Page 15 of Wild Spirit Revival (Montana Becketts, Wild Spirit Ranch #1)

The acrid smell of gunpowder lingered in the air as Elijah Beckett stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the undertaker’s wagon. Calum Post, the town’s somber-faced mortician, methodically loaded the bodies of the fallen outlaws, each thud of lifeless flesh against wood sending a shiver down Elijah’s spine. His hands, normally steady as iron, trembled with relief and gnawing concern for Molly’s safety.

Elijah clenched his fists, willing the tremors to subside. “Pull yourself together,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as he surveyed the chaotic aftermath of the shootout. His gaze darted around, searching for a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair amidst the crowd.

Finally, he spotted her. Molly O’Sullivan stood near the boardwalk, her camera box beside her, eyes wide with shock. Without hesitation, Elijah strode toward her, his long legs eating up the distance between them.

“Molly,” he called out, his hard-edged features cracking as relief flooded his voice.

“Elijah, I—”

Before she could finish, Elijah pulled her into a fierce embrace, his strong arms enveloping her smaller frame. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the faint scent of lavender mixed with sage that always clung to her, grounding himself in the reality she was safe.

“Are you all right?” Pulling back, he examined her face, his gaze searching hers.

She nodded, her chin lifting with characteristic determination. “I’m fine, Elijah. It takes more than a few bullets flying to rattle me.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Stubborn as ever, I see.”

“Would you rather me be dull and mousy?” A spark of her usual fire returned to her eyes.

His expression softened, his usual taciturn nature giving way to a moment of vulnerability. “No, I wouldn’t,” he admitted. “When I heard the shots… I thought…”

She placed a hand on his chest, her touch soothing the rapid beating of his heart. “I’m okay, truly. What about you? Are you hurt?”

Elijah shook his head, his gaze drifting back to the undertaker’s wagon. “No, I’m fine. Just… it was too close. Much too close.”

“I know,” she murmured, following his gaze. “It seems we’re both safe.”

Elijah nodded, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders. He knew he should let go and maintain the proper distance propriety demanded. For reasons eluding him, he couldn’t bring himself to break contact. The warmth of her body against his was a tangible reminder they’d survived, and the danger had passed.

“Your camera.” He looked at the box on the boardwalk. “Did you manage to get any pictures?”

Molly’s eyes lit up, her passion for her craft overshadowing the gravity of the situation. “A few. Not as many as I would’ve liked. Still, what I have will be on the front page in every paper from here to Chicago.”

He couldn’t help chuckling at her enthusiasm, marveling at how fast she bounced back from danger. It was one of the things he admired most about her. Molly possessed an indomitable spirit, refusing to be cowed by the harsh realities of frontier life.

“You’re something else, Molly O’Sullivan,” he said, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “A good number of women would be swooning or crying after what happened.”

She raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in her eye. “Well, I’m not most women. Besides, someone has to document the truth of life out here. Might as well be me.”

Elijah’s expression grew serious once more. “Just be careful, all right? I can’t always be around to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting, Elijah Beckett,” Molly retorted, her chin jutting out. “I can take care of myself.”

He sighed, knowing better than to argue. “I know you can. The same as I’m certain there are a few people around here who’d miss you if you got yourself killed.”

Their eyes met, an unspoken current passing between them. The moment was broken when the church doors slammed open.

“Look at that,” Molly murmured.

Elijah followed her gaze, his tolerant expression softening as he observed a large group of people spilling out from the church’s double doors. Men helped women down the steps while children darted between the adults’ legs, their laughter a welcome contrast to the recent gunshots.

As they watched, more people began to emerge from various storefronts. The door to Jennings Mercantile creaked open, revealing the round face of Mrs. Jennings, the shopkeeper’s wife. She blinked, clutching her shawl around her ample frame before stepping outside. Spotting Elijah, she waved, a broad smile transforming her face.

Before Elijah could respond, a commotion near the center of town drew their attention. Mayor Carl Jurgen had appeared, his thinning brown hair ruffled and his waistcoat slightly askew. Despite his disheveled appearance, the mayor’s voice rang out clear and strong.

“Good people of Mystic!” He spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “I assure you, the danger has passed. Our brave sheriff and his deputy have dealt with the miscreants swiftly and decisively.”

Elijah and Molly exchanged a look, a mix of amusement and respect passing between them. The mayor, for all his faults, knew how to command a crowd.

“Furthermore,” Jurgen continued, his words tumbling out in his characteristic rushed manner, “I see no reason why this unfortunate incident should derail our plans for celebration. The Fourth of July festivities will proceed as scheduled!”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the gathering crowd. Molly’s eyes widened, her earlier tension melting away. “Oh, Elijah, isn’t that wonderful? We’ll still have the fireworks and everything.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile, unable to resist her infectious enthusiasm. “I suppose it is,” he admitted. “Though I reckon the real fireworks happened a bit early today.”

She laughed, the sound clear and bright in the afternoon air. “Always the cynic, aren’t you? Come on, admit it. You’re looking forward to the fireworks as much as anyone.”

His features softened as he looked at her, marveling at her ability to find joy, even in the aftermath of danger. Elijah’s gaze shifted to the heavy camera equipment at Molly’s feet.

“We should get your camera to the jail,” he said. “I’m certain Brodie will let you take a photograph of the outlaw.”

Molly nodded, her earlier excitement tempered by the gravity of the task ahead. “You’re right. Afterward, I’ll move the camera out here for the puppet show.”

Elijah lifted the camera equipment and strode to the jail. As they made their way along the boardwalk, Molly scanned the town for other opportunities to capture with her camera.

“You know,” Molly mused. “I never thought I’d be taking pictures of outlaws when I came out west. It’s all quite exciting.”

Elijah grunted, his expression neutral. “Excitement’s overrated, if you ask me. Give me a quiet day on the ranch any time.”

They arrived at the jailhouse, where Brodie stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the weathered wooden interior. He nodded at Elijah before shifting his attention to Molly.

“What can I do for you, Miss O’Sullivan?”

Inside the jail, the atmosphere was tense. The captured outlaw sat hunched on his cot, his gaze darting between Molly and her camera.

“Would you allow me to take a photograph with you and the prisoner?”

Shifting, Brodie looked at the man in the cell. “Don’t see why not.”

As Elijah set up the camera, Molly addressed the prisoner. “Sir, I’m going to take your photograph now. It won’t hurt, I assure you.”

The outlaw stood and walked to the door of his cell. “Don’t make no difference to me, lady. Take your photograph and be done with it.”

Molly’s jaw tightened, but she maintained her composure. She positioned herself behind the camera, framing the shot with Brodie standing stoically by the cell.

“Hold still, please,” she instructed, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension in the room.

Molly’s heart hammered with nervous energy as she captured the image. Straightening, she smiled to herself. She’d photographed a real outlaw.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Molly announced, already packing up her equipment. “Elijah, could you help me move this to the puppet show? I’d like to photograph the children before the fireworks.”

Outside, Molly knelt beside her camera case, her gaze intent as she counted the remaining dry plates. “Four left,” she murmured, more to herself than to Elijah. “I hope it’s enough for the fireworks.”

Elijah leaned against a nearby post, his eyes scanning the bustling street. “Are you able to purchase more at the mercantile?”

“Yes and no. Mr. Jennings ordered more for me. They’ll arrive on the next railroad from the East.”

She looked up at him. “I’ve never photographed fireworks before, so I don’t know what to expect.” Molly set the plates aside and stood, brushing dust from her skirt.

They watched the townsfolk from the edge of the boardwalk outside the jail, their shoulders nearly touching. The street was alive with excitement as families with children, couples, and groups of cowboys sought the best spots for the impending display.

“Look at them all,” Molly mused, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. “It’s as if the shootout never happened.”

Elijah nodded. “Folks here are resilient. Have to be.”

Molly turned to study his profile, noticing the tension in his shoulders. “Does it ever get easier? Dealing with all of this?” She gestured to where the shootout took place.

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on some distant point. “Life isn’t easy, no matter where you live,” he finally said. “There are good days, and others not so good.”

A group of children raced by, their laughter cutting through the evening air. Molly watched them go, a wistful expression crossing her face. “I wonder what my sisters would think of all this. They always said I was foolish for wanting to come out west.”

“And what do you think?” Elijah asked, his gaze now fixed on her.

Molly met his eyes, a spark of defiance igniting within her. “I think they’re the foolish ones for never daring to try.”

The creak of the jail door drew their attention. Brodie stepped out onto the boardwalk, his keen gaze sweeping over the street before settling on Elijah and Molly.

“Back to normal, I see,” he said.

“We were just talking about how quickly the people returned after the danger was over.” Molly looked down at her camera nestled safely beside her.

Elijah’s gaze flickered between Brodie and the jail. “How’s your guest settling in?”

Brodie’s lips twitched in a humorless smile. “About as well as you’d expect. He’s not exactly pleased with his accommodations. Jubal’s going to keep watch on him for a spell.”

“Speaking of unwelcome guests,” Elijah said, his voice dropping slightly. “Calum Post is handling the bodies from the shoot-out.”

Brodie shifted, his gaze moving to the Golden Griddle. “It’ll be good to get this behind us. I appreciate the warning you Becketts gave me.”

Elijah gave a slight nod. “Have you seen my sister?”

“Annalee?” Brodie asked.

Chuckling, Elijah shared a look with Molly before facing Brodie. “Who else? I don’t believe Lily came into town with everyone else.”

Brodie’s face flushed enough for Molly to notice. “Truth is, she’ll be coming to the jail after your family finishes their meal at the Golden Griddle. Guess I should go talk to Calum about the bodies.”

“It’s a grim business, but I reckon it’s best to have it dealt with quickly,” Elijah said. “Less chance of complications.”

Molly looked between the two men, her brows drawing together. “Complications?”

The men exchanged a glance, a wealth of unspoken understanding passing between them.

“Sometimes, Miss O’Sullivan, the departed have friends or family who might take issue with how things played out,” Brodie answered. “Best to have everything squared away before any such individuals might arrive.”

Her eyes widened as the implications sank in. “I see. It’s easy to forget there are always two sides to these stories.”

Elijah’s jaw tightened, his eyes hardening. “Those men made their choice when they rode into town with guns drawn. They knew the risks.”

“I’m not arguing that,” Molly countered, her voice firm. “But it doesn’t make it any less tragic.”

Brodie cleared his throat but didn’t respond. As he turned to leave, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A familiar figure emerged from the Golden Griddle. Annalee Beckett approached the group, her smile widened when her gaze settled on Brodie.

“Evening, everyone,” Annalee said brightly, her gaze lingering on Brodie for a moment before sweeping across the others. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“Not at all, Annalee,” Molly said. “We were just discussing the events of the day.”

Elijah glanced at his sister. “Looking forward to the fireworks, Annie?”

Her face lit up with enthusiasm. “Oh, yes. It’s not every day we get such excitement in Mystic. Well, aside from today’s unexpected drama, of course.”

Brodie’s posture stiffened at Annalee’s casual reference to the shoot-out. “It’s been quite a day,” he agreed, his tone neutral. “The fireworks should help folks put it behind them.”

As the conversation continued, Elijah found himself studying Annalee, wondering how deep his sister’s feelings were for Brodie.

Suddenly, a shout pierced the air, followed immediately by a scream from inside the jail. The sound cut through the evening’s festive atmosphere like a knife, causing the group to freeze.

Elijah’s hand flew to his gun, his eyes locking with Brodie’s in a moment of shared alarm. Molly and Annalee both gasped, instinctively drawing closer together on the boardwalk.

“What in tarnation?” Brodie muttered, already turning toward the jail, his hand on his pistol.

The scream came again, louder this time, followed by several gunshots.

The jail door burst open with a thunderous bang, and Deputy Jubal Whitton stumbled out onto the boardwalk. His blond hair was disheveled, a trickle of blood running down his temple. He staggered, nearly falling, before catching himself on the doorframe.

“Sheriff!” Jubal gasped, his eyes wild with panic. “They’ve broken him out!”