we made it,” she whispered.

“You almost didn’t,” he said sharply, pulling a canteen from his gun belt. He held it to her lips. “Drink.”

She sipped, then shot him a look. “Don’t scold me now.”

He exhaled hard, guilt raw in his chest. “Abigail, you should never have been out here,” he said. “I knew the risk. I brought you anyway.”

“And I chose to come,” she replied, her gaze softening. “Don’t take that from me.”

Anthony rested a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t lose you. Not to Vanburgh, and certainly not to my own bad judgment. You understand?”

She studied him a moment, then nodded slowly. “I trust you, Anthony. Even when you scare me half to death.”

A faint grin tugged at his mouth. “Good.”

She leaned against the log, exhaustion pulling at her features, but her voice was steady. “Then let’s keep moving,” she said. “Together. Carefully this time.”

He gave her a nod of agreement. For the first time since the ambush began, the silence didn’t feel like doom.

Anthony rose, scanning the ridges one last time before helping her to her feet. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she said, gripping his arm.

“Then we move,” he said. “No more chances, no more mistakes.”

Abigail managed a faint grin. “That part’s on you.”

He almost smiled in return, guiding her down the canyon with slow steps. Guilt still gnawed at him, but it sharpened into resolve. He would not fail her again.

Chapter 20

The sun had gone behind the gray clouds by the time Anthony and Abigail crested the last ridge overlooking Silver Cross. They had found their horses not far from the canyon after the fight. Both animals were tired and restless.

Mounting had been a struggle. Anthony wanted her on his horse, but Abigail’s stubbornness won out. She sat straight in her own saddle, her shirt torn and bloodied where the graze had cut her. The ride down had been mostly silent. Anthony had checked the wound more times than she liked, but she had tolerated it because she saw how tightly he carried the worry.

She had insisted on returning to the clinic after insisting that she had tools there. But as they reached the edge of town, a different silence wrapped around them. It was thicker and unnatural. Smoke hung in the air, carrying the sting of charred wood.

Abigail slowed her black Thoroughbred, her breath catching.

“Anthony . . .” she said. “Do you smell that?”

He already had. His gut had been tight since they’d seen the first curling thread of smoke rising from the cluster of buildings. He didn’t answer. Instead, he simply urged Spirit forward.

When they turned past the bend of a big boulder, the truth hit. Abigail’s clinic stood in blackened ruin. The windows gaped like hollow eyes, shutters sagged, and charred beams jutted skyward like broken ribs. Smoke still smoldered in places.

Abigail froze. She dismounted stiffly, boots hitting the ground harder than she meant. Pain jolted through her side, but she ignored it. Her hands shook, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

“No...” she whispered. “No!” She ran forward, stumbling over ash and debris and shoving aside a half-burned timber with bare hands.

“Abigail—” Anthony caught her arm, pulling her back as sparks flared. “Careful. The embers aren’t dead.”