Page 22 of Storm in Montana (Montana Becketts, Wild Spirit Ranch #3)

Lightning split the murky sky, illuminating the hideout’s weathered boards in stark relief against the mountainside. Thunder followed, a deep rumble which shook loose snow from pine boughs and set horses stamping.

The storm’s fury matched the intensity in Brodie’s eyes as he surveyed his posse.

Grayson and Cody flanked him on the left, their rifles steady despite the icy wind.

Elijah and Nash had taken position on the right, while Tripp covered the rear approach.

Above them all, Joshua and Annalee lay prone on an icy outcrop, their breath freezing in small clouds as they tracked the prowling shapes of wolves through their rifle sights.

A savage howl pierced the wind’s shriek.

In the valley below, yellow eyes gleamed as the wolf pack circled closer, drawn by the scent of men and horses.

Annalee squeezed her trigger. The crack of her rifle preceded a yelp of pain.

Joshua’s shot followed, forcing the pack to scatter and regroup behind a stand of snow-laden pines.

“Now!” Brodie’s command cut through the storm’s rage.

The posse moved as one in fluid coordination.

Grayson and Cody broke left, their boots breaking through crusted snow.

Two rustlers bolted from behind the crates, making for horses tethered in a copse of aspens.

Grayson’s shot rang out, dropping the first man with a clean hit to the shoulder.

The second outlaw spun at the sound, firing wildly.

His shot went wide as Cody’s bullet found its mark, sending the man sprawling into a snowbank.

Thunder crashed overhead as Elijah and Nash pressed forward, using the storm’s cover to close in on a third rustler who’d taken refuge behind a stack of empty barrels.

The man fired twice, the muzzle flashes bright against the darkness.

Nash dropped and rolled, coming up in a crouch as Elijah laid down covering fire.

“Drop it!” Nash’s voice carried the weight of authority.

The rustler’s response was another shot, splintering wood near Elijah’s head.

From his position at the rear, Tripp spotted movement—a fourth man trying to circle behind Nash.

In one fluid motion, Tripp raised his rifle, led his target, and squeezed.

The shot caught the rustler high in the right arm.

The man’s gun clattered to the frozen ground as he clutched his wound.

“Last warning!” Brodie advanced, his stance unwavering despite the wind’s assault. “Surrender, or the next shots won’t be so gentle!”

Above them, Annalee and Joshua maintained their watch, picking off wolves that ventured too close.

The pack had grown bolder, sensing weakness in their prey.

A massive gray male lunged from the shadows toward Grayson’s position.

Annalee’s rifle cracked, and the wolf tumbled mid leap, its snarl cut short.

The remaining rustlers exchanged desperate looks. Their leader, trapped behind the barrels, slowly raised his hands. “Don’t shoot! We’re coming out!”

Lightning flashed once more, illuminating the scene as the outlaws emerged one by one, hands held high. The storm’s fury began to ebb as if nature itself acknowledged the battle’s end. Brodie moved forward to secure the prisoners while Nash and Tripp collected the dropped weapons.

In the sudden quiet, only the wind’s moan and the distant howling of the retreating wolf pack broke the silence.

Annalee and Joshua descended from their perch, rifles clutched in their hands.

Snow began to fall in thick, lazy flakes, already beginning to cover the signs of violence in a clean white blanket.

Spotting Annalee, Brodie couldn’t stop himself from rushing forward to envelope her in his arms. Seconds passed before she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest.

He pulled away, studying her face. “Are you all right?”

Stepping out of his embrace, she nodded. “I’m fine, Brodie. Cold, but fine.”

Behind them, Grayson checked the wounded men, binding their injuries until Doc Wainwright could see them. “They’ll live,” he announced, his voice grim. “Though they might wish otherwise when they face the judge.”

Nash nodded, securing the last set of manacles.

The storm had cleared enough to reveal a pale moon rising over the mountain peaks.

Its light caught the ice crystals in the air, creating a corona of frozen light around the bedraggled group.

The hard part lay ahead. Transporting their prisoners safely to Mystic through wolf-haunted territory and treacherous weather would require vigilance.

Fresh snow masked the trail ahead, transforming familiar landmarks into ghostly shapes. The horses moved in single file, their hooves breaking through the crusty surface to find purchase on the solid ground beneath.

The early morning sun had crested the eastern mountains and would soon warm their path to Mystic. Behind them, the wolf pack’s howls echoed off ice-glazed rocks, growing neither closer nor more distant as the predators paced their prey.

Brodie led the column, his gaze scanning the white-shrouded landscape.

The rustlers rode in pairs, each man’s hands bound to his saddle horn, their horses tied to those of their guards.

Cody rode in front, his rifle across his lap, watching their back trail with the focused intensity of a seasoned bounty hunter.

The wolves appeared through the swirling snow, some to their left and others to their right. Their strategy was clear. Wear down both horses and riders, then wait for a mistake. These were no ordinary wolves.

“They’re pushing us toward the narrow draw.” Annalee rode closer to Brodie as their horses picked their way around a fallen pine.

Brodie nodded, his breath frosting in the air. “Same way we move cattle when we want them somewhere specific.”

Ahead of them, Cody raised his hand, signaling a halt. The trail descended to the valley, threading between towering walls of rock. It was the perfect place for an ambush by wolves or men. Brodie turned in his saddle, catching Cody and then Grayson’s attention. Both men nodded in understanding.

Cody reined up to speak with Tripp and Nash.

A moment later, they split off, taking parallel paths above the main trail.

Their positions would give them clear shots at anything trying to trap the group below.

The rest of the posse urged their mounts forward, keeping tight formation around the prisoners.

The rustler Brodie believed to be the leader watched the wolves with knowing eyes.

“They won’t quit.” The rustler’s voice was rough with cold and defeat.

“Not while they can still smell me. I raised them from pups. Trained them to hunt with us, cull a herd, and track strays.” It was a boast more than a comment.

“Then you’d better hope they don’t get hungry enough to forget your training.” Cody’s words carried a sharp edge. The rustler snorted out a laugh before his brows furrowed, and he glanced around at the surrounding terrain.

The descent into the draw proved more treacherous than they anticipated.

Ice coated the rocks, and more than once a horse slipped, recovering just short of disaster.

The wolves grew bolder, darting closer. A big female lunged at Elijah’s horse, snapping at its legs.

His shot sent her tumbling back into the shadows, leaving crimson drops on white snow.

Brodie found his attention divided between the threat of the wolves and Annalee.

She sat straight in the saddle, one hand steady on the reins, the other holding her rifle.

Her cheeks were pink with cold, and snow crystals clung to her eyelashes.

His chest swelled at the sight of her, and he grew impatient with the need to admit his feelings.

The howls grew closer as dusk settled over the land.

The wolves had grown impatient, hungry. They struck in coordinated pairs, two from the front, forcing the horses to rear, while others darted in from the sides.

Shots rang out from above as Tripp and Nash picked off the boldest attackers, their rifles echoing off the canyon walls.

“Keep going!” Brodie’s command spurred the group forward. They broke from the draw onto open ground, the wolves still surrounding them. The lights of Mystic glimmered in the distance, promising safety.

The wolf pack made one final, desperate assault.

Three massive males charged from different directions, aiming to split the group.

Annalee lifted her rifle, aimed, and fired, dropping one male.

Joshua and Elijah took down the second while Brodie’s shot caught the third in the shoulder, sending it yelping into the darkness.

From above them, Tripp and Nash prevented another assault when two wolves tried to attack from the rear.

The remaining wolves fell back, their howls taking on a different note—mourning rather than hunting. They paced the group at a distance now, watching as their former master was led away toward Mystic.

As they approached the town’s outskirts, Brodie again reined in beside Annalee.

Snow was falling, soft and silent. In the dim light, he could see the strength in her profile, the determined set of her jaw.

She turned, catching his gaze, and for a moment, the cold air crackled with unspoken possibilities.

A wolf howled in the darkness, closer than expected.

Brodie’s hand moved to his rifle, even as his mind registered a familiar pattern in the call.

The rustler’s head snapped up, a smile crossing his face for the first time since his capture.

The howl came again, answered by others, forming a complex chorus.

The wolves were not finished with their human master.

The lights of Mystic beckoned, promising sanctuary. Yet as Brodie studied the rustler’s confident expression, his stomach knotted, knowing their encounters with the pack hadn’t come to an end.